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Tflniveretty tutorial Series.

MANUAL OF ETHICS.

JOHN S. MACKENZIE, M.A.,

PROFESSOR OF LOGIC AND PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY COLLEGE Or SOUTH WALM
AND MOMMOUTH8H1KE ; FORMERLY FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

FOURTH EDITION.

RSVISKD, ENLARGED, AND IN PA«T REWRITTEN.

HINDS, HAYDEN & ELDREDGE, INC.
NEW YORK CITY

PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION.

The chief change in this edition consists in the addition
of a chapter on the "Authority of the Moral Standard "
(Book II., Chapter VI.). This chapter includes an ac-
count of the Sanctions, which formerly appeared as a
note to Chapter VI. of Book III. I have also added a
short note on the classification of the Virtues at the end
of Chapter IV. of Book III. The other alterations in
this edition are very slight.

I am glad to have this opportunity of acknowledging
the kind expressions of appreciation that I have received
from teachers of Philosophy in the United States and
Canada. It is particularly gratifying to me to know that
my book has been found useful in a part of the world
from which so many of the most valuable and attractive
Manuals of Philosophy have come. At a time when we
are being somewhat acutely reminded of the essential
similarity of our political problems, it is perliaps specially
fitting that we should remember that we are still more
profoundly united on the larger problems of life and
thought.
1 February, 1901.

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.

THIS handbook is intended primarily for the use of
private students, and especially for those who are prepar-
ing for such examinations in Ethics as those conducted
by the University of London. It is hoped, however, that
it will be found useful also by other classes of readers.
Its design is to give, in brief compass, an outline of the
most important principles of ethical doctrine, so far as
these can be understood without a knowledge of Meta-
physics.

To do this satisfactorily is by no means easy ; and I
can hardly hope that I have been successful in overcom-
ing the difficulties. The theory of Ethics must, I believe,
in the end rest on Metaphysics ; and what it is possible
to do without Metaphysics can be little more than a clear-
ing of the ground, and a leading up to the metaphysical
principles that are involved in the subject. The system
of metaphysical truth, however, is like a city with many
gates ; and perhaps the student may enter it by the ethical
gate as profitably as by any other. It has been my aim,
at any rate, to conduct the student gradually inwards from
the psychological outworks to the metaphysical founda-
tion.

It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that the meta-
physical point of view adopted in this Manual is
that of the school of Idealism — i. e. the school founded

VI PREFACE.

by Kant and developed by Hegel, Green, and other*.
In this respect the present Text-book is similar to
two other treatises which appeared a little before it—
Dewey's Outlines of a Critical Theory of Ethics, and Muir-
head's Elements of Ethics* If these books had been
published before this one was arranged for, it is probable
that it would never have been undertaken. As it is, I
can only plead that the subject is handled in this work in
a way slightly different from that in which it is taken up
by either of the other two, and that it may consequently
in some respects satisfy a want which neither of them
fully meets. I hope, however, that readers of my book
will, as far as possible, consult the other two also. Where
there is a general harmony of point of view, a compari-
son of the methods of treatment adopted by different
writers on points of detail is often of the greatest value
to the student. I think it would be especially useful for
readers of this book, who have time to spare, to compare
it in this way with Muirhead's Elements of Ethics. The
latter work is designed for a slightly different purpose ;
and at many points it will be found to supply a very use-
ful supplement to the present treatise by presenting the
same general ideas in a somewhat different light. For
the convenience of students who may use it in this way,
I have inserted frequent references to Mr. Muirhead's
book, and have indicated the main points of divergence.

1 Other two books which have since appeared — Professor James
Seth's Study of Ethical Principles and Mr. C. F. D'Arcy's Short
Study of Ethics — are also written from a point of view which is to a
large extent similar. In both of these books there is a good deal of
space devoted to the discussion of the metaphysical basis ; but in
neither case does the discussion appear satisfactory. On the whole
I have thought it best to leave such discussions to works that arc «-
prescly metaphysical in character.

PREFACE. Vli

My obligations to the leading exponents of the science
are sufficiently obvious, and need not be specially ac-
knowledged. In particular, how much I owe to Dr.
Edward Caird will probably be evident to every one who
is familiar with his writings and teaching. I must, how-
ever, make some more particular acknowledgment of the
assistance I have received at various points from several
friends and critics.

The proofs of this edition, as well as of the first, have
been read by Mrs. Gilliland Husband, and I am indebted
to her for many highly suggestive criticisms. Mr. James
Welton also read all the proofs of the first edition, and
Mr. Stout has read all the proofs of the present edition ;
and from both of these gentlemen I have received valu-
able assistance. I am also indebted to Professor Alex-
ander for some useful criticisms ; and, on smaller points,
to Principal Lloyd Morgan, Professor Sully, Mr. W. T.
Kenwood, Mr. J. A. Clarke, and others. The published
criticisms by Dr. Bosanquet, Professor Ritchie, Mr. Muir-
head, Miss E. E. C. Jones, and others have been very
helpful. The index at the end of the first edition was
prepared by Mr. H. Holman ; that at the end of the present
edition is the work of Mr. W. F. Trotter, of Trinity Col-
lege, Cambridge, who has also given me much help in
verifying references.

In conclusion, for the sake of those who have been
using the previous editions, it may be well to give some
indication of the principal changes that have been made
in the present one. An effort has been made, in the first
place, to render the method of treatment more systematic.
With a view to this, the work has been divided into five
parts. Of these, Book III. is the part that has been most
slightly altered. The only changes in this consist in

PREFACE.

insignificant modifications of detail. The CONCLUDING
CHAPTER has to do duty for the last two chapters of the
former editions, and has undergone considerable transfor-
mation. The references to Art have been almost entirely
omitted, while the references to Metaphysics have been
made a good deal more definite. In the INTRODUCTION
some further remarks have been added on the divisions
into which the treatment of Ethics naturally falls, and
the statements about the relation of Ethics to practical
life have been considerably modified. I have found that
what I said on this subject has been a good deal misun-
derstood ; and the misunderstanding seemed to be due to
want of clearness in my exposition, especially in the first
chapter. I have, accordingly, added a good deal more in
the way of explanation in this chapter, and have removed
some passages about the general nature of moral law,
which seemed specially liable to misinterpretation, and
have inserted them in Book II., Chap. III., where they
are perhaps more in place. I have also added a chapter
at the end of Book II., dealing with the general subject
of the bearing of Theory on Practice. I hope I may have
succeeded in this way in removing the impression, which
appears to have been created in some minds, that I thought
it to be the business of ethical science to construct the
moral life in vacuo. Nothing could well have been fur-
ther from my intention; and, if I have overestimated
the practical significance of philosophical reflection, I
have at least not forgotten either the dictum of Hegel '

1 " Philosophy, as the thought of the world, does not appear until
reality has completed its formative process, and made itself ready. . . .
When philosophy paints its grey in grey, one form of life has be-
come old, and by such painting it cannot be rejuvenated, but only
known. The owl of Minerva takes its flight only when the shade*

PREFACE. 1*X

or the epigram of Bradley,' or the gibe of Schiller.8 I do
not hold, with Coleridge, that " the only kind of common
sense worth having is that which is based on Metaphysics ; "
but I do certainly believe that there is not much value in
any kind of common sense that cannot be vindicated
by philosophical reflection ; and I think that, when it is
thus vindicated, it is at the same time enlightened.

The most considerable alterations, however, occur in
Book I. I have thought it desirable to add a good deal
of new material on the development of the moral life and
of the moral judgment. It may be held that these sub-
jects belong more properly to Sociology and Psychology
than to Ethics in the stricter sense ; but I have found that
their absence is a more serious defect than their presence.
I have also added, at the beginning of Book II., a short
historical account of the leading points of view in ethical
theory.

UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, CARDIFF,

May, 1897.

of night are gathering." Preface to the Rechtsphilosopkie. As a
counterblast to this, it may be remarked, however, that several
things seem to have been rejuvenated by Hegel himself.

1 " Metaphysics is the finding of bad reasons for what we believe
upon instinct." Preface to Appearance and Reality. But are tha
reasons always " bad," and are they always " for " ?
8 " Doch well, was ein Professor spricht,
Nicht gleich zu Allen dringet,
So iibt Natur die Mutterpflicht
Und sorgt, dass nie die Kette bricht,
Und dass der Reif nie springet.
Einstweilen, bis den Bau der Welt
Philosophic zusammenhalt,
Erhalt sit das Getriebe
Durch Hunger und durch Liebe." — Die Weltweisen.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER I.— THE SCOPS o* ETHICS.

{ 1. Definition : The Science of the Ideal in Conduct.
— 2 2. The Nature of Ethics. It is a Normative
Science. — 2 3. Ethics not a Practical Science. — \ 4.
Ethics not an Art. — 2 6. Is there an Art of Conduct ?
How Conduct is distinguished from the Arts.
( i ) Virtue Exists only in Activity. ( 2 ) The Essence
of Virtue lies in the Will. — 2 6. Is there any Science
of Conduct ? — 2 7. Summary I

Note on Positive and Normative Sciences 20

CHAPTER II.— THEREI^TION OF ETHICS TO OTHER SCIENCES.

\ 1. General Statement. — 2 2. Physical Science and Ethics.
— 2 8. Biology and Ethics. — § 4. Psychology and
Ethics. — 2 6. Logic, Esthetics and Ethics.— \ 6.
Metaphysics and Ethics. — \ 7. Ethics and Political
Philosophy. — 28. Ethics and Economics. — 2 &•
Ethics and Paedagogics. — 2 10- Concluding Remarks. 23

CHAPTER m.— THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT.

| 1. General Remarks. — 2 2. The Psychological Aspect of
Ethics. — 2 3- The Sociological Aspect of Ethics. —
{ 4. The Theories of the Moral Standard.— 2 5. The
Concrete Moral Life. — 2 6. Pl*n °f the Present

Work 35

CONTENTS.

BOOK L

PROLEGOMENA, CHIEFLY PSYCHOLOGICAL
CHAPTER I. — DESIRE AND

1. Introductory Remarks. — ? 2. General Nature of Desire.

— 3 3. Want and Appetite. — \ 4. Appetite and De
sire. — | 5. Universe of Desire. — \ 6. Conflict of De-
sires. — \ 7. Desire and Wish. — \ 8. Wish and WilL

— \ 9. Will and Act— \ 1O. The Meaning of Pur-
pose. — 2 11. Will and Character ................... 43

CHAPTER II. — MOTIVE AND INTENTION.

| 1. Preliminary Remarks. — \ 2. The Meaning of Inten-
tion. — \ 3. The Meaning of Motive. — \ 4. Relation
between Motives and Intentions. — \ 5. Is the Motive
always Pleasure? — \ 6. Psychological Hedonism. —
§ 7. The Object of Desire, (i) The Paradox of
Hedonism.—? 8. The Object of Desire. (2) Wants
prior to Satisfactions. — §9. The Object of Desire. (3)
Pleasures and Pleasure. — \ 10. Can Reason Serve as
a Motive ? — \ 1 1 . Is Reason the only Motive ? — \ 12.
How Motives are Constituted ....................... 59

Note on Pleasure and Desire ....................... 79

CHAPTER III. — CHARACTER AND CONDUCT.

i 1. General Remarks. — 2 2. Character. — \ 3. Conduct.

— I 4. Circumstance.— \ 6. Habit— $ 6. The Free-
dom of the Will. — \ 7 . Freedom Essential to Morals.

— 28. Necessity Essential to Morals. — §9. The True
Sense of Freedom. — \ 1O. Animal Spontaneity.—
$11. Human Liberty.— § 12. The Highest Free-
dom. — § 13. The Nature of Voluntary Action ....... 83

Note on Responsibility... ......................... lot

CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.— THE EVOLUTION OP CONDUCT.

Introductory Statement — \ 2. Germs of Conduct in
the Lower Animals. — § 3. Conduct among Savages. —
? 4. The Guidance of Conduct by Custom.— ? 5. The
Guidance of Conduct by Law. — \ 6. The Guidance
of Conduct by Ideas. — \ 7. Action and Reflection. —
\ 8. Moral Ideas and Ideas about Morality. — ? 9.
The Development of the Moral Consciousness 104

Note on Sociology 113

CHAPTER V.— THE GROWTH OF THE MORAI, JUDGMENT.

1. The Earliest Forms of the Moral Judgment. — ? 2. The
Tribal Self.— \ 3. The Origin of Conscience.— \ 4.
Custom as the Moral Standard. — \ 5. Positive Law as
the Moral Standard.— § 6. The Moral Law.— \ 7.
Moral Conflict. — \ 8. The Individual Conscience as
Standard.—? 9. The Growth of the Reflective Judg-
ment.— ? 1O. Illustrations from Ancient Peoples.—
$11. General Nature of Moral Development 114

CHAPTER VI. — THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAI,
JUDGMENT.

{ 1. The Nature of the Moral Judgment. — \ 2. The Object
of the Moral Judgment.—? 3. The Good Will.—? 4.
Judgment on Act and on Agent. — ? 5. Is the Moral
Judgment concerned with Motives or with Inten-
tions ? — ? 6. The Moral Judgment is partly concerned
with Motives. — ? 7. But the Judgment is really on
Character.—? 8. The Subject of the Moral Judg-
ment.— ? 9. The Moral Connoisseur. — ? 1O. The
Impartial Spectator.—? 11. The Ideal Self 127

Note on the Meaning of Conscience 146

CONTENTS. Xlll

BOOK II.

THEORIES OP THE MORAL STANDARD.
CHAPTER I. — THE DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT

PAGB

$ 1. Early Greek Ethics. — ? 2. The Sophists. — ? 3.
Socrates.— ? 4. The Schools of Ethical Thought.—
\ 5. Plato and Aristotle. — ? 6. Mediaeval Ethics.
— g 7. Schools of Ethics in Modern Times 147

CHAPTER II.— THE TYPES OP ETHICAL THEORY.

{ 1. General Survey. — \ 2. Reason and Passion. — ? 3.
The Right and the Good. — ? 4. Duty, Happiness,
Perfection. — ? 5. Mixed Theories 156

CHAPTER III. — THE STANDARD AS LAW.

PART I. THE GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. ? 1. In-
troductory Remarks. — ? 2. The 2rleaning of Law in
Ethics.— ? 3. Is, Must be, and Ought to be.— \ 4.
The Categorical Imperative. — PART II. VARIOUS
CONCEPTIONS OF THE MORAL LAW. — ? 5. The Law
of the Tribe.— \ 6. The Law of God.—? 7. The Law
of Nature.— \ 8. The Moral Sense.—? 9. The Law
of Conscience. — \ 10. Intuitionism. — ? 11. The Law
of Reason. — PART III. THE DOCTRINE OF KANT.
? 12. Kant's View of the Moral Reason.—? 13.
Criticism of Kant, (i) Formalism. — ? 14. Criti-
cism of Kant (2) Stringency. — ? 15. Real Signifi-
cance of the Kantian Principle 162

Note on Kant 203

CHAPTER IV.— THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS.

| 1. Introductory Remarks.—? 2. Higher and Lower
Universes. — ? 3. Satisfaction of Desires. — ? 4. Varie-
ties of Hedonism. — ? 5. Ethical Hedonism. — ? 6.
Quantity of Pleasure. — g 7. Egoistic Hedonism.—

XIV CONTENTS.

FAG*

5 8. Universalistic Hedonism. — \ 9. General Criti-
cism of Hedonism, (a) Pleasure and Value, (b)
Quality of Pleasures, (c) Kinds of Pleasures, (d)
Pleasure inseparable from its Object, (e) Pleasures
cannot be summed. (_/) Matter without Form.
| 10. Relation of Happiness to the Self.—? 11.
Self-realisation as the End 207

CHAPTER V.— THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION.

2 1. Application of Evolution to Morals. — \ 2. Develop-
ment of Life. — \ 8. Higher and Lower Views of De-
velopment.— § 4. Explanation by Beginning. — $ 6.
Mr. Herbert Spencer's View of Ethics.— \ 6. Criti-
cism of Mr. Spencer's View. — \ 7. Views of other
Evolutionists. — \ 8. Natural Selection in Morals. —
£ 9. Need of Teleology. — \ 1O. Explanation by End.
—2 11. Green's View of Ethics.— \ 12. The True
Self. — § 13. The real Meaning of Self -consistency. —
5 14. The real Meaning of Happiness. — \ 15. Transi-
tion to Applied Ethics 234

CHAPTER VI. — THE AUTHORITY OF THE MORAL STANDARD.

§ L The General Problem of Authority.— § 2. Different Kinds
of Authority.— § 3. Various Views of Moral Authority. —
§ 4. The Authority of Law. — § 5. The Sanctions of
Morality.— § 6. The Authority of Conscience.— § 7. The
Authority of Reason.— § 8. The Absoluteness of the Moral
Authority 255

CHAPTER VII.— THE BEARING OF THEORY ON PRACTICE.

§ L Different Views.— § 2. Relation of Different Views to the
Various Ethical Theories — § 3. The Intuitionist View. —
$ 4. The Utilitarian View.— § 6. The Evolutionist View.—
f 6. The Idealistic View.— § 7. Summary of Results. —
§ 8. Comparison between Ethics and Logic. — § 9. The
Treatment of Applied Ethics 373

CONTENTS. XV

BOOK III.

THE MORAL LIFE.

CHAPTER I.— THE SOCIAL UNITY.

PACK

$ 1. The Social Self.— § 2. Society a Unity.— § 3. Egoism and
Altruism. — § 4. Mr. Spencer's Conciliation. — § 5. Self-
realisation through Self-sacrifice. — § 6. Ethics a Part of
Politics.— § 7. Plato's View of Ethics.— § 8. Aristotle'i
View of Ethics. — § 9. Cosmopolitism. — § 10. Christian
Ethics.— § 11. The Social Universe.— § 12. Society an
Organism. — § 13. Why is the Social Universe to be Pre-
ferred ?— § 14. Relation of Conscience to the Social Unity 291

CHAPTER II.— MORAL INSTITUTIONS.

§ L The Social Imperative.— § 2. Justice. — § 3. Law and Public
Opinion. — § 4. Rights and Obligations. — § 5. The Rights
of Man. (a) Life. (£) Freedom, (c) Property. (</) Contract.
(*) Education. — § 6. Ultimate Meaning of Rights and
Obligations. — § 7. Social Institutions, (a) The Family.
(£) The Workshop, (c) The Civic Community, (d) The
Church, (<r) The State. (/) Friendship.— § 8. Social Pro-
gress.— §9. Individualism and Socialism 309

Note on Justice 329

CHAPTER III. — THE DUTIES.

§ L Nature of Moral Laws.— § 2. Respect for Life.— 4 3. Respect
for Freedom. — § 4. Respect for Character. — § 6. Respect
for Property.— § 6. Respect for Social Order.— § 7. Respect
for Truth. — § 8. Respect for Progress. — § 9. Casuistry. —
§ 10. The Supreme Law. — § 11. Conventional Rules. —
§ 11. Duties of Perfect and Imperfect Obligation.— § 13. My
Station and its Duties 332

Note OB Rules of Conduct 349

CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV. — THE VIRTUES.

PACE

§ 1. Relation of the Virtues to the Commandments. — § 2. Virtues
relative to States of Society. — § 3. The Ethos of a People.
— § 4. The Virtues relative to the Social Functions. —
§ 6. The Nature of Virtue.— § 6. The Cardinal Virtues.—
§ 7. Education of Character.— § 8. The Moral Syllogism... 352

Note on the Classification of the Virtues 372

CHAPTER V.— THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE.

§ L The Higher Individualism. — § 2. Conversion. — § 3. Con-
scientiousness.— § 4. Self-Examination. — § 5. The Study
of the Ideal.— § 6. The Monastic Life.— § 7. Beautiful
Souls. — § 8. Asceticism. — § 9. The Contemplative Life. —
§ 10. Relation of the Inner to the Outer Life.— § 11. Tha
Virtuous Man and the World. — § 12. The Moral Reforme» 374

CHAPTER VI. — MORAL PATHOLOGY.

§ L Moral Evil.— § 2. Vice.— § 3. Sin.— § 4. Crime.— § 5. Punish-
ment.— § 6. Theories of Punishment. — § 7. Responsibility. —
§ 8. Remorse. — § 9. Reformation. — § 10. Forgiveness. —
§ 1L Social Corruption , 393

CHAPTER VII.— MORAL PROGRESS.

§ 1. Social Evolution. — § 2. The Moral Universe— $ 3. Inner
Contradictions in our Universe. — § 4. Sense of Incomplete-
ness.— § 6. Deepening of Spiritual Life. § 6. New Obli-
gations.— § 7. Moral Change and Change of Environment. —
§ 8. The Ideal Universe 413

CONCLUDING CHAPTER. — ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS.

$ L General Remarks.— § 2. Validity of the Ideal.— § 3. Morality
and Religion.— § 4. The Relation of Religion to Art—

CONTENTS. XVU

PACK

§ 5. The Necessity of Religion.— § 6. The Failure of Life.—
§ 7. The Failure of Society.— § 8. The Failure of Art.—
§ 9. The Demand for the Infinite.— § 10. The Two In-
finites.^ 11. The First Religion.— § 12. The Second
Religion.— § 13. The Third Religion.— § 14. Religion and
Superstition. — § 15. The Essential Significance of Religion.
— § 16. The Ultimate Problems of Metaphysics 431

APPENDIX. Note on Ethical Literature 455

INDEX 459

INTRODUCTION.

CHAPTER L

THE SCOPE OF ETHICS.

§ 1. DEFINITION. The Science of the Ideal in Con-
duct.— Ethics is the science of Conduct It considers
the actions of human beings with reference to their
tightness or wrongness, their tendency to good or to
evil. The name "Ethics" is derived from the Greek
r& -ijOud. This again comes from $00?, meaning char-
acter; and this is connected with ?0o?, custom or
habit. Similarly, the term " Moral Philosophy," which
means the same thing as Ethics, is derived from the
Latin mores, meaning habits or customs. Ethics,
then, we may say, discusses men's habits and cus-
toms, or in other words their characters, the principles
on which they habitually act, and considers what it is
that constitutes the Tightness or wrongness of these
principles, the good or evil of these habits. These
terms, however, "Right" and "Good," seem to re-
quire a little explanation.

(a) Right. The term "Right" is derived from the
Latin reclus, meaning "straight"' or "according to
rule." The Greek word corresponding to it is itxato?,

which also meant originally "according to rule."
Eth. I

2 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I.

When we say, then, that conduct is right, we mean
primarily that it is according to rule. Rules, however,
have reference to some result to be achieved by them ;
and it is this fact that is indicated by the second term,
"Good."

(b) Good. The term " Good " is connected with the
German gut, and contains the same root as the Greek
dyadd?. A thing is generally said to be good when it
is valuable for some end. Thus, particular kinds of
medicine are said to be good for this or that complaint
Similarly, when we speak of conduct as good, we may
mean that it is serviceable for the end we have in
view.1 It should be carefully observed, however, that
the term "good" is also used (perhaps even more fre-
quently) to signify not something which is a means to
an end, but something which is itself taken as an end.
Thus the summum bonum, or supreme good, means the
supreme end at which we aim.

Thus, when we say that the science of Ethics is con-
cerned with the rightness or goodness of human con-
duct, we mean that it is concerned with the considera-
tion of the serviceableness of our conduct for some end
at which we aim, and with the rules by which our
conduct is to be directed in order that this end may be
attained.* But if we are to consider the serviceable-
ness of our actions to an end, and the rules by which
this end is to be attained, it is evident that we must
have some understanding of the nature of the end it-
self. Now there are many ends to which our actions

i Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 65 Also, Spencer's Data of
Ethics, chap. iiL

a This statement must be regarded as provisional It is to some
extent modified by the following paragraphs.

§ I.] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. J

may be directed, e. g. the building of a house, the writ-
ing of a book, the passing of an examination, and so
on. But since Ethics is the science of Conduct as a
whole, and not of any particular kinds of Conduct, it
is not any of these special ends that it sets itself to
consider, but the supreme or ultimate end to which
our whole lives are directed. This end is commonly
referred to as the Summum Bonum or Supreme Good.
Now it is no doubt open to question at the outset,
whether there can be said to be any one supreme end
in human life. Men aim at various objects. Some
desire wealth ; others, independence ; others, power.
Some are eager for fame ; others, for knowledge ;
others, for love ; and some again find their highest
good in loving and serving others. x Some are fond of
excitement ; others, of peace. Some fill their lives
with many-sided interests — art and science, and the
development of social and political institutions ; others
are tempted to regard all these as vanityj and some-
times even, turning from them all in disgust, to believe
that the best thing of all would be to die and be at
rest ; 2 while others again fix their highest hopes on a
life beyond death, to be perfected in a better world
than this. But a little consideration serves to show
that many of these ends cannot be regarded as ulti-

1 "This is shown by the delight that mothers take in loving ; for
some give their children to others to rear, and love them since they
know them, but do not look for love in return, if it be impossible to
have both, being content to see their children doing well, and loving
them, though they receive from them, in their ignorance, nothing of
what is due to a mother." — Aristotle's Ethics, VIII. viii. 3.

2 See, for instance, Shakespeare's Sonnet LXVI.— " Tired with all
these, for restful death I cry," &a, and cf. Byron and the modern
Pessimists, passim.

4 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I.

mate. If, for instance, we were to question those who
are seeking for wealth or independence or power, we
should generally find that they would explain their
desire for these objects by enumerating the advantages
which the attainment of the desired objects would
bring. The possibility of such an explanation proves
that these objects are not regarded as ultimate ends by
those who pursue them, but are desired for the sake of
something else. Still, we hardly seem to be justified
in starting with the assumption that there is any one
ultimate end in human life. The question whether
any such end can be discovered is rather one that
must be discussed in the course of our study. What
it is necessary for us to assume is simply that there is
some ideal in life, *'. e. that there is some standard of
judgment by reference to which we are able to say
that one form of conduct is better than another. What
the nature of this ideal or standard is — whether it has
reference to a single ultimate end, to a set of rules
imposed upon us by some authority, to an ideal type
of human life which we are somehow enabled to form
for ourselves, or in what other possible way it is deter-
mined— we must endeavour to discover as we go on.
In the meantime it seems sufficient to define Ethics as
the science of the ideal involved in human life.1

§ 2. THE NATURE OF ETHICS. // is a Normative Sci-
ence.— The fact that Ethics is concerned with an end
or ideal or standard serves at once to distinguish it
from most other sciences. Most sciences are con-

1 On the general nature of the science of Ethics, the reader may
consult Sidgwick's History of Ethics, Chap. I. ; Muirhead'3 Elements
of Ethics, Book I. ; Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, Introduction ; and
Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book I., Chap. L

§ 2.] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. $

cerned with certain uniformities of our experience—
with the ways in which certain classes of objects (such
as rocks or plants) are found to exist, or with the ways
in which certain classes of events (such as the phe-
nomena of sound or electricity) are found to occur.
Such sciences have no direct reference to any end that
is to be achieved or to any ideal by reference to which
the facts are judged. The knowledge which they com-
municate may, indeed, be useful for certain purposes.
A knowledge about rocks is useful for those who wish
to build houses or to sink mines. A knowledge about
electricity is useful for those who wish to protect their
buildings or to form telegraphic communications. But
tne truth of the sciences that deal with such subjects
as these is in no way affected by the ends which they
may thus be made to subserve. Knowledge about
the nebulae is as much a part of the science of astron-
omy as knowledge about the solar system, though the
latter can be directly turned to account in the art of
navigation, while the former has no direct practical
utility. The science of Ethics, then, is distinguished
from the natural sciences, inasmuch as it has a direct
reference to an end that men desire to attain, or a
type to which they wish to approximate.

It is not by any means the only science, however,
which has such a reference. On the contrary, there is
a whole class of sciences of this character. These are
commonly called the normative sciences — t. e. the sci-
ences that lay down rules or laws or, more strictly,
that seek to define a standard or ideal with reference
to which rules or laws may be formulated. Of this
kind are the science of medicine (/. <?. Hygienics),
which deals with the nature of the distinction between

6 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I.

health and disease, and with the rules to be observed
for the attainment of health, or for the avoidance and
removal of disease ; the science of architecture, which
deals with the types to be aimed at and the rules to be
observed in the construction of buildings, with a view
to their stability, convenience, and beauty ; the sci-
ence of navigation, which deals with the aims and
principles involved in the management of ships ; the
science of rhetoric, which deals with the principles of
persuasiveness and beauty of style ; the science of
logic, which deals with the conditions of correct think-
ing. Most of these sciences are of a mixed character,
being partly concerned with the analysis of facts, and
partly with the definition of ends or ideals and with
the statement of rules to be observed for the at-
tainment of them. Thus the science of medicine
deals with the facts of disease as well as with the
nature and conditions of health, and the science of
architecture discusses the ways in which buildings
have been constructed at various periods of man's
history, as well as the ways in which it is most desir-
able that buildings should be constructed. Sometimes,
indeed, these two sides of a science are so evenly
balanced, that it is difficult to say whether it ought
properly to be regarded as a natural or a normative
science. This is notably the case with regard to
political economy. But in all such cases it is possible
to separate the two sides of the science, and to con-
sider them as forming in reality two distinct, though
closely connected, sciences.

In the case of Ethics, the normative side is by far
the more important ; but the other side is not entirely
absent There are ethical facts as well as ethical laws

§ 2.] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 7

and ideals. Thus the ideas of the Thugs, who are
said to regard murder as a supreme duty, constitute an
important fact in the moral life of a certain section of
mankind ; but no scientific system of ethics is ever
likely to include such a duty in its statement of the
moral ideal, any more than a system of medicine is
likely to express approval of extensive indulgence in
alcohol or tight lacing. This is no doubt a somewhat
extreme case ; but there are in every community
certain peculiarities of the moral sense which are in
reality quite analogous. Thus, much of the conduct
which is regarded as fine and noble in a modern
Englishman, would probably have seemed almost
unintelligible to a cultivated Athenian or to a devout
Jew in the ancient world ; and much of the conduct
that one of the latter would have praised, would seem
to the modern Englishman to lack delicacy or human-
ity. Now, some of the differences which occur in the
moral codes of different peoples are not without mean-
ing even for the student of the moral ideal. A reflective
moralist, to whatever school of thought he might belong,
would not approve of quite the same conduct under all
conditions of life, any more than a thoughtful physician
would prescribe the same regimen to an inhabitant of
Canada as to an inhabitant of India. Different circum-
stances bring different obligations ; and in the general
progress of history, there is a progress in the nature of
the duties that are imposed on men. As Lowell says —

" New occasions teach new duties :
Time makes ancient good uncouth."

Even the strictest of moralists, therefore, might admit
differences in ethical codes at different times and

8 ITHICS. [INTROD., CH. I.

places. But the differences which we actually find are
not all of this nature. No system of medicine would
commend opium and crushed feet ; and no system of
ethics would regard with equal approval the Code of
Honour, the Ten Commandments, and the Sermon on
the Mount. But all these are ethical facts, and have an
equal right to be chronicled as such, though they have
not an equal right to be approved. There is a marked
difference, therefore, between the science which deals
with the facts of the moral life and that which deals
with the rules and ideals of the moral life. The former
science is a part of that wider science which deals with
the general structure of societies — the science which is
usually known as Sociology. The latter science, on
the other hand, is that to which the name of Ethics is
more strictly appropriated ; and it is with it alone, or
at least mainly, that we shall be concerned in the
present work. The former is a natural or positive
science ; the latter is a normative science. But, of
course, in dealing with the latter, we can scarcely
avoid touching on the former.

§ 3. ETHICS NOT A PRACTICAL SCIENCE. — There is,
however, still another distinction which it is important
to draw. It will be observed that the sciences referred
to in the foregoing paragraph as normative are not all
of quite the same kind. Some of them are definitely
concerned with the consideration of the means required
for the realisation of certain assignable ends, while
others are more directly interested in the elucidation
of the ends or ideals involved in certain forms of
activity. Perhaps it would be best to confine the term
"normative" to the latter kind of science, while the
former might be more appropriately described as " prac-

§ 3-] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 9

tical." Medicine (Hygienics) is a practical science,
rather than a normative one, since its aim is not so
much that of understanding the ideal of health ' as
hat of ascertaining the means by which health may
L, best produced. New, the science of Ethics has
sometimes been regarded as a practical science in this
sense. It is generally so regarded by those writers
who think that it is possible to formulate some one
simple end at which human beings ought to aim as the
suntmum bonum. Thus, what is commonly known as
the Utilitarian school regards the attainment of "the
greatest happiness of the greatest number " as the end
to be aimed at, and conceives that it is the business of
Ethics to consider the means by which this end may
be attained, just as the scientific student of public
health may consider the best means for preventing the
spread of an infectious disease. The extent to which,
if at all, it is possible to treat Ethics in this way, will
have to be considered at a later stage, after we have
discussed the different views that may be taken of the
nature of the moral ideal. We shall then see grounds
for thinking that the moral life cannot be regarded as
directed towards the attainment of any one simple
result, and that consequently the means of attaining
the moral ideal cannot be formulated in any definite set
of rules. In so far as this is the case, the science of
Ethics cannot properly be described as practical. It
must content itself with understanding the nature of
the ideal, and must not hope to formulate rules for its
attainment. Hence most writers on Ethics have pre-
ferred to treat it as a purely speculative, rather than as
a practical science. This is probably the best view to

i Perhaps this is more properly the function of Physiology.

10 ETHICS. [INTROP, ~*T. t

take. At arfp- rate, it is important to observe that the
description of Ethics as "normative" does not involve
the view that it has any direct bearing on practice. It
is the business of a normative science to define an
ideal, not to lay down rules for its attainment. Esthe-
tics, for instance, is a normative science, concerned
with the standard 6f Beauty ; but it is no part of its
business to inquire how Beauty is produced. So with
Ethics. It discusses the ideal of goodness or Tightness,
and is not directly concerned with the means by which
this ideal may be realised.

Ethics, then, though a normative science, is not to be
regarded as a practical science. f

§ 4. ETHICS NOT AN ART. If Ethics is not strictly to
be classed as a practical science, it ought still less to
be described as an art. Yet the question has sometimes
been raised, with regard both to Logic and to Ethics,
whether both these departments of study are not rather
of the nature of arts than of sciences,2 since they have
both a certain reference to practice. Logic has some-
times been called the Art of Thinking, 3 and though
Ethics has perhaps never been described as the Art of
Conduct, yet it has often been treated as if it were di-
rectly concerned with that art. Now, it may be ques«
tioned whether it is quite correct to speak of an art of
thinking or of an art of conduct at all. This is a ques-
tion to which we shall shortly return. But at any rate
it is now generally recognized that it is best to treat

1 The extent to which it may be regarded as bearing on practice
Is discussed below, Book II., chap. vii. All the statements made in
the present chapter must be regarded as provisional

* Cf. Welton's Manual of Logic, vol. i. p. 12.

» This was, in particular, the title of the Port Royal Logie.

§4-] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. II

both Logic and Ethics as having no direct bearing upon
these arts. It may be well, however, to notice the
reasons which have led to the view that these sciences
are of the nature of arts.

In the case of every practical science, the question is
apt to present itself, whether we are really concerned
with a science at all or rather with an art. And the
answer seems to be, that if we insist on drawing an abso-
lute distinction between a science and an art, a practical
science must be regarded as lying midway between
them. A science, it is said, teaches us to know, and an
art to do ;l but a practical science teaches us to know
how to do. Since, however, such a science is primarily
concerned with the communication of knowledge, it is
more properly to be described as a science than as an
art ; but it is a kind of science that has a very direct
relation to a corresponding art. There is scarcely any
art that is not indirectly related to a great number of
different sciences. The art of painting, for instance,
may derive useful lessons from the sciences of optics,
anatomy, botany, geology, and a great variety of
others. The art of navigation, in like manner, is much
aided by the sciences of astronomy, magnetism,
acoustics, hydrostatics, and many more. But such
relationships are comparatively indirect. The depend-
ence of an art upon its corresponding practical science
is of a very much closer character. The art of rhetoric
is a direct application of the science of rhetoric, so far
as there is any such science ; and the art of fencing, of
the science of fencing. Indeed, if a practical science
could be completely worked out into all its details, the

1 Cf. Jevons's Elementary Logic, p. 7 ; Welton's Manual of Logic,
i ol i. p. '2 ; Mill's Logic, Introductioa

12 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I.

art corresponding to it would contain nothing which is
not included in the science. Perhaps this is the case
with such an art as that of fencing. Still, even here the
science and the art are clearly distinguishable. A man
may be quite familiar with the science, and yet not be
skilled in the art ; and vice versa. But in most cases
the distinction is even more marked than this : for the
art usually includes a great deal that we are not able
to reduce to science at all. Indeed, some arts are so
entirely dependent on the possession of a peculiar
knack or dexterity, or of a peculiar kind of genius, that
'they can scarcely be said to have any science corre-
sponding to them at all. Thus, for example, there is
no science of cookery, there is no science of sleight-
of-hand, there is no science of making jokes, and there
is no science of poetry.1

Now there is no doubt a sense in which conduct, as
well as thinking, may be said to be an art.' Both of
these are activities presupposing certain natural gifts,
proceeding upon certain principles, and made perfect
by practice. But such an art as either of these seems
clearly to be one that cannot be subjected to exact
scientific treatment. Men of moral genius and large
experience of life may communicate the fruits of their

i Poetry used to be known as " the gay science ; " but the word
" science " is here used in the sense of "art" The failure to distin
guish between these two terms has given rise to much confusion.
Thus, when Carlyle called political economy "the dismal science,"
he meant to contrast it with poetry. But it is now generally recog-
nized that political economy is a science in the stricter sense, though
partly a practical science, and is not to be classed with arts like
poetry.

» A recent book by Mr. N. P. Oilman and Mr. E. P. Jackson, is en-
titled Conduct as a Fine Art; but this reminds one somewhat of DC
Quincey'g essay on " Murder regarded as one of the Fine Arts."

§ 5-] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 1$

experience to mankind, and may thus be said to in-
struct them in the art of conduct. But it is certainly
not the business of a student of ethical science as such
to be a prophet or preacher. Even if Ethics were in
the strict sense a practical science, it could still only
deal with the general principles involved in human ac-
tion. But action itself is concerned with the particular,
which can never be exhausted by general principles.
For the communication of the art of conduct "ex-
ample is better than precept," and experience is better
than either ; so that even if it were the business of
Ethics to lay down precepts (*'. e. if it were a practical
science), these precepts would still not suffice for in-
struction in the art of life. But as Ethics is a norma-
tive, rather than a practical, science, it is not even its
primary business to lay down precepts at all, but rather
to define the ideal involved in life. How far the defini-
tion of this ideal may lead on to practical precepts, is
a matter for future consideration.

§ 5. Is THERE ANY ART OF CONDUCT ? — We may, how-
ever, proceed further, and ask whether it is strictly
legitimate to speak of an Art of Conduct at all. A
little consideration suffices to show that such a con-
ception is in the highest degree questionable. No
doubt the term Art may be used in somewhat different
senses. The Industrial Arts are not quite of the same
nature as the Fine Arts. The former are directed to
the production of objects useful for some ulterior end ;
whereas the objects produced by the latter are rather
ends in themselves. But in both cases there is a defi-
nite product which it is the object of the Art to bring
forth. Now in the case of morality, at least on *
prima facie view, this is not true. There is no product

14 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I,

\n this case, but only an activity. Of course it may
be said that the activity is valued with reference to a
certain ultimate end, i. e. to the summum bonunt. How
far this is true, we shall have to consider in the course
of our study ; but it would, at any rate, be mislead-
ing at the outset to think of conduct as being of the
same nature as the Arts, whether Industrial or Ex-
pressive. It may be convenient to sum up the dif-
ferences in the following way.

(i) Virtue exists only in activity. — A good painter is
one who can paint beautifully : a good man is not one
who can, but one who does, act rightly. The good
painter is good when he is asleep or on a journey, or
when, for any other reason, he is not employed in his
art. ' The good man is not good when asleep or on a
journey, unless when it is good to sleep or to go on a
journey. Goodness is not a capacity or potentiality,
but an activity ; in Aristotelian language, it is not a
dvvaius, but an Ivip^eta.

This is a simple point, and yet it is a point that pre-
sented great difficulty to ancient philosophers. By
nothing perhaps were they so much misled as by

i Cf. Aristotle's Ethics, I. viii. <ji Of course, we judge the goodness
of a painter by the work that he does ; but the point is that he may
cease to act without ceasing to be a skilled artist A good painter
may decide to paint no more ; but a good man cannot decide to re-
tire from the life of virtuous activity, or even to take a rest from it
There are no holidays from virtue. Charles Lamb, indeed, has
suggested that a leading element in the enjoyment of certain forms
of Comedy consists in the fact that they free us from the burden of
our habitual moral consciousness. This may be true ; but if any
one were to seek for a holiday by actually practising the modes of
life depicted in these Comedies, he would, so far, hav« cesued to b«
virtuous.

§ 5.] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 1$

the analogy of virtue to the arts.1 Thus in Plato's
Republic, Socrates is represented as arguing that if
justice consists in keeping property safe, the just man
must be a kind of thief ; for the same kind of skill which
enables a man to defend property, will also enable him
to steal it. a The answer to this is, that justice is not a
kind of skill, but a kind of activity. The just man is
not merely one who can, but one who does, keep pro-
perty safe. Now though the capacity of preserving
property may be identical with the capacity of appro-
priating it, the act of preserving is certainly very dif-
ferent from the act of appropriating. The man who
knows precisely what the truth about any matter is,
would undoubtedly, as a general rule, be the most
competent person to invent lies with respect to the
same matter. Yet the truth-speaker and the liar are
very different persons ; because they are not merely
men who possess particular kinds of capacity, but men
who act in particular ways. Often, indeed, the most
atrocious liars have no special capacity for the art
And so also it is with other vices. "The Devil," it is
said, "is an Ass."

(2) The Essence of Virtue lies in the Will. — The man
who is a bungler in any of the particular arts may be
a very worthy and well-meaning person ; but the best
intentions in the world will not make him a good
artist. In the case of virtuous action, on the other
hand, as Kant says, 3 " a good will is good not because

1 This does not apply to Aristotle. See the passage referred to in
the preceding note.

4 Of course, Plato intended this for a joke ; but it is doubtful whether
hft knew exactly where the fallacy comes in.

• Metaphysic of Morals, L

l6 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. t

of what it performs or effects, not by its aptness for
the attainment of some proposed end, but simply by
virtue of the volition." " Even if it should happen
that, owing to a special disfavour of fortune, or the
niggardly provision of a step-motherly nature, this will
should wholly lack power to accomplish its purpose,
if with its greatest efforts it should yet achieve nothing,
and there should remain only the good will (not, to be
sure, a mere wish, but the summoning of all means in
our power), then, like a jewel, it would still shine by
its own light, as a thing which has its whole value in
itself." In like manner, Aristotle says * of a good man
living in circumstances in which he cannot find scope
for his highest virtues, Scaldfixet TO xattv, "his nobility
shines through." It is true that even in the fine arts
purpose counts for something; and a stammering
utterance may be not without a grace of its own.3 In
conduct also, if a man blunders entirely, we generally
assume that there was some flaw in his purpose —
that he did not reflect sufficiently, or did not will the
good with sufficient intensity. Still, the distinction
remains, that in art the ultimate appeal is to the work
achieved, whereas in morals the ultimate appeal is to
the inner aim. Or rather, in morals the achievement

i Ethics, I. x iz

* Cf. Browning's Andrea del Sarto : —

" That arm is wrongly put— and there again—
A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines,
Its body, so to speak : its soul is right,
He means right— that, a child may understand."
Bat here Art is being judged almost from an ethical, rather than
from a purely aesthetical point of view. " He means right," is not an
JBSthetical judgment, (though, of course, the distinction between
•body' and 'soul'— i. & technique and expression— docs belong to
.Esthetics).

§ 6.] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. I/

cannot be distinguished from the inner activity by
which it is brought about. '

§ 6. Is THERE ANY SCIENCE OF CONDUCT? — The fact
that it is somewhat questionable to speak of an Art of
Conduct suggests a doubt whether it is even quite
proper to speak of a Science of Conduct. We generally
understand by a science the study of some limited
portion of our experience. Now in dealing with morals
we are concerned rather with the whole of our ex-
perience from one particular point of view, viz., from
the point of view of activity — i. e. from the point of
view of the pursuit of ends or ideals. Matthew Arnold
has said that "Conduct is three-fourths of life;" but
of course, from the point of view of purposive activity,
conduct is the whole of life. It is common to dis-
tinguish the pursuit of truth (science) and the pursuit
of beauty (fine art) from the moral life in the narrower
sense ; but when truth and beauty are regarded as
ends to be attained, the pursuit of them is a kind of
conduct ; and the consideration of these ends, as of
all others, falls within the scope of the science of
morals. In a sense, therefore, Ethics is not a science
at all, if by a science we understand the study of some
limited department of human experience. It is rather
a part of philosophy, i. e. a part of the study of ex-
perience as a whole. It is, indeed, only a part of
philosophy ; because it considers the experience of life
only from the point of view of will or activity. It
does not, except indirectly, consider man as knowing
or enjoying, but as doing, i. e. pursuing an end.
But it considers man's whole activity, the entire nature

1 This point is more fully brought out in Book I., chap, ti

1 8 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I.

of the good which he seeks, and the whole significance
of his activity in seeking it. For this reason some
writers prefer to describe the subject as Moral Philoso-
phy or Ethical Philosophy, rather than as the Science
of Ethics. For it is the business of Philosophy, rather
than of Science, to deal with experience as a whole.
Similarly, Logic and ^Esthetics, the two sciences which
most closely resemble Ethics, are rather philosophical
than scientific. But the term Science may be used in
a wide sense to include the philosophical studies as
well as those that are called scientific in the narrower
sense. In the next chapter we must endeavour to
explain more definitely the place of Ethics among the
other departments of knowledge.

§7. SUMMARY. — The statements in this chapter are
intended to give a general indication of the nature of
ethical science. The student ought to be warned,
however, that different writers regard the subject in
different ways. Some regard it as having a directly
practical aim, while others endeavour to treat it as a
purely theoretical science, in the same sense in which
chemistry or astronomy is purely theoretical. I have
adopted a middle course, by describing it as normative.
But the full significance of this difference, as well as
the grounds for adopting one or other of these views,
can hardly become apparent to the student until he has
learned to appreciate the distinction between the lead-
ing theories of the moral standard. In fact, in studying
Ethics, as in studying most other subjects of any com-
plexity, it should always be borne in mind that the defi-
nition of the subject and the understanding of its scope
and method come rather at the end than at the begin-
ning. With these cautions, however, the student may

§ 7-] THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 19

perhaps find the remarks made in this chapter of some
service as an introduction to the study.

The main points may be summed up in this way : —

(1) Ethics is the science which deals with the Ideal,
or with the Standard of Rightness and Wrongness, Good
and Evil, involved in Conduct.

(2) This science is normative, not one of the ordinary
Positive Sciences.

(3) It is, however, not properly to be described as a
Practical Science, though it has a close bearing upon
practical life.

(4) Still less is it to be described as an Art

(5) It is hardly correct to speak of an Art of Conduct
at all.

(6) Some objection may also be taken even to the
term Science of Conduct, since the study of the Ideal
in Conduct is rather philosophical than scientific.

20 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. L

NOTE ON POSITIVE AND NORMATIVE SCIENCES.

It may be well to warn the student, more fully than could well b«
done in the text, that the convenient distinction, here adopted, be-
tween positive and normative sciences, is not to be taken as an ab-
solute one ; still less, as exhaustive. On reflection, the student will
no doubt find that many sciences which are essentially positive have
in them elements that are of a normative character. In illustration
of this, we might refer to the saying of the astronomer, who was
questioned about the way in which the planets move : " I know
nothing about the way in which the planets move ; I only know
how the planets ought to move — if there are any planets ! " This is,
of course, a paradox ; but it may serve to bring out the truth that
much of what is contained even in the positive sciences depends
on the consideration of ideal standards. Again, the student who
pursues the study of metaphysics will soon find that there is a
sense in which even such principles as the law of causation may be
said, as Kant put it, to be prescribed to nature. Further, there is a
sense in which even purely normative sciences may be said to deal
with what is. Logic is said to be concerned with correct thinking ;
but there is a very true sense in which it may be held that incorrect
thinking is not thought ; so that, from this point of view, Logic may
be said to be concerned with the principles of thought as thought
Similarly, it might perhaps be urged that an object which is not ap-
preciated as beautiful is not really appreciated ; and that an action
which is not good is not, in the full sense of the word, an action.
Hence, the distinction between positive and normative sciences is
one that may require, to a large extent, to be thrown aside as the
student advances. It is one of those convenient distinctions (like
that between sense and thought, knowing and willing, matter and
spirit, etc.) which require to be drawn at the outset, but which may
be gradually superseded. It remains true, however, that the ordi-
nary concrete sciences, like botany or physiology,1 make it their main
aim to co-ordinate particular facts of experience, while logic and
ethics deal essentially with standards of judgment It would ob-
viously be far beyond the scope of such a work as this to attempt any

1 In the case of physiology, this statement is open to some qualifi-
cation, in so far as physiology makes it its business to itudy the
normal action of vital functions.

THE SCOPE OF ETHICS. 21

exhaustive classification of the sciences ; but perhaps the following
list may serve, roughly, to indicate the relations in which they
stand to one another.

(1) The ordinary concrete sciences, e.g. botany, biology, anatomy,
geology, &c. Of these it is on the whole true to say that they deal
with particular classes of facts, and try to co-ordinate them.

(2) The ordinary abstract sciences, such as mathematics, mechan-
ics, the more theoretical parts of astronomy, &c. These sciences also
aim at the elucidation of facts ; but, in order to elucidate them, they
make use of hypothetical constructions, often involving a reference
to ideal standards— as, in mathematics, the standard of a perfectly
straight line, and the like.1

(3) The normative sciences, such as logic, aesthetics, ethics, which
deal definitely rather with standards of judgment than with parti-
cular facts.

(4) The practical sciences, such as medicine, architecture, rhetoric,
&c., which apply standards of judgment to the formulation of prin-
ciples of action. All normative sciences are capable of being made
practical when they are thus applied.

Arts, properly so called, seek to carry out certain forms of activity
for the production of certain results. They depend on the principles
laid down by the practical sciences, but generally depend on more
than one of them.

It should also be carefully borne in mind that often what is com-
monly regarded as a single science may include elements which, if
taken by themselves, would refer it alternately to several, or perhaps
all, of the above classes. Thus Political Economy is a positive
science in so far as it deals with the facts of commercial life, and
seeks to co-ordinate them — in so far, that is to say, as it is dealt with
historically and concretely. It is, however, an abstract science, in
so far as it deals with hypothetical conditions, such as that of perfectly
free competition, and seeks to show what would follow from these con-
ditions. It is a normative science, in so far as it seeks to establish an

1 It may perhaps be of some assistance to the student to point out
that the names of the more purely positive sciences generally end
in " logy " — geology, biology, anthropology, psychology, sociology,
&c. ; while those of the more abstract and normative (i. e. those
that are, in some sense, concerned with standards or ideals) generally
end in "ic" or " ics "—mathematics, mechanics, logic, aesthetics,
ethics, &c. But this is only roughly true, Cf. Giddings's Principles
of Sociology, p. 5a

22 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. I.

Ideal standard, such as that of industrial freedom, to which the facts
of the commercial life ought to conform. It is a practical science
when it uses this standard to guide the statesman, the man of busi-
ness, the workman, or the social reformer. When, finally, these
various people make use of it, under the guidance of common sense,
it becomes an art ; and the carrying of it into effect in this way in-
volves various other forms of knowledge, as well as the knowledge
of the particular science in question.*

It thus appears that sciences cannot be quite so simply arranged as
the student might perhaps be led to suppose from the statements in
the text The broad distinction, however, between the positive and
the normative — between that in which the ultimate reference is to a
particular class of facts, and that in which the ultimate reference is
to an ideal standard, is all that is of special importance for our pres-
ent purpose. If the student will bear in mind the two sciences with
which, from his previous study, he is probably most likely to be
familiar, Psychology and Logic, he will find in them two very per-
fect types of the distinction in question. Psychology deals with the
facts of consciousness ; Logic deals with the standard of correctness.

1 Cf. Keynes's Scope and Method of Political Economy, pp. 34-361

§ I.] RELATION TO OTHER SCIENCES.

CHAPTER II.

THE RELATION OF ETHICS TO OTHER SCIENCES.

§ 1. GENERAL STATEMENT. — From what has already
been stated, it appears that Ethics is to be regarded as
belonging to the group of sciences that are called
philosophic. Now the question as to the general
nature and divisions of philosophic study is to some
extent controversial ; and of course it is beyond our
present scope to enter on any discussion of this
question ; but perhaps the student may find the follow-
ing statements helpful and not very misleading. He
may correct them for himself, if necessary, as he ad-
vances in the study of philosophy.

Philosophy is the study of the nature of experience as
a whole.// The particular sciences investigate particular
portions of the content of our experience ; but philo-
sophy seeks to understand the whole in the light of its
central principles. In order to do this, it endeavours to
analyze the various elements that enter into the con-
stitution of the world as we know it. This part of the
investigation is perhaps that which is most properly
described as Epistemology. Next we may go on to
trace the genesis of the various elements that constitute
our experience — to examine, that is to say, the process
by which experience grows up in the consciousness of
individuals and races. This is. the task of Psychology.
Now, when we thus examine our experience and trace

' -0**-

24 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. II.

its growth, it is found that the content which is thus
brought to light consists partly of facts presented in
various ways before our consciousness and partly of
ideals. The study of llio particular facts that come
before our consciousness has to be handed over to the
particular sciences ; or, in so far as philosophy is able to
deal with them, they form the content of what is called
the Philosophy of Nature. The ideals, again, which
emerge in our experience, are found to be three in
number, corresponding, it would seem, to the Know-
ing, the Feeling, and the Willing sides of our conscious
nature. They are the ideals of Truth, Beauty, and
Goodness. The study of these ideals forms the subject-
matter of the three sciences of Logic, Esthetics, and
Ethics. Finally the question arises with respect to the
kind and degree of reality possessed by these various
elements in our experience. This inquiry is that which
is properly known as Ontology. The first and the last
of these departments of study — Epistemology and Onto-
logy— tend to coalesce ; and the two together con-
stitute what is commonly known as Metaphysics, which
thus forms the Alpha and the Omega of the philoso-
phical sciences.

From this it will be seen that Ethics stands, along
with Logic and Esthetics, midway between Psycho-
logy and Metaphysics ; and, in fact, whatever may be
thought of the foregoing method of stating the relation-
ship, it is generally recognized that there is a very close
connection between Ethics and each of these two other
philosophical sciences.

Further consideration, however, reveals a variety of
other subjects to which Ethics is closely related. On
some it is dependent for materials, to others it supplies

§ 2.] RELATION TO OTHER SCIENCES. 2$

assistance. It may be well to try to bring out a little
more in detail some of these relationships, though of
course it is only possible to indicate them here very
briefly.

§2. PHYSICAL SCIENCE AND ETHICS. — The relation of ,
Physical Science to Ethics is but slight. It has some-
times been supposed that the question of physical^
causation has an important bearing on Ethics. It has
been thought that morality postulates the freedom of
the will, and that there is a certain conflict between
this postulate and the theory of the universal applica-
bility of the law of cause and effect. This point will
be referred to in a subsequent chapter. In the mean-
time it must suffice to say that the supposition of such
a conflict appears to rest upon a misconception.

Of course, Ethics is indirectly related to Physical
Science, inasmuch as a knowledge of physical laws
enables us to predict, more accurately and certainly
than we should otherwise be able to do, what the effect
of various kinds of conduct will be. But this knowl-
edge affects only the details of conduct, not the general
principles by which our conduct is guided. A wise
man in modern times will be less afraid of the sea and
of the stars, and more afraid of foul air and impure
water, than a man of similar wisdom in ancient times ;
but the general consideration of the question, what
kinds of things we ought to fear, and what kinds we
ought not to fear, need not be affected by this differ-
ence in detail, which is due to the advance of know-
ledge. Physical Science in short is chiefly useful to
Ethics in the way of helping us to understand the
environment within which the moral life is passed,
father than the nature of the moral life itself.

26 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. IL

§ 3. BIOLOGY AND ETHICS. — The relation of Biology to
Ethics is much closer than that of Physics or Chemistry,
but is essentially of the same indirect character. Many
of the most sacred of human obligations rest on physi-
ological considerations ; but the general principles on
which these obligations rest can be discussed without
any direct reference to physiological details, and would
not, in their general principles, be affected by any new
physiological discoveries.

Some recent writers, under the influence of the theory
of evolution,1 have represented the connection of
Biology with Ethics as being of a much more fund-
amental character than that which has now been in-
dicated. It has been thought that the criterion of good
or bad conduct is to be found in the tendency to pro-
mote the development of life or the reverse ; and that,
consequently, we may speak of good or bad conduct
in the lowest forms of life in quite the same sense as
in man. This is a view to which some reference will
have to be made at a later stage. In the meantime it
seems sufficient to say that conduct, in the sense in
which the term is used in Ethics, has no meaning ex-
cept with reference to a being who has a rational will ;
and that, in the case of such a being, the development
of life is but a subordinate part of the end. Conse-
quently, Biology does not appear to have any direct
bearing upon Ethics.2 The study of animal life, how-
ever, does throw a good deal of light on the develop-
ment of the moral consciousness ; but it does this only

i See especially Spencer's Principles of Ethics.

* It is only in so far as we attribute some form of self-conscious,
ness to the lower animals that we are entitled to speak of M sub«
human " Ethics. Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 212, note, and
tec below. Book I., chap, iii, § 3.

§ 4-] RELATION TO OTHER SCIENCES. 2?

In so far as animal life is studied from the psychological,
not from the purely biological, point of view.

§ 4. PSYCHOLOGY AND ETHICS. — The relation of Psy-
chology to Ethics is much closer and more important.
At the same time, the dependence of the one upon thd
other ought not to be exaggerated. As Logic deals
with the correctness of thought, so Ethics deals with
the correctness of conduct. Neither of them is directly
concerned with the process by which we come to think
or to act correctly. Still, the processes of feeling, de-
siring, and willing cannot be ignored by the student
of Ethics ; any more than the processes of general-
izing, judging, and reasoning can be ignored by the
student of Logic ; and the consideration of all these
falls within the province of the psychologist. Psycho-
logy, in fact, as I have already tried to indicate, leads
up to ethics, as it leads up to Logic and Esthetics.

In this connection, however, there is another im-
portant point to be noticed, to which reference has not
yet been made. Human conduct, as we shall find
more and more, has a social reference. Most of our
actions derive their moral significance very largely from
our relations to our fellow-men. Now Psychology, as
commonly studied, has but little bearing on this. Psy-
chology, as a rule, deals mainly with the growth of the
individual consciousness, and only refers indirectly to
the facts of social relationship. It is possible, how-
ever, to study the process of mental development from
a more social point of view. The study of language,
for instance, the study of the customs of savage peoples,
the study of the growth of institutions, etc., throw
light upon the gradual development of the human
mind in relation to its social environment. The term

28 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. II.

Sociology has been used to denote, in a comprehensive
way, the study of such social phenomena ; and, from
the point of view of Ethics, this study of the facts of
mind in relation to society has a more direct interest
than purely individual Psychology.

§ 5. LOGIC, ESTHETICS, AND ETHICS. — These three
sciences, as I have already pointed out, are essen-
tially cognate. They are all normative, not positive :
they are concerned, that is to say, not with the inves-
tigation of facts and relations between facts, but with
the discussion of standards. Logic studies the standard
of Truth. It is concerned with the validity of various
processes of thought. Esthetics and Ethics, again, may
be said to be concerned with value or worth. ^Esthetics
considers the standard of Beauty, or as we may perhaps
say, worth for feeling. Ethics considers the standard
of goodness, ;'. e. value or worth from the point of
view of action — valour, as we might put it. Validity,
Value, Valour, might almost be said to be the subjects of
the three sciences ; but this of course is something of a
play on words. At any rate they are very closely re-
lated to one other. Ethics might almost be described
as the Logic of conduct — i. e. it considers the condi-
tions of the consistency of conduct with the ideal ' in-

1 As we have had frequent occasion to use this term Ideal, and
shall have to use it frequently in the sequel, it may be well to enter
a caution at this point against a misconception to which it is liable.
An Ideal means a type, model, or standard ; and that which is ideal
is that which is normal, that which conforms to its type or standard.
The adjective " ideal," however, corresponds to the two nouns
" Idea " and " Ideal," and there is a certain ambiguity in its use. As
corresponding to "idea" (in the sense made current in English by
Locke, Berkeley and Hume) it is apt to be understood as referring to
that which is merely fancied, as distinguished from that which
exists in fact (The more correct philosophical use, in this sense, is

£ 5-] RELATION OF OTHER SCIENCES. 29

rolved in it, just as Logic considers the conditions of
the consistency of thought with the standards that it
implies. Again, the study of the Good is also closely
related to the study of the Beautiful. Indeed, so close
is the connection between the two conceptions that
the Greeks used the same word, TO xaX6v, indifferently
to express beauty and moral nobility. The phrase
"beauty of holiness " also occurs in Hebrew literature ;
and in modern times we sometimes meet with such
expressions as "beautiful soul," "a beautiful life," and
the like — though these expressions generally refer
rather to religious piety than to purely moral excellence,
and even in that reference strike us perhaps as savour-
seen in such phrases as " ideal content," " ideal construction," "ideal
synthesis," and the like.) Thus, when Byron speaks of " ideal woe"
he means imaginary woe, woe of which the ground is purely fanciful
And indeed this meaning clings even to the noun " Ideal," and to
"ideal" as an adjective corresponding to that noun. An artist's
Ideal is apt to be understood as meaning a type of beauty which is
nowhere to be found existing. The ideal, in fact, comes to be un-
derstood in the sense of a poetic vision,

" The light that never was on sea or land,
The consecration and the poet's dream,"

In this sense also an Ideal state, like Plato's Republic, is contrasted
with actually existing conditions. Now this use of the word is apt
to be very misleading in Ethics. In order to avoid such confusion
it is well for the student to think of the moral Ideal, not in relation
to Ideal States or the artist's Ideal, but rather in relation to the
logical Ideal The Ideal of correct thinking is not something in the
air, but is something that is realized every time we think at all ; for
to think wrongly is to a certain extent not to think. Similarly the
moral ideal may be said to be realized every time we truly act It
is important that we should get rid of the habit of thinking of the
Ideal as something " too good to be true," and learn to think of it
rather as the determining principle in reality. (See Hegel's Logic,
Wallace's Translation, p. n.) The point of this may become more
apparent in the sequel

$O ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. IL

ing a little of cant I have already indicated that tha
Greek philosophers got into some trouble through their
failure to distinguish clearly between moral conduct
and art ; and the sharper separation in modern times
between the two conceptions marks an advance in
scientific clearness. When the moral life is regarded
as beautiful, it is looked at from a somewhat external
point of view, as if it were a result rather than an act
of will ; and it was no doubt partly because the Greek*
had not fully reached the inner point of view (for which
we are largely indebted to Christianity) that they were
tempted to regard the moral life as if it were simply an
artistic product. When we regard morality as involv-
ing a struggle of the will, it can scarcely impress us as
beautiful. In .the religious sense also, when we speak
of the beauty of holiness, beautiful souls, and beauti-
ful lives, we are generally thinking of the persons re-
ferred to as if they ' ' flourished " rather than lived, as
if they were passive products rather than active pro-
ducers. Still, it cannot be denied that the contempla-
tion of a life of eminent virtue yields us a certain
aesthetic satisfaction ; and from certain points of view
it is tempting, even for a modern writer, to regard
virtue as a kind of beauty. The consideration of the
relation between the Good and the Beautiful is, how-
ever, too difficult a subject to be taken up at this point ;
and we must, at any rate, reserve the discussion of it
for the present

§ 6. METAPHYSICS AND ETHICS. — The consideration of
validity and value leads inevitably to the problem of
reality. In the case of thought we may be satisfied
for a time with the mere consideration of its formal
self-consistency. But this is soon found to be unsatia-

§ 7-] RELATION TO OTHER SCIENCES. 3!

factory ; and we pass on, as in what is called Inductive
Logic, to the question of the conditions of the consist-
ency of thought with the facts of nature. This again
leads us on to the discussion of the ultimate nature of
reality. Similarly, in dealing with the Beautiful, we
may at first be content to regard it as the pleasant ; but
we are soon led to inquire how far the pleasantness
of objects is illusory and how far it rests upon their
essential nature. Thus in both these cases we are led
on into metaphysical inquiries. So it is in the case of
Ethics. When we ask what constitutes the value or
active worth of human life we are soon led into the
question of the essential nature of human personality
and its place in the universe of actual existence. It is
possible, no doubt, to proceed a certain length in Logic,
./Esthetics, and Ethics without insisting upon an answer
to the ultimate problems of ontology ; but they all lead
us on inevitably into these problems.

§ 7. ETHICS AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. — So far we
have been referring to the sciences upon which Ethics
may be said to rest. We have now to notice depart-
ments of study which rest upon Ethics. These may
all be brought under the general heading of political or
social Philosophy. As I have already remarked, the
study of conduct leads us inevitably into the study
of social life. An entirely solitary human being is in-
conceivable. A man is always a member of some
kind of community. As Aristotle said, he is a poli-
tical animal (nohruov C£«v). Hence the science of
Ethics is very closely related to that of Politics. We
cannot well consider the virtues of the individual with-
out considering also the society to which he is related,
and the ways in which it may help or hinder the devel-

32 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. ii

opment of his life. The ideal also which we lay down
for the individual will necessarily suggest an ideal
arrangement of society, which will be best fitted to
enable the individual to realize his highest aims. For
this reason, Aristotle even went so far as to say that
Ethics is essentially a part of Politics. If we accept
this statement, however, we must employ the term
Politics in a very wide sense. In this wide sense it is
perhaps better to use the term Social Philosophy. But
even in the narrower sense of the term, it is evident
that the relation of Ethics to Politics must be a very
intimate one.1

§ 8. ETHICS AND ECONOMICS. — Among the departments
of Political Philosophy to which Ethics is thus closely
related there is one to which great importance has been
attached in recent times — the science of Political Econ-
omy. Economics, like Ethics, is concerned with goods,
i. e. with things having value with reference to certain
human ends. But while the goods with which Ethics
deals are those acts which are the conditions of the
attainment of the highest end of life, economic goods
are merely those objects which are the means of sat-
isfying any human want. It follows that if we are
really to understand the worth of economic goods, we
must consider them in close relation to the ethical
good. Food, for instance, clothing, house room, and
the like, are economic goods ; and they serve a variety
of purposes — the support of life, the development of
life, the prolongation of life, the promotion of enjoy-
ment, the attainment of independence, the furtherance
of peace, decency, and security, and so on. And the

i C/. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 40 sqq* and sec below,
Book III., chaps. L and ii.

§ 9-] RELATION TO OTHER SCIENCES. 33

worth of the goods will depend on the importance of
these ends. Now the importance of these ends can
be ascertained only by observing their relation to the
supreme end of our lives. Hence a certain knowledge
of Ethics is presupposed in the intelligent study of
Economics. This truth has frequently been overlooked.
The study of Economics has too often been conducted
in such a way as to suggest that Wealth is an end in
itself; and this has had the practical result of retarding
social reforms, and encouraging those who are already
too much prepared to pursue riches at any price. For
this reason some of the leading writers on Political
Economy have been severely criticised by Carlyle and
Ruskin a*nd other moralists ; and it is now generally
recognized that the two sciences of Ethics and Econo-
mics must be brought into closer relationship to one
another, at least if Economics is to be treated as, in
any degree, normative and practical. J

§ 9. ETHICS AND PEDAGOGICS. — Ethics ought also to
throw an important light on the science of Education.
The reader has probably already discovered, from his
previous course of philosophic study, that the science
of psychology has a good deal to say that bears on
Education. Psychology, however, is chiefly con-
cerned with the various capacities of the human mind
and the method of their development. The light
which it throws on mental Education is similar to that
which is thrown by physiology on physical Education.
The question as to what qualities it is most desirable

this subject, cf. Keynes's Scope and Melhod of Political Econ-
omy, chap. ii. For a more extreme view, see Devas's Political
Economy, Book IV., chap. v. Cf. International Journal of Ethics,
Vol. III., no. 3, and VoL VII., no. 2.

Eth. j

34 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. II.

to evoke and strengthen must obviously depend on
our view of the qualities which the good citizen ought
to possess, and generally on our view of the nature of
the ethical end. '

§ 10. CONCLULING REMARK. — These notes on the
relationship between Ethics and other sciences are
necessarily somewhat fragmentary, and perhaps the
student may not find them very enlightening, especi-
ally at the beginning of his course. They may serve,
however, to indicate the wider bearings of the science,
and to prepare the way for the consideration of the
divisions into which the study of it naturally falls.
Possibly also if the student will return upon this
chapter, after having gone through the body of the
treatise, he may then be better able to appreciate the
points to which reference has here been made.

1 Mrs. Bryant has written a valuable book on Educational Ends
which brings out with considerable fulness the bearing of ethical
considerations on the subject of Education. Similarly, Milton's
Tractate on Education is written throughout with reference to an
ethical ideal. Cf. also Bacon's De Augmenhs, Book VII. and many
other works of a similar character. The recent book by Professor
MacCunn on The Making of Character is now probably the best work
we have in English on th» ethical aspects of Education.

§ I.] THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT. 3$

CHAPTER III.

THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT.

§ 1. GENERAL REMARKS. — If we adhered quite rigidly
to the view of Ethics put forward in the first chapter,
it would hardly be necessary to introduce any divisions
in the treatment of it. It would all be concerned with
the definition of the moral ideal, the analysis of what
is involved in it, and the consideration of its validity ;
and this would practically be but a single inquiry.
But it is hardly possible to limit the subject in this
rigid way.' There are a number of considerations
which, on a strict view, might be held not properly
to belong to Ethics, but which are so essential to the
understanding of it that it is hardly possible to omit
them from any book dealing comprehensively with the
subject. The nature of these outlying considerations
has been partly indicated in the foregoing chapter;
but we have now to notice more precisely the way in
which they tend to break up the study of Ethics into
different departments.

In the first place, it is necessary to give some atten-
tion to the psychological aspects of the subject The
consideration of the nature of Feeling, Desire, Will, of
the meaning and place of Motives and Intentions in
the individual consciousness, of the origin and nature
•f conscience, of the elements contained in the moral

3$ ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. IIL

judgment, and other problems of a similar character,
is an almost indispensable preliminary to the study of
the moral ideal. Again, the treatment of these psycho-
logical questions naturally leads us on to the more
sociological aspects of the subject, i. e. to the study of
the way in which the moral consciousness grows up
in mankind in relation to the general development of
civilization in its various aspects. These genetical in-
quiries lead us on to the consideration of the nature
and significance of the moral ideal. But even the treat-
ment of this is necessarily to some extent historical.
It is hardly possible, at the present stage of the develop-
ment of ethical study, to lay down the one view that
is to be accepted as correct, without reference to the
various more or less incorrect opinions that have been
current in the course of ethical speculation. Having
considered these and formed our view as to the
general nature of the doctrine that is to be taken as
true, we are then able, finally, to consider the applica-
tion of this doctrine to the treatment of the concrete
facts of the moral life. In this way there are at least
four main divisions of the study : — (i) The Psycho-
logy of the Moral Consciousness, (2) The Sociology
of the Moral Lite, (3) The Theories of the Moral
Standard, (4) The Application of the Standard to the
treatment of the Moral Life. A part dealing with the
Metaphysics of Ethics might also be added; but this
could hardly be separated from the discussion of the
Theories of the Moral Standard, which, as we shall see,
inevitably leads us into metaphysical considerations.

A few remarks may now be made on each of these
divisions of the subject.

§ 8. THE PSYCHOLOGICAL ASPECTS OF ETHICS. — Most

§ 3-] THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT. 37

of the points that fall under this head are discussed in
treatises on Psychology, where they are more strictly
in place. But it is found convenient in ethical works
to recall some of the more important considerations on
the subject of Desire and Will, in particular, and also
to deal with the nature of conscience and the moral
judgment, which are apt to be passed over somewhat
slightly in purely psychological discussions. The
bearing of such questions as that of the freedom of the
Will on the moral judgment has also to be considered ;
and, though this is partly a metaphysical question, yet
it is on the whole the psychological aspect of it that
more directly concerns Ethics. It is, however, the
more social aspects of Psychology with which Ethics
is most intimately connected, and we are thus led to
the second division of the subject.

§ 3. THE SOCIOLOGICAL ASPECTS OF ETHICS. — The sci-
ence of Sociology is still in its infancy, and it is perhaps
premature to state precisely what it would contain ;
but we may say of it generally that it is nothing more
than an extension of psychology to the consideration
of the more social aspects of life. Such a considera-
tion has reference to much that has very little bearing
on Ethics. When we study the life of savage peoples,
the primitive facts of language, the early religious
ideas, the superstitious practices, the beginnings of
law and government, our interest is directed to many
points that do not much concern the Tightness and
wrongness of conduct. All these things, however,
are modes of conduct, or tend to affect conduct ;
and it is possible to study them from this point of view.
Also the tendency to pass judgment upon these and
other forms of activity, as being right or wrong, good

38 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. III.

or evil, begins at a very early stage in the development
of the human race; and the way in which this judg-
ment grows up is one of the most interesting points
in the study of Sociology. All this is hardly to be
described as Ethics in the stricter sense ; but it is an
almost indispensable preparation for the study of
ethical problems.

§ 4. THE THEORIES OF THE MORAL STANDARD. — The
study of Ethics in the stricter sense commences with the
consideration of the nature of the Ideal, Standard, or
End, by reference to which Conduct is pronounced to be
right or wrong, good or evil. Now there are several
different theories on this subject ; and, though some
of these theories are now generally admitted to have
been superseded, yet the leading types of theory can-
not well be neglected, the more so as these leading
types are seldom wholly erroneous, but nearly always
bring out some important aspect of the subject. At
the same time, the student should be warned against
the common error of supposing that these controver-
sies about the definition of the Standard, often rather
futile and involving a good deal of misunderstanding
on all sides, constitute the whole, or even the main
part, of ethical doctrine. In order to guard against
such a misconception, it is important to pass on to the
consideration of the way in which ethical principles
may be used in the treatment of the concrete moral
life, even if the discussion of this subject is inevitably
of a very summary and incomplete character.

§ 5. THE CONCRETE MORAL LIFE. — It will be found
that the exact way in which the concrete moral life is
to be handled by ethical science depends to a consider-
able extent on the nature of the theory which we finally

§ 5-] THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT. 39

adopt. If, for instance, we were to take the view that
the moral standard consists in certain absolute and
immutable laws which are intuitively known to every
developed consciousness, the study of the concrete
moral life could have little more than a historical
interest. We should only be able to discover that at
certain periods the nature of the moral laws has been
obscured, for various reasons, from the consciousness
of the majority of the human race ; and that at other
times the laws, though fully recognized, have been
very commonly disobeyed. These facts would be of
sociological and psychological, rather than of strictly
ethical interest. On the other hand, if we should be
led to take the view that the moral standard consists
in a certain end — say, happiness — which, though gen-
erally pursued by mankind, is not pursued consist-
ently or wisely, it would then be possible to point out,
at least in general terms, the ways in which improve-
ments could be introduced into the concrete moral life
of mankind. Rules could be laid down for the more
complete and consistent adoption of the right means
to the end that we have in view. Or, again, if we
accepted the view that the Standard is of the nature of
an Ideal that is more or less clearly present through-
out the development of the human consciousness, it
would then be possible for us to trace the ways in
which this Ideal comes into clearness, to point out how
it is illustrated in the concrete growth of the moral
life, and to indicate to some extent the directions in
which we may hope to see it more fully realized.
According to the first of these views, the study of the
concrete moral life would have hardly any ethical
interest According to the second view, the study of

40 ETHICS. [INTROD., CH. IIL

Ethics would lead directly to certain practical recom-
mendations for the remodelling of the concrete moral
life. According to the third view, it would be the main
business of Ethics to bring out the significance of the
moral life in its concrete development, rather than to
aim at its reform. Accordingly, it is not possible to
decide on the precise way in which this department of
the subject should be dealt with, until we have con-
sidered the nature of the moral Standard. This portion
of the treatment of Ethics is sometimes called Applied
Ethics.

§ 6. PLAN OF THE PRESENT WORK. — A complete treatise
on the Principles of Ethics would thus, as I conceive,
fall naturally into four distinct parts — with, possibly,
a fifth devoted to the development of the more meta-
physical aspects of the subject. The present work,
however, is only intended to serve the purpose of an
introductory sketch ; and the divisions which are here
adopted need not be of quite so elaborate a character.
As this book is intended primarily to be read by students
who have already pursued a course in Psychology, the
psychological aspects of the subject need not be very
fully developed. As regards the sociological aspects,
again, the whole science of sociology is in so unde-
veloped a condition that it would hardly be appropriate
in an elementary Text-book to make any confident
assertions about it. In a larger work various points
might fittingly be discussed which in such a book as
this are best omitted. Accordingly, all that is to be
said about these two departments of ethical study is
here compressed under the general heading of " Pro-
legomena, chiefly Psychological. " The various theories
pf morals must be dealt with somewhat more fully ;

§ 6.] THE DIVISIONS OF THE SUBJECT. 41

but here also we must content ourselves with the broad
distinctions, and leave the more minute historical details
for future study. In dealing with the concrete moral
life, we cannot attempt to do much more than indicate
the main points which it would be important to con-
sider in a more complete treatise. Finally, the meta-
physical implications of ethical theory can only be
referred to in a concluding chapter.

I.] DESIRE AND WILL. 43

BOOK I.

PROLEGOMENA, CHIEFLY PSYCHOLOGICAL,
CHAPTER L

DESIRE AND WILL.

§ 1. INTRODUCTORY REMARK. — The questions that con-
cern us in this chapter are essentially psychological ;
and most of the points on which we have to touch
will be found treated, with more or less fulness, in any
psychological handbook. But it seems necessary here
to bring out their ethical significance. What chiefly
concerns us is the nature of those activities which are
described by the terms Will, and Conduct, and the
relation of these to that general condition of conscious
life which is described as Character. But in order to
understand these it is necessary also to say something
about the relationship between Desire and Will ; and it
is to that point that the present chapter is to be de-
voted.

§ 2. GENERAL NATURE OF DESIRE. — Before we consider
the way in which our desires are related to the will, it
is necessary to determine precisely what we are to
understand by the term desire. We must not, for in-
stance, confound human desires with the mere appetites
of an animal ; and there are also several other minor

44 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. i.

distinctions which it is necessary to keep in view.
We may say, generally, that nothing is an object of
desire for a man unless it is consciously regarded as a
good : but this remark is perhaps not very enlighten-
ing ; for it would be difficult to define a good otherwise
than as an object that is consciously desired.1 The
point is, however, that in all real desire there is some
object that is consciously taken as an end. Such an
object consciously taken as an end in desire is what
we call a good. By defining in this way, we seem to
be able to avoid going round in a circle. In order to
understand this point, however, it is necessary to go
more into the details of the distinction between desire
and other modes of activity. We may conveniently
begin with those forms of activity that are lowest in
the scale of life, and pass upwards from these to the
highest forms of human desire and will.

§ 3. WANT AND APPETITE. — We may begin by distin-
guishing the appetite of an animal from the mere pres-
ence of an animal want. An animal want is in itself
of the same nature as a vegetable want. It is a blind
tendency towards particular endSj which are involved
in the development of the life of the animal, just as
they might be also in the life of a plant. We may say,
if we like, that nature wills a the realization of these
ends; but they are not consciously willed by the
animal or plant itself. In the case of an appetite, on
the other hand, there is not merely a blind tendency
towards a particular end ; but this tendency is to a

1C/. Aristotle's Ethics, I. i. I. : " The good is that at which all things
aim."

3 This conception is due to Aristotle. It is of course partly meta-
phorical, but suggests a Ideological view of the world.

§ 3-] DESIRE AND WILL. 45

certain extent present to consciousness. This con-
sciousness may appear partly in the form of a definite
presentation of the kind of object that will satisfy
a given want. The hungry lion may be more or
less clearly aware of the nature of the object that it
seeks. The plant, on the other hand, when it turns to
the sunlight, may be said to have a want ; but it can-
not be supposed to have any consciousness of the
nature of the object that will satisfy it. Even in the
case of an animal appetite, however, the conscious-
ness of the object is probably in most instances some-
what dim and vague. x The most prominent element in
the consciousness is rather the feeling of pleasure or
pain than any definite^ presentation of an object. An
unsatisfied appetite is in itself 2 painful ; whereas the
satisfaction of any appetite brings with it the feeling
of pleasure. These feelings form so characteristic and
prominent an element in animal appetites that satis-
factions of appetite are frequently referred to simply
as pleasures, while unsatisfied appetites are called
pains. A pleasure-seeker is generally understood to
be one who seeks the satisfaction of his animal ap-
petites, or of human impulses which are akin to these
appetites. A certain confusion is thus apt to arise

1 Some psychologists (of whom I gather that Mr. Stout is one)
would deny that this element is present at all.

3 It is necessary to say "in itself"; because the total effect of a
consciousness of unsatisfied want is sometimes rather pleasurable
than painful. Thus, moderate hunger in man, and perhaps even in
animals, seems often to be rather agreeable than otherwise. The
reason is probably in part that the feeling of hunger adds a pleasant
stimulus to the vital energies generally, and in part that the antici-
pation of satisfaction is easily called up by the consciousness of
want. See Note I. at the end of chap. ii.

46 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. r.

between the satisfaction of an appetite and the agree-
able feeling which accompanies it ; since both are
called pleasure. But with this confusion we need not
at present trouble ourselves.1 It is enough now to
observe that pleasure and pain are the most prominent
and characteristic features of animal appetite.*

§4. APPETITE AND DESIRE. — In the case of what is
strictly called desire, there is not merely the conscious-
ness of an object, with an accompanying feeling of
pleasure and pain, but also a recognition of the object
as a good, or as an element in a more or less clearly
defined end. 3 The hunger of an animal is different
from the mere want of nutriment in a plant ; but de-
sire for food in a man is scarcely less different from
mere hunger. A man may be hungry and yet not de-
sire food. In the desire of food there is involved, in
addition to the hunger, the representation of the food
as an end which it is worth while to secure. We may
express this by saying that desire implies a definite
point of view, whereas there is no such implication in
a mere appetite. Hunger is to all intents the same
phenomenon in the brute and in the sage ; but the de-
sires of the sage and the hero are very different from
those of the savage, the miser, or the epicure. The
desires of different men are determined by the total
nature of the point of view which the men occupy.
What they desire depends on what they like ; and what

1 See below, chap, il, §§ 7 and 8.

* Appetite is, in the Aristotelian psychology, known as *»i*Mf*.
Desire is «p«f n. But Aristotle uses optf n in a wide sense, so as to in-
clude c'viffvpt'o. De Anima, II., iii. z

• For a full discussion of this point, see Green's Prolegomena to
Ethics, Book II., chap, il Cf. also Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pjx
51-4 and Dewey's Psychology, p. 360 sqq.

§ 5-] DESIRE AND WILL. 47

they like, as Mt. Ruskin is so fond of insisting, is an
exact expression of what they are. Thus, while ordi-
nary hunger or thirst tells us nothing about the char-
acter of him who feels it, the hunger and thirst after
righteousness, or after power, or after fame, is a reve-
lation of a whole point of view. ' The desires of a per-
son, therefore, are not an isolated phenomenon, but
form an element in the totality, or, as we may say, the
universe of his character ; 2 and it is from this point of
view that we must regard them, if we are to understand
their full significance.

§ 5. UNIVERSE OF DESIRE. — What is meant by saying
that the desires of a human being form part of a " uni-
verse " may be made somewhat clearer by reference to
a similar conception in the science of Logic. It has
become a familiar thing in Logic to speak of a " uni-
verse of discourse, " 3 as signifying the sphere of refer-
ence within which a particular statement is made.
Thus a statement about " the gods " may be true with
reference to the world as depicted in the Homeric
poems, or to the world of Greek mythology generally,
but may be false or meaningless if understood with
reference to the world of ordinary fact. So too we
may make statements about griffins and unicorns in
the universe of heraldry, about fairies in the universe of
romance, about Hamlet or King Lear in the universe
of Shakespeare's plays, about Heaven and Hell and Pur-
gatory in the universe of Dante's Divine Comedy ; and
our statements may be true within these several uni«

1 Cf. Muirhead's Elcmets of Ethics, p. 52.
* Cf. Dewey's Psychology, pp. 363-4.

' See Keynes's Formal Logic, pp. 137-8, Venn's Empirical Logic, <p
\Velton*s Manual of Logic, vol i., j>p. 59-60,

48 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. I.

verses, though they would become false if taken out of
the particular universe to which they belong. Now
there is something quite analogous in the case of our
desires. Each desire also belongs to a particular uni-
verse, and loses its meaning if we pass out of that
universe into another. This universe to which a desire
belongs is the universe that is constituted by the totality
of what we call a man's character, as that character
presents itself at the time at which the desire is felt.
It is, in short, the universe of the man's ethical point of
view at the moment in question. That there are great
differences between such universes, is evident from the
judgments that we habitually pass on the representa-
tions of human conduct in poems and novels and
dramas. We are often aware that a desire which is
attributed to a fictitious personage is not such a desire
as a man of his general character and situation would
feel, or at least not such as he would feel in such a
degree as is attributed to him. It is not such a desire,
in fact, as belongs to his particular universe. And the
particular universe which we thus estimate, and which
varies so widely with the characters of different indi-
viduals, is not even one that remains constant for the
same person. We must all be aware of the different
desires that dominate our minds in different moods, in
different conditions, in different states of health. These
differences constitute what we may call a difference of
universe ; and to each such universe a different set of
desires, or at least a different arrangement of desires,
belongs. This universe may even after suddenly in
the same individual, through some sudden transforma-
tion of conditions. It is such a change that is illus-
trated in the old fable of the cat which was transformed

§ 5-] DESIRE AND WILL. 4$

into a princess, but returned again to its proper shape
on the sudden appearance of a mouse. Tke sudden
change of condition caused her to drop at once from
the universe of princess to the universe of cat. Of such
transformations life is rich in instances. There is a
German proverb that what one wishes in youth one
has to satiety in age ; but even from year to year and
from day to day — sometimes even from hour to hour —
we may find ourselves passing from one universe into
another, where what we formerly desired becomes
uninteresting, perhaps even disgusting. Any sudden
change — the news of the death of a friend, the recollec-
tion of a promise, the suggestion of a moral principle,
and the like — may carry us instantaneously from one
world into another. This is illustrated in Shakespeare's
play of Love's Labour Lost, where the announcement
of the death of the King of France brings suddenly to
a close the wit and levity of the preceding scenes, and
introduces an entirely different tone. Such a change
may fairly be referred to as a passage from one Uni-
verse to another. Or again, such a change may be
illustrated by the common transformation from a man's
Sunday view of life to that which he takes during the
rest of the week. Even a change of clothes suffices
with some men to produce a change of universe ; for
it is not always entirely true that "the cowl does not
make the monk. " *

§ 6. CONFLICT OF DESIRES. — In the preceding section
we have assumed, for the sake of simplicity, that at

1 On the nature of psychological universes the psychology of
Herbart is particularly instructive. Reference may be made to Mr.
Stout's Articles in Mind and to the same writer's Analytic Psychology
(especially chaps. VIIL, IX, and X.)

Eth.

50 ETHICS. [BK. i.t CH. L

any given moment an individual occupies a definite
point of view, or is, so to speak, an inhabitant of a
single universe. In reality, however, the content of
an individual's consciousness is not so simple. There
are nearly always several points of view present to a
given individual at a given moment ; or, at any rate,
several points of view alternate with one another so
rapidly, that they may practically be regarded as pre-
sent together. A statesman, for instance, may be in-
fluenced in his conduct by motives derived from many
different universes. He may occupy the universe
which is constituted by the consideration of the good
of his country ; and from this point of view he may
strongly desire to see certain measures carried out.
But at the same time he may be not uninfluenced by
considerations drawn from very different universes.
He may occupy also a universe constituted by his own
personal ambition, by the welfare of his family, by the
wishes of his constituency, by a view of duty to the
world (as distinguished from his own country), per-
haps also by religious considerations. He may occupy
alternately, and almost simultaneously, all these dif-
ferent points of view ; and very various desires may
arise in his mind in consequence. It is probable that
some of these desires will conflict with others. From
one point of view he may desire peace, from another
war : from one point of view he may set his heart on
liberty, from another on order. It then comes to be a
question which of these ends the man will finally
choose. Now it is often said that in such cases a man
will naturally, or even necessarily, be influenced by
the strongest desire or motive. But it must be observed
that this mode of statement is misleading. It implie*

§6.] DESIRE AND WILL. $1

that a desire is an isolated thing ; whereas in reality it
forms part of a universe or system. Consequently, the
real strength of a desire does not depend on its own
individual liveliness or force, but rather on the force
of the universe or system to which it belongs. Thus a
man might be strongly desirous of war from a feeling
of hatred towards a foreign power. But if the man
were of such a character that the sense of duty was
more dominant in him than the feeling of personal
hatred, he might decide for peace, though the desire
for peace in itself did not strongly influence him. The
latter desire would conquer, not because it was in
itself the stronger, but because it formed a part of a
stronger universe or system. x Of course a strong de-
sire gives strength to the universe to which it belongs ;
but the final triumph of a desire depends not on its own
individual dominance, but on the dominance of its
universe. How in particular individuals one universe
comes to be dominant rather than another, is a ques-
tion rather for Psychology than for Ethics. In so far as
it concerns Ethics, it will be touched upon in some future
sections of this book.* In the meantime, what it is
important to note is merely that a desire is not an
isolated phenomenon but a part of a system ; and that
conlequently a conflict of desires is in reality a conflict
between two or more universes of desire. 3

* Cf. Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II., chap. L, § 105, p. 108.

* See, for instance, Book III., chap. vL

* Cf. Dewey's Psychology, pp. 364-5 : " It is important to notice
that it is a strife or conflict which goes on in the man himself ; it is a
conflict of himself with himself [i. e., in our language, a conflict of him
•elf as one universe with himself as another universe] ; it is not a con-
flict of himself with something external to him, nor of one impulse
with another impulse, he meanwhile remaining a passive spectator

$2 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. L

§ 7. DESIRE AND WISH. — The terms "desire" and
" wish " are frequently used as synonymous ; but there
is a slight difference in the usage of the terms, and it
seems desirable to employ them in Ethics in distinct
senses. We may say briefly that a wish is an effective
desire. The meaning of this will be more apparent
when it is considered in relation to what has just been
said with regard to universes of desire and the conflict
between them. It has been stated that any given
desire belongs to a system or universe, and that various
such systems may exist simultaneously and come into
conflict with one another. When such conflicts occur,
certain desires predominate over others ; some are sub-
ordinated or sink into abeyance. Now it may be con-
venient to limit the term " wish" to those desires that
predominate or continue to be effective. A hungry
man may be said to have a desire for food ; but this
desire may be dominant only within the universe of
animal inclination. The desire may be kept in abey-
ance by a sense of religious obligation, by devotion
to work, or by some overmastering passion. In such
cases we may say that the man no longer vrishes for
food, though a desire for food continues to exist in his
consciousness as an element in a subordinate universe
—held, as it were, in leash. A desire, then, \fhich

awaiting the conclusion of the struggle. What gives the conflict of
desires its whole meaning is that it represents the man at strife with
himself. He is the opposing contestants as well as the battle-field"
This last expression was no doubt suggested to Prof. Dewey by a very
striking passage in Hegel's Philosophy of Religion (I. 64), in which ha
says : " I am not one of the combatants, but rather both of the com.
batants and also the combat itself * ; cr, as Principal Caird renders it
(Philosophy of Religion, chap, ijc, p. 262) : " I am at once the combat
•ati and *h** conflict and *he held that is torn with the ttrif **

§8.] DESIRE AND WILL. 53

has become ineffective, is not to be described as a
wish. '

§ 8. WISH AND WILL. — If it is important to distin-
guish an effective wish from a mere latent desire, it is
still more important to distinguish a wish from a defi-
nite act of will. It might seem at first that if a wish is
a dominant desire it must always issue in, will. But
this is not the case. The reason is that a wish is often
of an abstract character, directed towards some single
element in a concrete event, without reference to the
accompanying circumstances. In order, on the other
hand, that an event may be willed, it has to be accepted
in its concrete totality. When Lady Anne, in Shake-
speare's King Richard III., says to the Duke of Glou-
cester,

* Though I wish thy death,
I will not be the executioner," *

the contrast between wish and will is well brought out.
The wish for the death is a mere abstract wish, since
it does not include the means by which the death might
be brought about.2 On the other hand, when a total
concrete effect is willed, it may include many elements

1 1 use the term wish, it will be observed, in a sense almost cor-
responding to the Aristotelian ^OU'A^I? (as distinguished from «p<£ i?).
See, for instance, De Anima, III., ix. 3, III., x. 3, &&• E. Wallace
translates 0ovAT)<n« " settled wish." It should be observed, however,
that " wish " is not always understood in this way by Psychologists.
Often no distinction is drawn between Desire and Wish ; and when
a distinction is drawn, it is frequently drawn in a different way (some-
times almost in the opposite way)

'Often, of course, the means are entirely beyond our power.
Thus, we may wish for a change of weather, or to live some part of
our past lives over again. Here the wish cannot pass into will,
because, as soon as we think of the means, we see that they are out
of reach.

54 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. i.

that are not in themselves wished, and even elements
to which the agent's wishes are strenuously opposed.
This also may be illustrated from Shakespeare. When
the apothecary, in Romeo and Juliet, says to Romeo,
on agreeing to sell him the poison,

" My poverty, but not my will, consents,"1

what he means is evidently that hiszwsA does not con-
sent. He does will the sale of the poison — he accepts
that concrete act — but he wishes it were not necessary
for him to do so. The dominant single desire, we may
say, is opposed to the s^le of the poison (/'. e. if we as-
sume that the apothecary was honest in his declara-
tion) ; but the dominant universe of desire is that which
is constituted by his poverty, and by this he is led to
will the sale. Briefly, then, we may say that a wish
is a dominant single desire ; whereas the will depends
on the dominance of a universe of desire.*

§ 9. WILL AND ACT. — Another important distinction is
that between the mere Will (*'. e. the mere intention,
purpose, or resolution) and the carrying of it into act.
A resolution has always reference to something that is
more or less future. Sometimes it refers to the im-
mediate future, and is carried into effect at once. At
other times it refers to the remote future, and remains
in abeyance till the proper time arrives. In the latter
case the purpose may never be carried into effect at all.
An intention or resolution is always something more
than a mere wish : it is the definite acceptance of a

* This passage is discussed in Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, § 143,
p. 148. "The will," Green says, "is only the strong competing wish
which does not suffice to determine action."

* This use of the term will seems to correspond pretty closely to
the Aristotelian irpo<u>«ri«.

§ 9-] DESIRE AND WILL. 55

concrete event as an object to be aimed at. But if this
event is remote, the purpose may lie within one uni-
verse and the carrying of it out within another. When
the time for action comes, the conditions may have
changed. At the lowest there will be this change, that
what was formerly presented merely in anticipative
imagination is now presented as an actual fact To
resolve to make a confession, for instance, is one
thing : actually to make it, in the presence of those to
whom it has to be made, is often a very different thing.
In the former case the accompanying circumstances
are only presented in an imaginative and partly sym-
bolic way : in the latter case they are actually present
to sense. Now, the actual facts may not correspond
to the anticipation. Those to whom the confession
was to be made, for instance, may be found to be in a
different mood from what was expected. And even if
the anticipation proves substantially correct, still, in
the actual presentation we may be impressed by ac-
cessory circumstances of which we had not taken any
particular account. The man who resolves to get up
at an early hour may not have thought particularly
about the coldness of the morning air, or about the
pleasantness of lying in bed ; whereas, when the time
comes, these may be among the most impressive
circumstances. Or, again, when Lady Macbeth in-
tended to murder Duncan, it did not occur to her that
he might resemble her father. So, too, when Hamlet
resolved to carry out the behests of the Ghost, he did
not think of all the doubts that might suggest them-
selves to his mind after the Ghost had vanished. Thus
"enterprises of great pith and moment," as well as
more insignificant designs, may be frustrated by a

$6 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. L

change of universe; and the "best intentions," or the
worst, may lead to nothing.1 This is especially true
when the purpose is one that carries great conse-
quences in its train, involving perhaps a complete
change of the world within which we have been living.
In such a case the changed world cannot be with any
completeness imagined, and some very small circum-
stance may easily give a completely new turn to our
thoughts. The "insurrection " * by which the universe
within which we are living is to be overthrown cannot
be at once carried out, and we cannot with any
thoroughness think ourselves into the new conditions
that are to arise. Thus a mere resolution is still far
from being an act.* What is commonly called "force
of will " means the power of carrying resolutions into
act. This power depends largely on the habit of fixing
our attention upon the salient features of an object that
is aimed at, and not allowing ourselves to be distracted
by subordinate conditions. Hence, narrow-minded or
hard-hearted men have often more "force of will," in
this sense, than those who take wider views. But a
wide-minded man may also acquire " force of M'ill " by
taking a clear and decided view of the circumstances

• Cf. below, Book III., chap. vL, § 3.

• Cf. Shakespeare's Julius Ccesar, Act II., scene L, 1L 63 sqq.

" Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream :
The Genius and the mortal instruments
Are then in council ; and the State of man,
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection."

• For an admirable summary of the elements involved in an act of
•rill, sec M airhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 4&-5Q.

§ II.] DESIRE AND WILL. 57

that are important, and thus eliminating insignificant
details.

§ 10. THE MEANING OF PURPOSE. — When Will is regarded
in relation to the end at which it aims, it is called Pur-
pose. This term, however, is sometimes used also to
describe the end itself, rather than the fact of aiming at
an end. Purpose should be carefully distinguished from
those tendencies to action which accompany appetite,
desire, and wish. Action based on appetite is generally
described as impulsive ; but this term is sometimes used
also with reference to actions that issue from desire.
We may use the terms Blind Impulse and Conscious
Impulse to mark the distinction. The tendency of a
wish, again, to issue in action is most properly de-
scribed by the term Inclination. When we are inclined
to do anything, we are not merely conscious of an
impulse to do it, but we to a certain extent approve the
impulse ; though it maybe that, on reflection, we may
resolve not to follow it. A Purpose or Resolution is
thus distinguished from an Impulse (whether Blind or
Conscious) and from an Inclination.

§11. WILL AND CHARACTER. — "A character," said
Novalis, " is a completely fashioned will." Character
may be said, in the language we have just been using,
to consist in the continuous dominance of a definite
universe. A man of good character is one in whom
the universe of duty habitually predominates. A miser
is one in whom the dominant universe is that which is
constituted by the love of money. A fanatic is one in
whom some particular universe is so entirely dominant
as to shut out entirely other important points of view.
And in like manner all other kinds of character may bo
described by reference to the nature of the universe that

58 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. i.

is dominant in them. When Pope said that "Most
women have no characters at all," he meant that the
universes of desire in which they live are so continually
varying that no one of them can be said to be habit-
ually dominant. And certainly it is the case that
most men, as well as most women, cannot be ac-
counted for by so simple an explanation as the exclu-
sive dominance of such ' ' ruling passions " as Pope dealt
with. In the case of most actual human beings what
we have is not so much any one universe that decidedly
predominates as a number of universes that stand to
one another in certain definite relations. The different
relations in which they stand to one another constitute
the differences of character. How it comes that now
one, and now another, predominates, is, as we have
already remarked, a question rather for Psychology
than for Ethics. The habitual modes of action that
accompany a formed character are described by the
term Conduct. The meaning of this we shall have to
discuss almost immediately. *

1 Mr. Stout's article on ' ' Voluntary Action " {Mindt New Series,
Vol. V., no. 19) will be found in the highest degree instructive on
several of the points referred to in this chapter, as well as on some
of those that are dealt with in the following chapters. See also the
closing chapter of his Manual of Psychology .

§ I.] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 59

CHAPTER IL

MOTIVE AND INTENTION.

§ 1. PRELIMINARY REMARKS. — So far we have been
considering the general nature of the relationship
between Desire and Will. It is now necessary that we
should direct our attention to the nature of the end
involved in Volition ; and, in particular, that we
should consider the important distinction between an
Intention and a Motive. This is a point on which a
good deal of discussion has turned ; and, owing to
the great difficulties that are involved in it, it is a
point that requires very careful study. First, then, we
must try to understand exactly what Intention and
Motive mean.

§ 2. THE MEANING OF INTENTION. — The term Inten-
tion corresponds pretty closely to the term Purpose.
Indeed, they are sometimes used as synonymous.
But Purpose seems to refer rather to the mental
activity, and Intention to the end towards which the
mental activity is directed. Intention, understood in
this sense, means anything which we purpose to
bring about. Now what we thus purpose is often
a very complicated result. We may aim at some
external end, i. e. at the accomplishment of some
change in the physical world — e. g. the building of a
house ; or in the social system within which we live—

60 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. n.

e. g". the overthrow of a government ; or, again, we
may aim at the bringing about of some state of our
own minds, or at the realization of some principle.
Some distinctions between different kinds of Intention
may help to make this clear.

In the first place, we may distinguish between the
immediate and the remote intentions of an act Thus,
two men may both have the immediate intention of
saving a third from drowning ; but the one may wish
to save him from drowning simply in order that his
life may be preserved, whereas the other may wish
to save him from drowning in order that he may be
reserved for hanging. ' In this case, while the imme-
diate intentions are the same, the remote intentions
are very different. The remote intention of an act is
sometimes called the motive ; but this use of the term
seems to be incorrect.

In the second place, we may distinguish between
the outer and the inner intention of an act. This may
be illustrated by the familiar story of Abraham
Lincoln and the pig that he helped out of a ditch. On
being praised for this action, Lincoln is said to have
replied that he did it, not for the sake of the pig, but
rather on his own account, in order to rid his mind
of the uncomfortable thought of the animal's distress.
Here the outer intention was to rescue the animal,
while the inner intention was to remove an uncom-
fortable feeling from the mind. The inner intention,
in this instance, is evidently only a particular case of
the remote intention ; but it is not so in every in-
ttance. Thus if a man were to endeavour to produce

»C/. Hill's Utilitarianism, chap, il p. 27, nofe

§ 2.] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 6l

a certain feeling in his mind — say, of penitence or
of faith — with the view of securing the favour of
Heaven, the immediate intention would be an inner
one, while the remote intention would be outer. The
inner intention of an act, like the remote intention, is
sometimes apt to be confounded with the motive.

In the third place, we may distinguish between the
direct and the indirect intention of an act. If a Nihilist
seeks to blow up a train containing an Emperor and
others,1 his direct intention may be simply the de-
struction of the Emperor, but indirectly also he in-
tends the destruction of the others who are in the
train, since he is aware that their destruction will be
necessarily included along with that of the Emperor.

In the fourth place, we may distinguish between
the conscious and the unconscious intention of an act.
To what extent any intention can be unconscious, is
a question for psychology. By an unconscious inten-
tion is here understood simply an intention which the
agent does not definitely avow to himself. A man's
conduct is often in reality profoundly influenced by
such intentions. Thus the intention which he avows
to himself may be that of promoting the well-being of
mankind, while in reality he may be much more
strongly influenced by that of advancing his own
reputation.

In the fifth place, we may distinguish between the
formal and the material intention of an act. The
material intention means the particular result as a
realized fact ; the formal intention means the principle
embodied in the fact. Two men may both aim at the

i Cf. Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book III., chap. I, $ a (p. xa,
•otea),

62 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. n

overthrow of a particular governmeni Their material
intentions are in that case the same. But the one
may aim at its overthrow because he thinks it too
progressive, the other because he thinks it too con-
servative. The intentions of the two men are in this
case very different formally, though their actions
(which may consist simply in the giving of a vote)
may be materially the same.

These distinctions are given here, not as being an
exhaustive list, but simply with the view of bringing
out the complications that may be involved in a pur-
pose. It is important to bring them out, since,
otherwise, the relation between motive and intention
can hardly be explained.

Summing up, then, we may say, that an intention,
in the broadest sense of the term, means any aim that
is definitely adopted as an object of will ; and that
such intentions may be of various distinct kinds.

§ 3. MEANING OF MOTIVE. — The term " motive " is not
less ambiguous than "intention." The motive means,
of course, what moves us or causes us to act in a par-
ticular way. Now there is an ambiguity in the term
"cause." A cause may be either efficient or final.
The efficient cause of a man's movements, for instance,
is the action of certain nerves, muscles, &c. ; the final
cause is the desired end, the reaching of a destination
or the production of a result. There is a similar ambi-
guity in the use of the term "motive."1 A motive
may be understood to mean either that which impels
or that which induces us to act In a particular way.

In the former sense, we say that we are moved by

» C/. Muirhead'a Elements of Ethics, pp. 3&-6a

§ 3.] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 63

feeling or emotion. Thus we say that a man's motive
was anger, or jealousy, or fear, or pity, or pleasure, ort
pain. Some writers ' have even maintained that pleasure
and pain are the only ultimate motives. This view we
shall shortly require to consider. In the meantime we
have simply to remark that it is no doubt true that men
are sometimes moved to action by feeling. In conduct
on which a moral judgment can be passed, however,
a man is never solely moved by feeling. If a man is
entirely " carried away " by feeling — by anger or fear,
for instance — he cannot properly be said to act at all,
any more than a stone acts when a man throws it at
an object We may judge the character of a man who
is carried away by feeling or passion : we may say
that he ought not to have allowed himself to be so
carried away ; but if he is entirely mastered by his
passion, we cannot pass a moral judgment on his act,
any more than on the act of a madman, or one who is
drunk. Moral activity or conduct is purposeful action ;
and action with a purpose is not simply moved by
feeling : it is moved rather by the thought of some end
to be attained. This leads us to the second, and more
correct, sense in which the term "motive" may be

used.

The distinction may be made clear by considering
the case of a man who is " moved by pity " to give
assistance to a fellow-creature in distress. The mere
feeling of pity is evidently not sufficient to move us to
action. It may serve as an element in the efficient
cause of action — /'. e. the man who has a keen sense of
pity may be more readily impelled to action than the
one whose feeling is comparatively blunt But the
i E. g. Bentham.

64 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. IL

feeling itself is not a sufficient inducement to action.
By itself, it moves at the utmost to tears — as, for in«
stance, in the theatre, when we witness imaginary dis-
tresses. When a man is moved to action, he must
have, besides the mere feeling, the conception of an
end to be attained. He perceives a fellow-creature,
for instance, in a wretched plight, and sees that, by a
certain effort, the man might be put in a more favour-
able position. The putting of the man in this more
favourable position presents itself to his mind as a
desirable end ; and the thought of this desirable end
induces him to act in a particular way. If he feels
pity, in addition, this may impel him the more readily
to such an action ; but the feeling of pity is not, by
itself, the inducement to the action, ;'. e. the motive
in the more correct sense. The motive, that which
induces us to act, is the thought of a desirable end.1
§ 4. RELATION BETWEEN MOTIVES AND INTENTIONS.-—

1 So also when, in Goldsmith's ballad,

" The dog, to gain some private ends.
Went mad, and bit the man,"

the motive was constituted by the gaining of some private ends, not
by the mere madness. Cf. Tucker's Light of Nature, chap. v. The
view of Motive given above seems to be essentially that of Aristotle,
when he says (DeAnima, III. x.4) i« «?« T& opexrov ("it is always
the desired object that moves to action " ). Some writers, however,
still object to this use of the term. See, for instance, the discussions
in the International Journal of Ethics, VoL IV., Nos. i and z Pro-
fessor Ritchie maintains there (p. 236) that " 'desire' is the genus of
which 'motive* is a species. The differentia of 'motive' is the
presence of a conception of an end." But surely this must be
erroneous. Surely all desire involves a conception of an end. It is
right to add that the term " motive " seems originally to have beeq
used for any efficient cause of movement It appears to be used iq
ttut way in Shakespeare's description of Cressida—

§4-] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 6$

From what has now been said, it is evident that th«
relation between motives and intentions is a very close
one. The motive of our act is that which induces us
to perform it. Now it is evident that this must be in-
cluded in the intention, in the broadest sense of that
term, but need not be, and generally will not be, iden-
tical with the whole of it. * What induces us to perform
an act is always something that we hope to achieve
by it ; a but there may be much that we expect to
achieve by it (and even that we consciously intend to
achieve by it) which would not serve as an inducement
to its performance, and which might even serve as an
inducement not to perform it. The motive of a reform-
er may be partly that of improving the state of man-
kind and partly that of acquiring fame for himself.
Both of these ends form part of his intention, in the
widest sense of the term. But he may also be well
aware that the result of his action will be, for a time,
" not to send peace on the earth, but a sword." He
may anticipate a certain amount of confusion and
misery as the immediate result of his action, and per-
haps also of persecution for himself. If he clearly

" Her wanton spirits look out
At every joint and motive of her body."

But here, as in so many other cases, the meaning of the word has
been gradually modified, partly to suit the conyeniences of ordinary
life, and partly to meet the requirements of science.

1 Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 61. When Prof. Dewey
(Outlines of Ethics, p. 9) says that " the foreseen, the ideal conse-
quences are the end of the act, and as such form the motive," he
appears to identify the motive with the whole intention. This seems
to me to be erroneous, or at least to be an inconvenient use of the
term. For the meaning of " ideal " in this phrase of Prof. DeweyX
see above, Introduction, chap, ii., § 5, note.

* Except of course when we are impelled by mere feeling or passio*
Eth.

66 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IL

foresees that these results will ensue on his action, it
can scarcely be said that he does not intend them. He
deliberately accepts them as being inevitably involved
in the good result which he hopes to achieve. Bwt
assuredly we may say that these evil consequences
form no part of his motive in endeavouring to achieve
the good result. Or, to take a still simpler case, when
Brutus helped to kill Caesar, in order to save his coun-
try,1 he certainly intended to kill Caesar, but the killing
of Caesar was no part of his motive.

The motive of an act, then, is a part of the intention,
in the broadest sense of that term, but does not neces-
sarily include the whole of the intention. Adopting
the distinctions that have been drawn in section 2, we
may say that the motive generally includes the greater
part of the remote intention, but frequently does not
include much of the immediate intention ; that it
generally includes the direct intention, but not the
indirect ; that it nearly always includes the formal
intention, but often not much of the material intention ;
and that it may be either outer or inner, conscious or
unconscious.

§ 5. Is THE MOTIVE ALWAYS PLEASURE ? — We are now
in a position to deal with the question, to which
allusion has already been made, whether the motive
to action is always pleasure. This question must be
carefully distinguished, at the outset, from the question
whether pleasure is always involved in the presentation
of any motive. This distinction has been expressed
as that between taking pleasure in an idea and aiming

* Assuming the view taken by Plutarch and Shakespeare to b«
Correct For a different view of Brutus, see Froude's Ccesar.

§ 6.] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 67

at the idea of pleasure. It is probably true that every-
thing at which we aim is thought of as pleasant. We
take pleasure in the idea of accomplishing our end.
To say this is obviously a very different thing from
saying that the idea of pleasure is the end at which we
aim, or that pleasure is always that which serves as
the inducement to action.1 The former view would
be generally accepted by all psychologists ; the latter
is the doctrine of those who are known as Psychological
Hedonists. This doctrine is expressed, for instance, in
the following passage from Bentham,2 "Nature has
placed man under the empire of pleasure and of pain.
We owe to them all our ideas ; we refer to them all
our judgments, and all the. determinations of our life.
He who pretends to withdraw himself from this sub-
jection knows not what he says. His only object is
to seek pleasure and to shun pain, even at the very
instant that he rejects the greatest pleasures or em-
braces pains the most acute. These eternal and
irresistible sentiments ought to be the great study of
the moralist and the legislator. The principle of utility
subjects everything to these two motives." Here we
have a clear statement of the view that pleasure and
pain are the only possible motives to action, the only
ends at which we can aim. This is the view that we
have now to consider.

§ 6. PSYCHOLOGICAL HEDONISM. —Psychological He-
donism is the theory that the ultimate object of desire
is pleasure. The best known exponent of this doctrine

1 It is probably true, as Mr. Bradley has urged, that the idea of
pleasure is always pleasant (see Mind, New Series, VoL IV, no. 14).
But this does not affect the present point

• Principles of Le&slation, chap. I.

68 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. II.

is John Stuart Mill* In the fourth chapter of his book
on Utilitarianism he reasons in the following way.
" And now to decide whether this is really so ; whether
mankind do desire nothing for itself but that which is
a pleasure to them, or of which the absence is a pain ;
we have evidently arrived at a question of fact and
experience, dependent, like all similar questions, upon
evidence. It can only be determined by practised
self-consciousness and self-observation, assisted by
observation of others. I believe that these sources of
evidence, impartially consulted, will declare that desir-
ing a thing and finding it pleasant, aversion to it and
thinking of it as painful, are phenomena entirely insep-
arable, or rather two parts of the same phenomenon ;
in strictness of language, two different modes of naming
the same psychological fact : that to think of an object
as desirable (except for the sake of its consequences),
and to think of it as pleasant, are one and the same
thing ; and that to desire anything, except in propor-
tion as the idea of it is pleasant, is a physical and
metaphysical impossibility." This passage has been
well criticised by Dr. Sidgwick in his Methods of Ethics
(Book I., chap. iv.). He says — "Mill explains that
' desiring a thing and finding it pleasant, are, in strict-*

1 Nearly all Hedonists, however, especially egoistic Hedonists,
have with more or less clearness adopted this position. For a general
historical exposition of the Hedonistic point of view, the student may
be referred to Lecky's History of European Morals, chap. L, and
Watson's Hedonistic Theories, from Aristippus to Spencer. The chief
living exponent of psychological Hedonism is Professor Bain. See
his Menial and Moral Science, Book IV., chap, iv., and The Emotions
and the Will, "The Will," chap. viii. Dr. Bain, however, admits that
it is possible, " for moments," to aim at other things than pleasure,
On the general meaning of Hedonism and its chief varieties, see
below, Book II., chap, iv, §§ 1-4.

$ 7-] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 69

ness of language, two modes of naming the same
psychological fact.' If this be the case, it is hard to
see how the proposition we are discussing requires to
be determined by 'practised self-consciousness and
self-observation ; ' as the denial of it would involve a
contradiction in terms. The truth is that there is an
ambiguity in the word Pleasure, which has always
tended seriously to confuse the discussion of this ques-
tion. When we speak of a man doing something at
his own 'pleasure,' or as he 'pleases,' we usually sig-
nify the mere fact of choice or preference ; the mere
determination of the will in a certain direction. Now,
if by ' pleasant ' we mean that which influences
choice, exercises a certain attractive force on the will,
it is an assertion incontrovertible because tautological,
to say that we desire what is pleasant — or even that
we desire a thing in proportion as it appears pleasant"
This would mean simply that we desire it in proportion
as we desire it; because "appears pleasant " means
simply "is desired by us." But, as Dr. Sidgwick goes
on to say, if we understand "pleasure" in a more exact
sense, it is not obvious that what we desire is always
pleasure. If we take pleasure to mean the agree-
able feeling which attends the satisfaction of our wants,
it is not by any means evident that this is always what
we desire. On the contrary, it seems evident rather
that this is not always what we desire.

§7. THE OBJECT OF DESIRE, (i) The Paradox of He-
donism.— In the part of the Methods of Ethics to which
reference has just been made, Dr. Sidgwick goes on to
argue that in fact what we desire is very frequently
some objective end, and not the accompanying plea-
sure. He points out that even when we do ..esire

TO ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. IL

pleasure, the best way to get it is often to forget it.
If we think about the pleasure itself, we are almost
sure to miss it ; whereas if we direct our desires
towards objective ends, the pleasure comes of itself.
This is not true of all pleasures. It is true chiefly of
the "pleasures of pursuit."1 "Take, for example,"
says Dr. Sidgwick, "the case of any game which in-
volves— as most games do — a contest for victory. No
ordinary player before entering on such a contest, has
any desire for victory in it : indeed he often finds it
difficult to imagine himself deriving gratification from
such victory, before he has actually engaged in the
competition. What he deliberately, before the game
begins, desires, is not victory, but the pleasant excite-
ment of the struggle for it ; only for the full develop-
ment of this pleasure a transient desire to win the game
is generally indispensable. This desire, which does
not exist at first, is stimulated to considerable intensity
by the competition itself." "A certain degree of dis-
interestedness seems to be necessary in order to obtain
full enjoyment. A man who maintains throughout an
epicurean mood, fixing his aim on his own pleasure,
does not catch the full spirit of the chase ; his eagerness
never gets just the sharpness of edge which imparts to
the pleasure its highest zest. Here comes into view
what we may call the fundamental paradox of Hedon-
ism, that the impulse towards pleasure, if too pre-
dominant, defeats its own aim. This effect is not
visible, or at any rate is scarcely visible, in the case of
passive sensual pleasures. But of our active enjoy-
ments generally .... it may certainly be said that

1 See the Note at the end of this chapter.

§ 8.] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. Jl

we cannot attain them, at least in their highest degree,
so long as we concentrate our aim on them."
"Similarly, the pleasures of thought and study can
only be enjoyed in the highest degree by those who
have an ardour of curiosity which carries the mind
temporarily away from self and its sensations. In all
kinds of Art, again, the exercise of the creative faculty
is attended by intense and exquisite pleasures ; but in
order to get them, one must forget them." This
"paradox of Hedonism," that in order to get pleasure
it is necessary to seek something else, was to some
extent recognized even by Mill ; but he does not seem
to have perceived that it is inconsistent with the view
that desire is always directed towards pleasure.
Desire can evidently be, at least temporarily, directed
not towards pleasure, but towards certain objective
ends.

§ 8. THE OBJECT OF DESIRE. (2) Wants prior to Sat-
isfactions.— We must next notice another point, which
was brought out chiefly by Butler ' and Hutcheson,
though some subsequent writers have ignored it — viz.
that many kinds of pleasure would not exist at all, if
they were not preceded by certain desires for objects.
Take, for instance, the pleasures of the benevolent af-
fections. No one could possibly feel these pleasures
unless he were first benevolent — i. e. had a desire for
the welfare of others. In such a case, therefore, the
very existence of the pleasure depends on the fact that
desire is first directed towards something other than
pleasure. It might even be argued that this is the case

1 See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, p. 192 ; and cf. Green's edition
of Hume, voL ii., Introd, p. 26, Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, § i6x,
p. 167, Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., p. 230, note.

7« ETHICS. [BK. j.f CH. 11,

with all pleasures. Pleasure ensues upon the satisfac-
tion of certain wants, and the wants must be prior to
the satisfactions. We have a "disinterested" desire
for food, before we can have a desire for the pleasure
that accompanies the taking of food. From this con-
sideration also it appears that there are some desires
which are not desires for pleasure.

§ 9. THE OBJECT OF DESIRE. (3) Pleasures and Plea-
sure. At the same time it must be allowed that there
is a certain plausibility in Mill's statements, and we
must endeavour to account for this plausibility. It
seems to arise from an ambiguity1 in the word "plea-
sure." Pleasure is sometimes understood to mean
agreeable feeling, or the feeling of satisfaction, and
sometimes it is understood to mean an object that gives
satisfaction. The hearing of music is sometimes said
to be a pleasure : but of course the hearing of music is
not a feeling of satisfaction ; it is an object that gives
satisfaction. Generally it may be observed that when
we speak of " pleasures " in the plural, or rather in
the concrete, we mean objects that give satisfaction ;
whereas when we speak of " pleasure " in the abstract
we more often mean the feeling of satisfaction which
such objects bring with them.* But this is not always
the case.

Perhaps this distinction is more obvious in the case
of pain than in the case of pleasure. Pain is generally
understood as the negative of pleasure, **. e. as meaning
disagreeable feeling, or feeling of dissatisfaction. But

1 A second ambiguity. Another ambiguity, pointed out by Dr.
Sidgwick, has been already referred to above.

* C/. Dr. Ward's article on "Psychology" in the Encyclopaedia
Britannica. p. 71.

§9-] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 73

when we speak of "pains" we usually mean objects
that produce a disagreeable feeling; and indeed we
usually mean objects of a definite kind — viz. organic
sensations. The pain of toothache, for instance, is not
merely a feeling of disagreeabltmess or dissatisfaction,
but a definite sensation. That sensation is an object,
and it is an object which brings with it a feeling of
disagreeableness. The sensation of burning is another
object ; the sensation of a stunning blow is another
object; the consciousness of having acted wrongly is
another object. All these objects bring with them a
disagreeable feeling ; but in all of them the object
which brings the disagreeable feeling, or is accom-
panied by the disagreeable feeling, is quite distinguish-
able from the feeling of disagreeableness itself.1

Now when it is said that what we desire is always
pleasure, what seems to be meant is that what we de-
sire is always some object the attainment of which is
accompanied by an agreeable feeling. But this is so
true that it is almost a tautology. It is clear that if we
desire anything, the attainment of it will bring at least
a temporary satisfaction ; and this satisfaction will be
accompanied by a feeling of satisfaction — t. e. pleasure.
Consequently, anything that we desire may be said to
be a pleasure — i. e. something that will bring pleasure
when attained. The man who desires the overthrow

1 Kfllpe and Titchener (Outline of Psychology) are honourably
distinguished among psychologists by the care with which they
have distinguished between pain and unpleasantness. Organic
pain seems to be a distinct sensation in quite the same sense in
which a sweet taste or smell is a distinct sensation. The feeling or
affection of pleasure and pain, though perhaps inseparable from
these experiences, can be distinguished from them quite clearly.

74 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. IL

of a political party, for instance, will be pleased if that
event happens. We may consequently say that the
overthrow of the party was a pleasure. It is in this
sense that we use the phrase "an unexpected pleasure,"
and the like. But evidently the overthrow of a politi-
cal party is not itself an agreeable feeling; it only
brings an agreeable feeling with it. The fact that we
desire pleasures is no evidence that we desire pleasure.
A passage from Mill may help to make this clear.
"What, for example," he asks,1 "shall we say of the
love of money ? There is nothing originally more de-
sirable about money than about any heap of glittering
pebbles. Its worth is solely that of the things which
it will buy ; the desires for other things than itself,
which it is a means of gratifying. Yet the love of
money is not only one of the strongest moving forces
of human life, but money is, in many cases, desired in
and for itself; the desire to possess it is often stronger
than the desire to use it, and goes on increasing when
all the desires which point to ends beyond it, to be
compassed by it, are falling off. It may be then said
truly, that money is desired not for the sake of an end,
but as part of the end. From being a means to happi-
ness, it has come to be itself a principal ingredient of
the individual's conception of happiness. The same
may be said of the majority of the great objects of
human life — power, for example, or fame. . . . The
strongest attraction, both of power and of fame, is the
immense aid they give to the attainment of our other
wishes ; and it is the strong association thus generated
between them and all our objects of desire, which gives

> Utilitarianism, chap. iv.

§ 10.] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 75

to the direct desire of them the intensity it often as-
sumes, so as in some characters to surpass in strength
all other desires. In these cases the means have be-
come a part of the end, and a more important part of
it than any of the things which they are means to.
What was once desired as an instrument for the attain-
ment of happiness, has come to be desired for its own
sake. In being desired for its own sake it is, however,
desired as part of happiness. . . . The desire of it is
not a different thing from the desire of happiness, any
more than the love of music, or the desire of health.
They are included in happiness. They are some of the
elements of which the desire of happiness is made up.
Happiness is not an abstract idea, but a concrete
whole; and these are some of its parts." The mean-
ing of all this seems quite clear. Evidently money,
power, fame, music, and health are not parts of agree-
able feeling. What Mill means is that they are parts
of that totality of objects which gives agreeable feeling.
That we desire such objects, then, may show that we
seek pleasures, but not that we seek pleasure. And
that we seek pleasures is a mere tautology. It means
simply that we seek what we seek.

§ 10. CAN REASON SERVE AS A MOTIVE ? — Even those
writers who have not committed themselves to the view
that pleasure and pain are the only possible motives,
have sometimes been inclined to argue that at least
Reason is not capable of serving as a motive to action.
This view was most clearly stated by Hume, when he
said1 that "Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave
of the passions, and can never pretend to any other

i Treatise of Human Nature, Book II., Part III., Section IIL Cf.
also Dissertation on the Passions, Section V.

76 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. n.

office than to serve and obey them." The term Pas-
sion, as here used, is practically synonymous with Im-
pulse ; and the meaning of the statement is that all
actions depend on particular impulses, while reason
can at the most only indicate the means by which these
impulses may be gratified. Reason, it is thus held,
cannot form any new motive for us : it can only show
how an existing motive may be pursued to the best
advantage. This view, however, seems to rest on that
false conception of the nature of desire to which reference
has already been made. It proceeds on the supposi-
tion that our mental constitution is made up of a num-
ber of isolated and independent desires, among which
reason works as a separate faculty. If we recognise
that our desires form a universe, then they cannot be
said to ex^t independently. The problem then is to
understand the nature of the whole within which par-
ticular desires emerge. If that whole is a rational sys-
tem, the desires which grow up in it will be very dif-
ferent from those desires that might exist in a being
in whom reason is not yet developed. In this sense,
therefore, reason may be said not only to guide our
desires, impulses, or passions, but actually to consti-
tute their determinate nature. Reason, that is to say,
may set before us ends or motives which for an irra-
tional being would not exist at all. In this sense,
then, reason is capable of furnishing us with motives
to action.

§ 11. Is REASON THE ONLY MOTIVE ? — There is, how-
ever, an error of an opposite kind against which also
we must be on our guard, though no doubt it is one
into which, in modern times, we are in much less dan-
ger of falling. We must not suppose that all motives

§ 12.] MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 77

are rational motives, :*. e. that the inducement to act
is always for a human being what it would be if he
were guided entirely by reason. This view may be
better understood by a reference to the doctrine of
Socrates. Socrates maintained that "virtue is know-
ledge, "by which he meant that if we knew with perfect
clearness what the nature of the moral end is we should
inevitably pursue it. Now it is no doubt true that
within a completely rational universe the supreme good
would serve as the supreme inducement. But if it is
possible that a man may know the nature of the
supreme good and yet not occupy a completely rational
universe, then it is possible to know the good and not
to pursue it. Now it seems clear at least that it is pos-
sible to know what is good with a very tolerable degree
of clearness, and yet not pursue it. This is expressed
in the familiar saying, "Video meliora proboque, de-
teriora sequor. " The reason of this is that the motive
to action is not always completely rational.

§ 12. How MOTIVES ARE CONSTITUTED. — The conclu-
sion, therefore, to which we are led is that motives are
neither constituted simply by pleasure and pain, nor
simply by dominant desires, passions, or impulses, nor
simply by reason, but that they depend upon the
nature of the universe within which they emerge. A
motive, we may say generally, is an end which is in
harmony or conformity with the universe within which
it is presented. At any given moment in our lives
there are various possible ends which we may set be-
fore ourselves. There are various ways in which the
content of our world might be changed, so as to be
more in harmony with the system of our conscious-
ness. Now, in so far as any such change presents itself

78 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. n.

to us as something which could be brought about by
our own activity, it presents itself to us as a possible
motive to action. Whether it will actually move us to
act depends on the question whether the motive pre-
sented to us is compatible with other possible motives
which are presented to us at the same time. The
line of action that is finally willed by us is that which
coheres most perfectly with the general system of our
consciousness. Whether or not the line thus adopted
is a reasonable line depends on the question whether
or not we are living within a rational universe.1

At this point, however, we come definitely upon the
question with respect to the relationship between Char-
acter and Conduct ; and as this is a question of great
importance, it seems to require a separate chapter.

1 In connection with this point, reference may be profitably made
to Dr. Sidgwick's article on " Unreasonable Action " (Mind, New
Series, Na 6), and to Mr. Stout's Analytic Psychology, VoL II., p. 267.
See also Bosanquet's Psychology of the Moral Self, Lecture IX.

• ,
-

MOTIVE AND INTENTION. 79

NOTE ON PLEASURE AND DESIRE.

It is assumed in this chapter that a satisfied desire brings pleasure,
while an unsatisfied desire (or an unsatisfied appetite) is accom-
panied by pain. It should be observed, however, that this is a point
on which there has been a good deal of discussion ; and that the
view taken in the text is not universally adopted. The chief point
on which there is difference of opinion is with reference to what
are called " the Pleasures of Pursuit." It is held by some writers, and
notably by Professor Sidgwick, that, in consequence of the existence
of these pleasures, unsatisfied desires and appetites are frequently
in themselves rather pleasurable than painful. It may be well here
to add a few words on this point. Professor Sidgwick's view is
thus stated in the Methods of Ethics (Book I., chap, iv., § 2, p. 48) : —
" When a desire is having its natural effect in causing the actions
which tend to the attainment of its object, it seems to be commonly
either a neutral or a more or less pleasurable consciousness : even
when this attainment is still remote. At any rate the consciousness
of eager activity, in which this desire is an essential item, is highly
pleasurable : and in fact such pleasures, which we may call generally
the pleasures of Pursuit, constitute a considerable element in the
total enjoyment of life. Indeed it is almost a commonplace to say
that they are more important than the pleasures of Attainment : and
in many cases it is the prospect of the former rather than of the latter
that induces us to engage in a pursuit." 1 I believe that this anti-
thesis between "Pursuit" and "Attainment" involves a fundamental
misconception, and it seems to me to be of considerable importance
that this misconception should be removed. There is, so far as I
can see, no such thing as a pleasure of Pursuit, as opposed to Attain-
ment The truth appears to me to be rather that there are two kinds
of attainment— what might be called progressive attainment and
catastrophic attainment The " pleasure of Pursuit " is, I think, in
reality the pleasure of progressive Attainment When it was said,
for instance, " If I held Truth in my hand, I would let it go again for
the pleasure of pursuing it," what was really intended seems to have
been the pleasure of progressively attaining it. And I think this is

1 For some further illustrations of Dr. Sidgwick's view, the reader
may be referred to Mind, New Series, vol. I, No. i (Jan. 1892), pp.

8O ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. U

the case also with those pleasures that are referred to by Professof
Sidgwick as " pleasures of Pursuit* He takes the case, for instance,
of a game of skilL " No ordinary player, before entering on such a
contest, has any desire for victory in it : indeed he often finds it
difficultto imagine himself deriving gratification from such victory,
before he has actually engaged in the competition. What he delib-
erately, before the game begins, desires is not victory, but the pleas-
ant excitement of the struggle for it ; only for the full development
of this pleasure a transient desire to win the game is generally in-
dispensable. This desire, which does not exist at first, is stimulated
to considerable intensity by the competition itself : and in proportion
as it is thus stimulated both the mere contest becomes more pleasur-
able, and the victory, which was originally indifferent, comes to
afford a keen enjoyment* With the whole of this passage I agree,
with the single exception of the statement that the contest becomes
more pleasurable in proportion as the desire to win the game is
stimulated. On the contrary, it seems to me that we may distinguish
between two kinds of desire to win the game — viz. the desire to win
it simply as a catastrophic result, and the desire to win it as the cul-
minating point in a continuous process. In proportion as the former
kind of desire is stimulated, it appears to me that the game ceases
to be pleasurable. It is, I believe, a common experience that the
gambler whose aim is fixed exclusively on the result of the game
ceases to get any real pleasure from it The man who really en joys
the game is he who desires victory, but desires it only as the culmi-
nating point in a progressive series. And the same applies in other
cases. The mountaineer who merely wishes to reach the topmost
peak, is simply annoyed by the process of climbing up : he would
prefer to reach it by a balloon or by a hydraulic hoist The man
who enjoys the ascent is the one who desires the end only in so far
as it gives unity and completeness to the process of attaining it So
also the man who is merely interested in the conclusion of a story
does not enjoy the novel in which it is told : his view is rather like
that of Christopher Sly — "Tis a very excellent piece of work —
would 'twere done ! " The man who really enjoys the story cares
for the end only in relation to the process that leads up to it Now
the man who desires an end in relation to the process of reaching
it, is not, I think, correctly described as receiving pleasure from a
pursuit, as distinguished from an attainment. The pursuit is, for
him, a progressive attainment From the nature of the case, he
could not attain otherwise than by pursuit A story, for instance,
does not admit of any kind of attainment but that of going through

MOTIVE AND INTENTION. Si

h from beginning to end In such a process the desire receive* a
continuous satisfaction, and is not properly regarded as waiting for
Its satisfaction till the end is reached.

I conceive that this view may be applied even to such a case as
that of hunger. It seems to me, indeed, to be somewhat incorrect
to speak of the mere appetite of hunger as desire. Hunger ought, I
think, to be sharply distinguished from the desire for food. It seems
to me to be mainly owing to the failure to draw this distinction that
hunger is represented by Professor Sidgwick as forming an excep-
tion i to the general rule about the " Paradox of Hedonism." 2 It
forms an exception, so far as I can see, only because it is not a desire
at all This, however, is a side issue, on which I do not wish to
insist at present The craving of hunger, though not properly a
desire, seems to resemble certain of our desires in being susceptible
of a progressive satisfaction : and it is for this reason, as I conceive,
that the craving appears often to be pleasurable. It is pleasurable
because it is continuously attaining its object As far as I can judge,
indeed, the satisfaction of hunger begins, under normal conditions,
even prior to the taking of food at all. The " watering of the mouth *
is, I think, a commencement of satisfaction ; and in the case of pre-
datory animals I suspect that there is a certain satisfaction even in
the act of pursuit8 At any rate, the normal act of satisfying hunger
does not appear to be of a catastrophic character. Ducercccenant is
a principle of general applicability. The satisfaction of the craving
is a progressive one. Now, if this is the case, it seems clear that the
mere fact that hunger ia, under normal conditions, rather pleasur-
able than otherwise (which I believe to be true), cannot be accepted
as a proof that the mere craving in itself is pleasurable, or is not
painful, in so far as it remains unsatisfied. For under normal con-
ditions it is not unsatisfied, but is progressively attaining its end.4

There is another point, closely connected with this one, which ap-
pears to me to be overlooked by Professor Sidgwick in his discus-
sion on the above subject — viz. that our desires and appetites are
capable, to a considerable extent, of an imaginative satisfaction.

i See Methods of Ethics, Book L, chap, iv., § a, p. 49 : " This effect *
[viz. that we lose pleasure by seeking it] "is not visible, or at any
rate is scarcely visible, in the case of passive sensual pleasures."

* See above, § 7.

* It is only in this sense, I think, that thare is any real "pleasure
erf pursuit"

* See also Spencer's Data of Ethia, pp.

Etb.

8* ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. n.

Dlckens's " Marchioness * did not by any means stand alone in the
power of " making-believe very much." If it is true that

* Cowards die many times before their deaths ;
The valiant never taste of death but once,"

it may also be said that the imaginative satisfy their desires many
times before they are satisfied in fact, while the unimaginative have
but a single satisfaction. The imaginative player, even if he loses,
loses but once for a score of times that he has won — in fancy ; and
these imaginary successes may be quite as satisfying to his mind at
the moment as an equal number of real ones would have been. The
* pleasures of Pursuit * are to a large extent made up of these mental
victories ; and this fact must largely qualify our view of them as
cases of unsatisfied desire, even apart from the consideration (which
may not be always applicable) that the desire is in reality attaining
its end by means of a continuous process.

I make these remarks merely with the view of bringing out the
point of view which seems to me correct, and which I have adopted
in the present handbook. They are not by any means offered with
the view of giving a complete solution to the difficult question
involved.1

1 Students interested in the subject of pleasures of Pursuit will find
further discussion and admirable illustrations in Tucker's Light of
tlature, cliap. vi

f.] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 83

CHAPTER

CHARACTER AND CONDUCT.

§ 1. GENERAL REMARKS. We now understand, in
some degree, what is meant by Will, Desire, Motive,
Intention, and what is the nature of the relationship
between these ; and we are now prepared to consider
the nature of Character and its relation to Conduct
In discussing this, we are naturally led to the famous
question about the Freedom of the Will ; for this con-
cerns the relationship between Character and Conduct.
And in considering this, it seems necessary also to ex-
plain the terms Circumstance and Habit. Accordingly
I intend first to present four sections, dealing respec-
tively with Character, Conduct, Circumstance, and
Habit, then to explain the significance of the Freedom
of the Will, and finally to sum up about the nature of
Voluntary Action.

§ 2. CHARACTER. We have seen that Character means
the complete universe or system constituted by acts
of will of a particular kind. Character is on the whole
the most important element in life from the point of
view of Ethics, as we shall see more fully in tho
sequel.

The accidental dominance of a good purpose at this
pr that maraeni is of comparatively little consequence
it is an indication of the habitual dominance of

?4 ETHICS. [BK. i., crt. IIL

a certain universe. Hence Aristotle rightly laid em-
phasis rather on the formation of Good Habit1 — i. e.t
in the language we have here adopted, on the establish-
ment of a continuously dominant universe — than on
the mere presence of a Good Will at any given mo-
ment. Will is, indeed, the expression of character,
but it is the expression of it under the limitations of
a particular time and place ; and much may remain
latent in the character which it would be necessary to
take into account in forming a complete moral estimate
of a given individual. This is well expressed in Brown-
ing's Rabbi Sen Ezra —

" Not on the vulgar mass

Called ' work ' must sentence pass,
Things done, that took the eye and had the price ;

But all, the world's coarse thumb

And finger failed to plumb,
So passed in making up the main account ;

All instincts immature,

All purposes unsure,
That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount

Thoughts hardly to be packed

Into a narrow act,
Fancies that broke through language and escaped i

All I could never be,

All, men ignored in me,

This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped."

At the same time, it is true that "the tree is known
by its fruit" The good character necessarily expresses
itself in good acts of wilL

£ 3. COKDUCT. The term conduct is sometimes used

* Ethics, Book IL chap. v.

J4-] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 8$

In a loose sense to include all sorts of vital activities,
or at any rate all vital activities which are directed to
an end. It is in this sense, for instance, that the term
is employed by Mr. Herbert Spencer.1 Consequently
he speaks of the conduct of molluscs, &c.a But this
seems to be an inconvenient extension of the meaning
of the term. Although the activities of molluscs are
no doubt adjusted to an end, yet we cannot regard
them as purposeful activities. A purposeful activity
is not merely directed to an end, but, as Kant put it,
directed by the idea of an end. Now even the higher
animals, in so far as they are guided by mere instinct,3
cannot be supposed to have any such idea. They
move towards certain ends, but they do not will these
ends. They have an end, but they have no purpose.*
Now Mr. Spencer admits that purposeless acts are not
to be included in conduct. Hence it seems best to
confine the term conduct to those acts that are not
merely adjusted to ends, but also definitely willed. A
person's conduct, then, is the complete system of such
acts, corresponding to his character.

§ 4. CIRCUMSTANCE. — We have said that conduct cor-
responds to character. But of course the particular
acts which are performed by an individual depend not
only on the nature of the systematic unity of his con-

1 Data of Ethics, chap, L « I hid., chap. iL

• It may well be doubted whether they ever have such an idea.
Darwin, however, who is certainly a high authority, seems disposed
to attribute some consciousness of the adaptation of means to end
even to such very humble creatures as earthworms.

4 It might be convenient to use the term purposive, as distinguished
from purposeful, to denote action (such as instinctive movements)
in which an end may be seen to be involved, but in which there i$
CO definite consciousness of the end aimed at.

86 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. m.

sciousness, but also on the conditions or environment
within which his life happens to be passed. Hence it
is sometimes said that a man's conduct depends upon
his character and circumstances. We must now con-
sider what exactly is to be understood by circum-
stances.

In the first place, we must note that, if we are to
understand the ethical significance of a man's circum-
stances, we must clear our minds of that view accord-
ing to which circumstances are simply the external
environment in which a man's life is passed. Under-
stood in this sense, any contemporary event might be
called a circumstance — e. g. the position of the planets,
the state of the tides, the direction of the wind, &c.
But for most purposes (unless we are believers in Astro-
logy), such conditions are not to be classed as circum-
stances at all. Again, the geological formation of the
country in which a man lives is seldom worth reckon-
ing as a circumstance ; though the presence of gold
or coal or iron may be a circumstance of considerable
importance. Riches or poverty, health or disease, are
generally circumstances of more importance ; and so
are, in general, a man's social surroundings. From
such considerations as this we may see that it is not
so easy as it might at first appear to determine what a
man's circumstances are, in any sense that is ethically
significant Circumstances in this sense are not any-
thing external to the man, but only external conditions
in so far as they enter into his life. What are to bo
reckoned circumstances in this sense, is a question that
depends on the character of the man. Hence it is some-
what misleading to speak as if character and ciicum-
stance were two co-ordinate factors in human life;

§ 4-] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 8/

since it depends largely on character whether anything
is to be reckoned a circumstance or not.1

Again, are we to say that the fact that a man has
a good memory, or a good temper, or a good under-
standing, or a good reputation, is an element in his
character or in his circumstance ? Such facts depend
largely on the systematic constitution of a man's con-
scious life, and so belong to his character ; yet, on the
other hand, they may be regarded as circumstances
by which he is helped or hindered in the conduct of his
life. Even the fact that a man has already formed a
good habit of action — say, a habit of punctuality — may
be a favourable circumstance with reference to his future
development Thus it is to a considerable extent a
question of the point of view from which a thing is
regarded, whether it is to be described as an element
of character or of circumstance. Probably by far the
greatest part of any man's present circumstance is
simply the expression of what his past character has
been.

Hence, when we say that a man's actions are the
result of his character and his circumstance, we must
remember that two men living to all appearance in the
same general conditions may in reality be in wholly
different circumstances. What stimulates one may
depress another, just as "the twilight that sends the
hens to roost sets the fox to prowl, and the lion's roar
which gathers the jackals scatters the sheep."3 What

1 Some suggestive remarks on this point will be found in a paper
on " Character and the Emotions," by Mr. A. F. Shand, in Mind, new
series, VoL v., No. 18. The relationship between character and cir-
cumstance has also been brought out, in a profound and suggestivo
way, by Mr. Bosanquet, in Aspects of the Social Problem.

» Art " Psychology " in Encyclopaedia Britatwica, p. 42.

88 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. III.

is physically the same is in such cases, to all intents,
a different circumstance.

§ 5. HABIT. — The significance of Habit has already
been to some extent indicated in connection with char-
acter, and in particular reference has been made to
Aristotle's view that the main thing in the moral life
is the establishment of good habits. This view was
put forward by Aristotle in opposition to the Socratic
doctrine, that Virtue is a kind of Knowledge ; * yet the
two views are not so much opposed as might at first
sight appear. Virtue is a kind of knowledge, as well as
a kind of habit. It is, in fact, as we have already
indicated, a point of view. The virtuous man is one
who lives continuously in the universe which is con-
stituted by duty. To live continuously in that universe
is a habit ; but it is at the same time a species of
insight. The man who lives in a different universe
sees things habitually in a different way — through a
differently coloured glass, we might say. To be virtu-
ous, therefore, is to possess habitually a certain kind
of knowledge or insight. And thus both Socrates and
Aristotle were right. Virtue is both a kind of know-
ledge and a kind of habit. Habit, in fact, in the sense
in which the term is applied to moral character, is not
mere custom. It is not on a level with habits such
as our manner of walking or speaking or of wearing
clothes. It is not, in short, of the nature of what is
commonly called a secondarily automatic action. It
is a habit of willing. Habits which have a moral signi-

i Cf. Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 24-5 and 54 ; and, for a fullet
account of the doctrine of Socrates, see Zeller's Socrates and the So*
crate Schools, Part II., chap. vii.

§ 5-] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 89

ficance are habits of deliberate choice. f Now deliber-
ate choice depends on thought or reason.' In order
to choose the right, in the sense in which such a choice
has any moral significance, we must know the right.
If we simply hit on the right course by chance, we do
not really choose the right. Right willing, therefore,
depends on true insight. Whether it is possible to
have true insight without willing rightly is a further
question, which we shall have to consider shortly. In
the meantime we may partly see what Socrates meant
by saying that virtue is a kind of knowledge. It
depends on the occupation of a certain point of view,
on the possession of a certain rational insight. At the
same time, we see the truth of Aristotle's saying that
virtue is habit. It is not merely a certain act of will,
but a continuous state of character, a steadfast occu-
pation of a definite universe.

Another point which it is important to notice in this
connection is that action which has thus become
habitual tends to be pleasant. A good character, for
instance, is one whose dominant interest lies within a
certain form of moral universe. Such a character will
find pleasure in acting in accordance with this interest
Hence Aristotle says again 3 that " a man is not good
at all unless he takes pleasure in noble deeds. No one
would call a man just who did not take pleasure in
doing justice, nor generous, who took no pleasure in
acts of generosity, and so on." Further, habit, as is
said, becomes a second nature ; so that actions that

I'E^U- &pa. 4 iprri) «fi« irpoaipeTurf ("Virtue, then, is a habit of
choice"). — Aristotle's Ethics, II. vi. 15.
» Cf. Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II., chap. ii.
* Nicomachean Ethics, I. viii 12.

90 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IIL

have become habitual are done almost instinctively,
at least without the necessity for definite reflection.
It is important to bear this in mind. Its application
will become especially apparent when we are dealing
with some of the theories of Kant.

§ 6. THE FREEDOM OF THE WILL. — We are now in a
position to consider what is meant by human freedom,
in so far as this has ethical significance.

Some views on this point may almost immediately
be ruled out of court. Thus, it has been argued that
there is no real freedom, since men are determined by
circumstances. This was the doctrine, for instance, of
Robert Owen, the Socialist. Accordingly, he made
it his great aim in life tc improve men's external con-
ditions. But we have seen that mere external condi-
tions are not circumstances in any sense that is ethically
important. Before setting ourselves to improve men's
conditions, we should ask ourselves how far their con-
ditions are real circumstances to them, and what sort
of circumstances they are. To ask this is at the same
time to ask what sort of people they are. It is a com
plete mistake to suppose that men are determined
by conditions that are in any true sense external to
them.

Again, freedom is sometimes understood to mean
the power of acting without motives. But this also is
an absurdity. To act without motives, **. e. without
reference to anything that may reasonably serve as an
inducement to action, would be to act from blind im-
pulse, as some of the lower animals may be supposed
to do. But this is evidently the very reverse of what
«re understand by freedom.

In order to avoid such crude misconceptions as

§ 7-] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 9!

these, it is important to consider in what sense the
Idea of freedom is ethically significant.

§ 7. FREEDOM ESSENTIAL TO MORALS. — There is involved
in the moral consciousness the conviction that we
ought to act in one way rather than in another, that
one manner of action is good or right, and another
bad or evil. Now, as Kant urged, there would be no
meaning in an "ought" if it ^ere not accompanied by
a ' ' can. " * It does not follow, however, that the ' ' can "
refers to an immediate possibility. A man ought to be
wise, for instance ; but wisdom is a quality that can
only be gradually developed. What can be done at
once is only to put ourselves in the way of acquiring
it Similarly, we ought to love our neighbours. But
love is a feeling that cannot be produced at will.3 We
can only put ourselves in the way of cultivating kindly
affections. But it would be absurd to say that a man
ought to add a cubit to his stature or to live for two
hundred years. He cannot even put himself in the
way of attaining these ends, and they cannot therefore
form any part of his duty. Now if a man's will were
absolutely determined by his circumstances, it would
be strictly impossible for him to become anything but

1 Cf. the lines of Emerson—

" So nigh is grandeur to our dust,

So near is God to man,
When Duty whispers low, Thou must,

The youth replies, / can*

* For this reason Kant even denies that love is a duty. See Mcta-
pkysic of Morals, section I. (Abbott's translation, pp. 15-16). But love
can be cultivated, though it cannot be directly produced. Kant's
view on this and kindred points is due to the absolute antithesis
which he makes between Reason and Feeling. Cf. Caird's Critical
Philosophy of Kant, voL ii. pp. 280-282. See also below, Book IL,
chap, iii, § 13.

92 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. Ill,

that which he does become, and consequently it would
be impossible that he ought to be anything different.
There would thus be no "ought "at all. Moral im-
peratives would cease to have any meaning. ' If, then,
there is to be any meaning in the moral imperative,
the will must not be absolutely determined by circum-
stances, but must in some sense be free. This is true
also even if we do not, like Kant, think of the moral
end as of the nature of an imperative, but rather as a
Good or Ideal to be attained.2 It still remains true
that such an ideal must be, as Aristotle put it, Kpaxrtv xa\
XTTJTOV &vOptoit<p (practicable and attainable by man).

§ 8. NECESSITY ESSENTIAL TO MORALS. — Nevertheless,
there is a sense also in which necessity is required for
the moral life- The moral life consists, as we have
endeavoured to point out, in the formation of char-
acter. Now to have a character is to live habitually
in a certain universe. And in any given universe
desires have a definite position with reference to one
another ; so that there can be no doubt which is to
give place to another. Hence the more decidedly a
character is formed, the more uniform will be its choice

1 Hence purely determinist writers when they are quite con-
sistent, deny the existence of any absolute "ought," and regard
Ethics not as a normative science, but as an ordinary natural
history science — investigating what men do or tend to do, not what
they ought to do. This is the view, for instance, which is taken
by Schopenhauer (who, in spite of his emphasis on the Will, was to
all intents a pure determinist). Cf. Janet's Theory of Morals, p. 13^
Another good example of pure determinism, accompanied by the
denial of the unity of the self, leading to a natural history view of
Ethics, will be found in Simmers Einleitungin die Moralwissenschaft
Bentham's attitude to some extent illustrates the same thing. Se«
below, Book II., chap, iv., § 5.

« See below, Book IIH chap, ii

§9-1 CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 93

and its action. Nay, even in the case of characters
that are imperfectly formed, any uncertainty that
exists with regard to the action is due only to our im-
perfect knowledge. It is difficult to predict what will
be done by a man who is continually shifting from one
universe to another. But his action would be fully
foreseen by any one who knew exactly the relation in
which these universes stand to one another in his
mental life. And not only is this true as a fact with
regard to the moral lives of men, but it must be true if
the moral life is to have any meaning. The moral
life means the building up of character, f. e. it means
the forming of definite habits of action. And if a
habit of action be definite, it is uniform and predict-
able. Now necessity is often understood to mean
nothing more than uniformity. In this sense, then,
necessity is required for the moral life.

§ 9. THE TRUE SENSE OF FREEDOM. — It is apt to seem
as if there were a certain contradiction between theso
two demands of the moral life. But there is no con-
tradiction when we observe precisely what is the
nature of the freedom and what is the nature of the
necessity that is demanded. The necessity means
simply the uniform activity of a given character. The
freedom, on the other hand, means simply the absence
of determination by anything outside the character
itself. A vicious man in a sense can, and in, a sense
cannot, do a good action. He cannot, in the sense
that a good action does not issue from such a char-
acter as his; A corrupt tree cannot bring forth good
fruit. But he can do the action, in the sense that there
is nothing to prevent him except his character — i". e.
except himself. Now a man cannot stand outside of

94 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. in.

himself, and regard a defect in his own character as
something by which his action is hindered. If he can,
but for himself, ht can in the only sense that is required
for morality. To be free means that one is determined
by nothing but oneself.1 What this means, how-
ever, we must endeavour to explain somewhat more
fully.

§10. ANIMAL SPONTANEITY. — Consider in what sense
an animal is free. As compared with a plant or a
stone, it evidently has a certain spontaneity. It is not
moved from without, as a stone seems to be, but con-
ducts itself in accordance with its own inner feelings.
It should be observed, however, that even a stone is
not moved entirely from without. No rock was ever
thrown to the ground without its own consent. What
we call the laws of nature in obedience to which stones
are raised or thrown down, are laws of the stone's
nature as well as of things outside of it. " The hyssop
grows in the wall, because the whole universe cannot
prevent it from growing. " * This is as true as to say
that it grows there because the whole universe makes
it grow. The law is within it quite as truly as it is
without it. In this sense Hegel was no doubt right in
saying that the planets run round the sun freely like
the immortal gods. "The sun attracts them," it is

1 Those writers who insist on the fact that there is determination
or law in all our actions, and who on this ground deny freedom, are
commonly known as Necessitarians. On the other hand, those who
insist on liberty to such an extent as to deny all law or determination
in human conduct, are called Libertarians or Indeterminists. It is
now generally recognized that these two schools of writers simply
represent opposite sides of the same trutli, and that the idea of self*
eU,cnntnarit.in combines the two sides.

* Carlyle, I think, says this ; 1 do not remember where.

§ II.] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 95

said. But the sun could not attract them unless they
were willing to be attracted — i. e. unless it lay in their
own nature to be attracted. Still, we do not usually
think of the planets, or of inanimate nature generally,
as having any spontaneity in its motions. And rightly.
The movements of the planets are not determined by
themselves ; for they have no selves. The law is as
truly within them as without them ; but it is also as
truly without them as within them. It is, as we say,
a "law of nature" generally, and does not belong to
any one thing in particular. There is no centre to
which the movement can strictly be referred. In the
case of an animal it is different. Here there is a self,
there is a centre of reference — viz. the consciousness
of the animal itself. It is from that point that the
movement proceeds, and we say therefore that it is
spontaneous.

§ 11. HUMAN LIBERTY. — Yet a mere animal has not a
self in the full sense of the term. Its self is simply the
feeling of the moment. It has not a definite universe
of reference. A man's self, on the other hand, is the
universe in which he habitually lives. For this reason,
a man is free in a sense in which an animal is not free.
If an animal could be supposed to think and speak, it
could not refer its actions to itself, but only to its im-
pulse at this or that moment. ' No doubt, there would
be a certain continuity and predictability in its im-
pulses ; yet at each moment they would have a certain

1 Cf. Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 158-9. " An animal which
does not have the power of proposing ends to itself is impelled to
action by its wants and appetites just as they come into conscious-
ness. It is irritated into acting." See also Gizycki's Introduction to
th« Study of Ethics, chap, vi.

96 ETHICS. [BK. i.t CH. in.

independence, and would not refer to a common centre.
This, of course, means simply that the animal does nol
think, and consequently does not bring the moments
of its consciousness to a unity. Man, on the other
hand, lives within the universe of his character. In
so far as his momentary impulses do not reflect and
reveal that character, he does not regard them as,
strictly speaking, his own. His acts are his own only
when he is himself in doing them — i. e. when they flow
from the centre of his habitual universe. He has thus
a centre of action which has a certain relative perma-
nence ; and for this reason his acts are free in a sense
in which the movements of a mere animal, though
spontaneous, are not free. *

§ 12. THE HIGHEST FREEDOM. — We see, then, that
there are higher and lower senses of freedom. Even
a stone is not simply determined from without. An
animal has spontaneity. But man has freedom in a
higher sense than either of these. This fact naturally
suggests the inquiry whether the ordinary freedom of

1 Those writers who have insisted on determination, to the exclu.
sion of freedom, have generally also denied the unity of the indivi-
dual self or character. Thus Hume (who may be regarded as the
founder of the determinist school in modern times) says (Treatise on
Human Nature, Book I., Part IV., section vi.) : " When I enter most
intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some par-
ticular perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or
hatred, pain or pleasure "; and he consequently concludes that the
self or personality is "nothing but a bundle or collection of differ-
ent perceptions, which succeed each other with an inconceivable
rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement" Mill also ac-
cepted this view. See his Examination of Sir W. Hamilton, chap. xiL
For criticisms of it, see Green's edition of Hume, vol. L, Introd.,
} 342, and Dr. Ward's article on " Psychology " in the Encyclopedia
Britannia*, p. &

§ 12.] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 97

a man is freedom in the highest sense, or whether
there is the possibility of a freedom of a still higher
kind.

The answer seems clearly to be that there 13 a freedom
of a still higher kind. This follows at once from the
fact that there is a sel/ot a still higher kind. This is a
point which we shall have to consider more fully in
the sequel. In the meantime, we may anticipate so
far as to say that, in a certain sense, no form of self
can be regarded as ultimately real except the rational
self. If this is so, the only true or ultimate freedom
will be the freedom that consists in acting from this
self as a centre. This is recognised even in ordinary
language. The man who acts irrationally is said to
be " enslaved by his passions. " He is thus not thor-
oughly free. And indeed, there are times when a
man feels that his irrational acts are not, strictly
speaking, his own. His true self lies deeper. This
seems to have been felt by the writer in the Pauline
Epistles, when he referred his shortcomings not to him-
self, but to "sin that dwelleth in me." Here he iden-
tifies himself with the higher or rational self. Yet in
another passage he seems to identify himself rather
with the lower self, when he says, "It is no longer I
that live, but Christ that liveth in me." Here "I"
refers to the lower self — the habitual character of the
individual — while the higher or true self is referred to
as "Christ," living in him and gradually coming to
complete realisation. There are, in fact, we may say,
three selves in every man. There is the self that is
revealed in occasional impulses which we cannot quite
subdue, the "sin " that, after all, dwelleth in us. On

the other hand, there is the permanent character, the
Eth.

98 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. m.

universe in which we habitually live. ' And finally there
is the true or rational self, in which alone we feel that
we can rest with satisfaction — the "Christ" (to adopt
the Pauline metaphor) that liveth in us, and in whom
we hope more and more to abide. And, as it is said
elsewhere, " his service is perfect freedom." It may,
in a certain sense, be maintained that there is no
other perfect freedom. The only ultimate self is the
rational self; and the only ultimate freedom is the free-
dom that we have when we are rational. This, how-
ever, is a point that cannot be fully understood until
we have considered the nature of the moral ideal.

The significance of all this may perhaps become
more apparent as we proceed. In the meantime we
may now sum up the results at which we have arrived
with respect to the nature of Conduct or Voluntary
Action.

§ 13. THE NATURE OF VOLUNTARY ACTION. — A definite
illustration may perhaps help to make the nature of
the various elements in voluntary action clear to us.

Take the case of the desire of food. The first ele-
ment involved in this is the mere animal appetite. This
we may suppose to be at first a mere blind impulse
analogous to the organic impulse by which a flower
turns to the light ; but it is distinguished from such a
vegetable impulse by the presence of consciousness.
In this consciousness there are two main elements —

i Even this may not be quite simple. " Zwei Seelen wohnen, ach I
in dieser Brust," said Faust (" Two souls, alas ! live in this breast of
mine ") ; and the same could, in some degree, be said by most men.
" I am double," said Renan ; " sometimes one part of myself laughs,
while the other cries." In cases of madness, the two selves often
bv'corae very distinctly separated.

§ 1 3.] CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. 99

the ideal presentation, in vague outline,1 of the object
striven towards, and a feeling of pleasure and pain,
The latter feeling is twofold : there is a sense of plea-
sure in the anticipated satisfaction, and a sense of un-
easiness connected with the consciousness of its ab-
sence. Thus in the appetite of hunger there is a pecu-
liar craving, partly pleasant and partly uneasy, accom-
panied by a more or less vague consciousness of the
kind of object that would yield satisfaction. x Desire is
distinguished from mere appetite by the definite pre-
sence of a consciousness of the object as an end to be
aimed at. The appetite of hunger involves a vague
uneasiness, a vague consciousness of the kind of object
that would remove the uneasiness, a vague anticipation
of pleasure in its attainment. Desire of food, on the
other hand, is a definite presentation of the idea of food
as an end to be sought. In this presentation, as in the
more vague presentation of the object in appetite, there
is also involved an element of pleasure and pain. The
object thus definitely presented as an end in desire la
what is most properly understood by a motive. Such
motives may conflict : the ends involved may be in-
compatible with one another. Hence the desires gov-
erned by these motives may remain in abeyance. The
object presented as a desirable end may not be defi-
nitely chosen as an end — i. e. it may not become a
wish. A wish is a desire selected. It is a desire on
which attention has been concentrated, and which has
thus secured a certain dominance in our consciousness.
The wish for food is more than the mere desire for food.
It is a concentrated desire. But even this is still not an

1 It is open to doubt whether this element is present in the animal
censtioutacM at all. Cf. above, chap. L, § 3.

loo ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. in.

act of will. An act of will involves, besides, a definite
purpose or intention ; i. e. in an act of will we do not
merely concentrate our attention on an end as a good
to be sought ; but, in addition, we regard it as an end
to be brought about by us. The purpose of procuring
food — the intention, for instance, of working for a
livelihood — is more than the mere wish for food, more
than a mere prayer or aspiration. Will, however, in-
volves, further, an actual energising. A purpose or
intention refers to the future, and may not be carried
out. In an act of will the idea becomes a force. How
this is done is a difficult question to answer ; and, hap-
pily, it is not a problem that we require here to solve.
We have merely to notice this element of active energis-
ing as involved in an Act of Will. The man who wills
to procure food does not merely intend to work, but
actually does exert himself. Finally, character is a
formed habit — e. g. the habit of activity in some par-
ticular industrial pursuit. f

iMr. Stout's article on "Voluntary Action," already referred to,
should be consulted on several of these points,

CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. IOI

NOTE ON RESPONSIBILITY.

In modern times the interest in the question of the Freedom of the
Will has been stimulated mainly by the desire to have a clear view
of human responsibility.1 The Mediaeval conceptions ot Heaven and
Hell gave special force to this desire. God was thought of as a
supreme Judge, standing outside the world, and apportioning infinite
rewards and punishments in accordance with the lives which men
had led, or, as some rather thought, in accordance with the beliefs
which they had entertained. This doctrine presented serious difficul-
ties. On the one hand, if Liberty of Indifference were asserted, if
men were supposed to have the power of acting " without motives,"
of choosing a particular line of conduct without reference to their
characters — i. e. to the universe of desires within which they have
habitually lived — this appeared to be both unintelligible in itself and
to involve too strong an assertion of the freedom of a merely created,
finite, and dependent being. On the other hand, if man were held
to be free only in the sense that he is self-determined, it appeared
as if he could not be regarded as ultimately responsible for the build-
ing up of his own character, for the selection of the universe within
which he was to live. This difficulty was felt as early as the time
of St Paul ; and the only solution of it seems to lie in the acknowl-
edgment that it is a mystery. Credo quia absurdum.

A. similar difficulty, however, conies up even at the present time
with reference to the responsibility of the individual to society.
How, it is asked, can any one be regarded as responsible for the
formation of his own character, seeing that he is born with particular
inherited aptitudes and tendencies, and that the whole development
of his life is determined by the moral atmosphere in which he is
placed ? In a sense we choose our own universes ; but the " we,"
the self that chooses, is not an undetermined existence. We are
ushered into the world with a certain predisposition to good or to
evil in particular directions. Over this " original sin," or original
virtue, which lies in our disposition from the first, we have no con-
trol. It is ourselves ;' it constitutes the particular nature which we
inherit ; and the directions in which it moves us depend on the cir-
cumstances in which we grow up. How, then, is society entitled to
punish us for our offences ? Even so firm an upholder of personal
independence, and so stern an advocate of the punishment of crime,
as Thomas Carlyle, admitted, and even insisted, that a man's char-

i Cf. below, Book III., chap, vi, § 7.

102 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. III.

aoter I* an inheritance, and that the development of it is affected by
bodily qualities. Thus, notwithstanding his strenuous insistence on
the doctrine that every man is the shaper of his own destiny, we
find him, in his Essay on Sir Walter Scott, making this candid admis-
sion : " Disease, which is but superficial, and issues in outer lameness,
does not cloud the young existence ; rather forwards it towards the
expansion it is fitted for. The miserable disease had been one of the
internal nobler parts, marring the general organisation ; under which
no Walter Scott could have been forwarded, or with all his other
endowments could have been producible or possible." What, then,
becomes of responsibility ? Have we not here a puzzle or antinomy
as real as that with which the Mediaeval Theology was perplexed ?

But the answer to this has been partly seen already. If a man were
a mere animal, the only reasonable course would be to take him as
we find him. In that case, the only justification of punishment 1
would be found in the hope of effecting, by means of it, some im-
provement in the disposition of him who is punished. But a man
cannot regard himself as a mere animal, nor can a society of men
regard its members as simply animals. They must be regarded as
beings animated by an ideal, which they are bound to aim at realis-
ing, and which they can realise as soon as they become aware of
the obligation. No man could regard it as an excuse for his evil
conduct, that he is a mere brute beast, who knows no better. Nor
could a society accept this as an excuse for any of its members.
Whether a God, sitting outside as an external Judge, ought not to
accept it as an excuse, is quite another question, ivith which we have
here no concern. Our question is merely with regard to the way in
which a man or a society of men must judge human conduct And,
from this point of view, it is quite sufficient to say that men must
regard themselves and others as soldiers of the ideal ; that those
who fail to struggle for it must be treated as deserters, and those
who deny its authority as guilty of Use majestt against the dignity
of human nature. There is no stone wall in the way of a man's
moral progress. There is only himself. And he cannot accept him-
self as a mere fact, but only as a fact ruled by an ideal

I cannot hope that such remarks as these will remove all difficul-
ties from the mind of the student The question, however, when
pressed beyond a certain point, begins to be rather of metaphysical
and theological than of strictly ethical importance.3

1 See below, Book III., chap, vi., § 6.

a A complete discussion of this difficult question would evidently

CHARACTER AND CONDUCT. IO3

carry us far beyond the limits of such a handbook as the present I
have touched upon it here only so far as seemed necessary to bring
out its bearing upon Ethics. For fuller discussion the reader may
be referred to Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II., chap, t,
Green's Collected Works, pp. 308 — 333, Bradley's Ethical Studies,
Essay I., Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book I., chap, v., Caird's
Critical Philosophy of Kant, Book II., chap, iii., Martineau's Study of
Religion, Book III., chap, ii., Alexander's Moral Order and Progress,
pp. 336—341, Gizycki's Introduction to the Study of Ethics, chap, vi.,
Stephen's Science of Ethics, pp. 278—293, and Seth's Study of Ethical
Principles, Part III., chap. i. Cf. also Dewey's Outlines of Ethics,
Part I., chap, iii., Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 50 — 54, Lotze's
Practical Philosophy, chap, iii., and Calderwood's Handbook of Moral
Philosophy, Part II., chaps, iii. and iv. The views of Green, Bradley,
Caird, Alexander, Gizycki, Dewey, and Muirhead are in the main in
agreement with that here stated. Lotze, Martineau, Calderwood,
and Seth defend freedom, though generally rejecting Liberty of In-
difference in its most extreme form. Sidgwick takes up a neutral
position. Stephen is a Determinist, and does not fully recognise the
fact of self-determination. The same remark applies on the whole
to the excellent discussion of Freedom in Simmel's recent Einleitung
in die Moralwissenscliaft, Vol. II., chap. vi.

104 ETHIC*. [BK. I., CH. IV.

CHAPTER IV.

THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT.

§ 1. INTRODUCTORY STATEMENT. Conduct, like other
aspects of human life, undergoes a steady process of
development, both in the individual and in the race.
This development is closely connected with the gen-
eral development of the forms and customs of
social life, and thus forms part of the material which
it is the business of the young science of Sociology to
investigate.

Recent writers on Sociology have tended to lay a
good deal of emphasis on the class of phenomena
described by the terms Imitation and Suggestion, as
throwing light on the development of social customs.1
These conceptions are probably inadequate in dealing
with the higher elements in social development ; but
they do seem to be of value in dealing with the
more primitive facts of human and animal life, and
they may thus serve as a convenient point of de-
parture.

It seems to be a general truth in Psychology that
every presentation involving the idea of movement
brings with it a more or less definite "suggestion " of
the movement involved — t. e. gives rise to a certain
tendency to perform the movement. This is es-

1 French writers in particular, such as Guyau and Tarde, have
laid great emphasis on facts of this class.

§ 2.] THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT. lOj

pecially true when the movement conveyed to an
animal being in idea is one for the performance of
which its bodily organs are adapted. It then gives
rise to movements which may be described as il imita-
tions " of the original movement — it being borne in
mind that they are not to be regarded as conscious im-
itations, but rather as being of the nature of "sugges-
tion." There can be little doubt that the facts of lan-
guage and other expressive movements are to a large
extent to be explained in this way ; and so also, in all
probability, are many of the instinctive actions * of the
lower animals and many of the customs of primitive
peoples. Some further remarks on this point may
suffice as an introduction to the subject.

§ 2. GERMS OF CONDUCT IN THE LOWER ANIMALS. —
Though it is perhaps true that Conduct, in the stricter
sense of the term, is not to be found at all in the
actions of the lower animals, yet it is certainly the
case that we may detect in them the germs of that
which becomes conduct in man. If animals can
seldom be credited with any direct consciousness of
an end, they are at least led by certain natural im-
pulses to the accomplishment of ends of which they

i It is still an undecided question, what exactly should be under-
stood by instinct ; and any discussion of it would obviously be out of
place here. Some writers limit the term to forms of activity that
are innate ; but if Principal Lloyd Morgan is right in thinking that
nothing is innate in animals except physiological tendencies to cer-
tain forms of action when an appropriate stimulus is presented, in-
stinct in the psychological sense would seem, on this interpretation,
to be reduced to zero. (See his work on Comparative Psychology
and his more recent book on Habit and Instinct). For our present
purpose, I prefer to understand the term as including all movements
that presuppose nothing more (from the psychological point of view)
than percepts and perceptual images.

io6 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. iv.

are themselves unaware. Like the makers of the
cathedrals, they "build better than they know," their
instincts often carry them more certainly to the
attainment of the ends of their species than human
reason guides us. Now the nature of instinct is
largely involved in obscurity. It seems partly to de-
pend on hereditary impulses to action under particu-
lar forms of stimulus ; but to some extent also it
seems to be acquired in the lifetime of the individual
animal, and to be developed under the influence ot
suggestion. The young of a species learn by imita-
tion of the more mature.1 This is especially seen iu

1 Here again the facts of the case are somewhat open to dispute.
The following extract may be given from Principal Lloyd Morgan,
who is probably our best authority on such subjects. " If one of a
group of chicks learn by casual experience, such as I have before
described; to drink from a tin of water, others will run up and peck
at the water, and will themselves drink. A hen teaches her little
ones to pick up grain or other food by pecking on the ground and
dropping suitable materials before them, the -chicks seeming to
imitate her actions. One may make chicks and young pheasants
peck by simulating the action of a hen with a pencil-point or pair of
fine forceps. According to Mr. Peal's statement, before quoted, the
Assamese find that young jungle pheasants will perish if their peck-
ing responses are not thus stimulated ; and Prof. Claypole tells me
that this is also the case with ostriches hatched in an incubator

It is certainly much easier to bring up young birds

if older ones are setting an example of eating and drinking ; and
instinctive actions, such as scratching "the ground, are performed
earlier if imitation be not excluded. A number of sim-
ilar cases might be given. But what impresses the observer, as he
watches the early development of a brood of young birds, is the
presence of an imitative tendency which is exemplified in many
little ways not easy to describe in detail" (Habit and Instinct, pp.
166—167)^ No doubt in all such cases congenital aptitude (and per-
haps also congenital impulse) is presupposed. How much may
fairly be ascribed to heredity and how much to suggestion, is a dif-
ficult problem, with which, happily, we are not here concerned

§ 3,] THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT. IO7

the case of the more gregarious animals, in which,
as in the familiar case of sheep, the movements
of leaders are observed, and in which certain habi-
tual forms of activity grow up,1 almost similar to
the customary morality of human beings. Some-
times also penalties seem even to be attached to vio-
lations of the customs that have grown up within
the herd. In this we see the germs both of moral
action and of moral judgment, though it would prob-
ably be going too far to say that there is anything
more than the germs of them.

§ 3. CONDUCT AMONG SAVAGES. — Among savages also
the moral consciousness is largely still in germ.
Their actions are to a great extent impulsive, and
show little sign of forethought with regard to distant
consequences. Yet they are by no means left to the
guidance of individual caprice. The savage is a
member of a tribe, and his life is hedged about by
customary observances, of which the purpose is not
always very apparent. In the formation of these, sug-
gestion and conscious imitation no doubt play a con-
siderable part ; and even when an end can be de-
tected, it must not always be assumed that it was
consciously present to the minds of those who were
led to adopt the means to its attainment.

§ 4. THE GUIDANCE OF CONDUCT BY CUSTOM. — Even
after mankind have to a considerable extent emerged
from savagery, the influence of custom in the deter-

* How far these grow up in the lifetime of the individual, and
how far they are a result of imitation, are points still open to dis-
pute. The action of the queen bee, in killing off her rivals as soon
as she herself emerges from the cell, would almost seem to imply »
congenital impulse

108 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IV.

mination of conduct continues for a long time to be
paramount. The words $#09, mores, Sitten, all bear
evidence to the importance of custom in the rrrmation
of the morality of nations. In English the word
manners has become restricted to a much narrower
and more insignificant sense ; but even now it is
sometimes capable of being used more widely and
seriously, as when Wordsworth says, in his sonnet to
Milton,

" And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power."

At any rate, whatever terms we may use to express
the fact, there can be no doubt that customary mo-
rality precedes that which is based on law or on
reflection.

§ 5. THE GUIDANCE OF CONDUCT BY LAW. — Gradually,
however, in the life of a people, definite rules of
action begin to be established. To some extent these
are simply customary observances made more
definite ; but generally in the formulation of positive
laws a certain change gets introduced into the
previous customs. When, for instance, definite laws
with reference to criminal actions take the place of
the primitive custom of revenge, the extent of the
retaliation is a good deal limited, and a more definite
conception of justice is introduced.

§ 6. THE GUIDANCE OF CONDUCT BY IDEAS. — When
definite laws have been formulated, reflection soon
begins. Rules almost inevitably conflict both with
custom and with one another ; and in any case they
fcre found too rigid for the guidance of conduct. Ex-
ceptional circumstances arise, and men are led to
reflect on the principles that underlie the rules, in order

§7>] THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT.

to see how they ought to be modified under the stress
of special difficulties. Such reflection leads to a gradual
supersession of the letter of the law in favour of its
underlying spirit. Men learn to guide themselves by
principle instead of by rule, i. e. by consideration of the
most important aims that they have in view, and the
means that are best adapted to their realisation. When
this stage is reached, we have passed almost entirely
beyond the region of suggestion and imitation. Re-
flective morality is substituted for customary obser-
vance.

§ 7. ACTION AND REFLECTION. — Of course the part
played by reflection even in the most fully developed
forms of morality ought not to be exaggerated. The
moral life, even in its most developed stages, is not
passed entirely in cool reflective hours ; and even if
it were, the complexity of the material would prevent
its complete saturation by reflective principles. Swift
decisions have to be made and far-reaching plans
formed ; so that in the actual activities of the concrete
moral life even the most thoughtful of men live to a
considerable extent by faith, and do not guide them-
selves entirely by well developed principles. The
ideas by which they are guided are partly formed by
reflection, but partly also they are derived from the
experience of the individual and partly from the experi-
ence of the race. Even here, then, imitation and sug-
gestion are not entirely excluded. There is something
of the nature of instinct and impulse even in our most
developed conduct.

§ 8. MORAL IDEAS AND IDEAS ABOUT MORALITY. — This
leads us to notice an important distinction, on which
a good deal of emphasis has been laid in recent times

HO ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IV.

— viz. the distinction which has been well expressed by
Dr. Bosanquet1 as that between "Moral Ideas" and
"Ideas about Morality," or, as it might be put more
briefly, between Moral Ideas and Ethical Ideas. The
ideas by which we are guided in our actions may be of
a more or less reflective character. A man may guide
himself by the conception of a clearly-defined end, such
as the attainment of happiness or perfection, and may
adapt his whole line of conduct to the attainment of this.
In such a case he is guided by an Ethical Idea or by an
" Idea about Morality," /. e. by an idea formed through
reflection upon the nature of the moral end. But a,
Moral Idea need not be of this character. A moral
idea may be got, as it is sometimes put, out of our
"spiritual atmosphere." The idea, for instance, oi
the kind of conduct which fits a "gentleman" or a
" Christian " is not, as a rule, derived from any definite
reflection on the nature of the moral end, but is rathei
acquired through tradition and experience. It is im-
portant, then, to remember that a man may be guided
by moral ideas though he has never definitely reflected
upon the nature of morality. It may be added that a
man may have reflected much, and even deeply, upon
the nature of morality ; and yet his stock of moral
ideas may be but small and inefficient. It is no doubt
possible to make too much of this distinction ; and
perhaps Dr. Bosanquet, who is chiefly responsible for
the clear statement of it, has somewhat exaggerated the
antithesis. Every moral idea is capable of reflective
analysis, and may thus be said to imply an ethical

i In an article in The International Journal of Ethics, VoL I., no. I.
It has since been reprinted in The Civilization of Christendom, pp

§9-] THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT. Ill

idea, and, similarly, every ethical idea naturally
becomes a source of moral ideas.1 This is a point,
however, on which we shall have occasion to touch
more fully when we come to deal with the bearing of
ethical theory on practical conduct. In the meantime
it may be sufficient to- bear in mind this important dis-
tinction between moral and ethical ideas.

§ 9. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE MORAL CONSCIOUSNESS.
— From this brief sketch some general notion may be
formed of the way in which the moral life develops
from customary action, founded on suggestion and
imitation, to the stage of independent reflective choice.
In order, however, to have a complete view of the
growth of the moral consciousness, it is necessary to
take account not only of the way in which conduct is
developed, but also of the parallel development of the
judgment that is passed upon conduct. From the
earliest dawn of what can be described as morality,
men not only act in particular ways, but also in various
ways indicate their opinion that particular kinds of
action are right and others wrong. The two lines of
development are closely connected, but they are also
quite distinct ; for it is often but too apparent that men

1 It would be interesting to inquire how far the moral ideas of the
modern Christian world are a result of unconscious growth, and
how far they are due to the reflective analysis of Greek thought— to
the influence of Plato and Aristotle, the Stoics, &c. Or, again, we
might ask how far our modern ideas about duties towards animals
can be traced to the influence of Utilitarianism, and how far they
are due to a more spontaneous development of moral sentiment
But such questions would be very difficult to answer. "The wind
bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but
canst not tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth." This is on
th* whole still true of a great part of our moral development

112 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. IV.

do not act in the way that they judge to be right, or
avoid acting in the way that they judge to be wrong.
Accordingly, it is now necessary that we should take
account of the other line of development — the growth
of the moral judgment

THE EVOLUTION OF CONDUCT.

NOTE ON SOCIOLOGY.

The further discussion of the points dealt with in this chapter,
and to some extent also of those dealt with in the following chaptcc,
seems to belong most properly to Sociology. But this science is in
a very undeveloped state. The beginnings of it are seen in the
Politics of Aristotle. In more modern times it owes much to Hobbes,
Spinoza, Locke, Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, Rousseau, Montesquieu,
SL Simon, Adam Smith, Kant, Fichte, Hegel, and several others.
But the definite foundation of it must, on the whole, be ascribed to
Comte. In this country it was brought into prominence by Mr.
Herbert Spencer's interesting little book on The Study of Sociology.
The Principles of Sociology, by the same author, have just been com-
pleted, and constitute the most elaborate contribution to the sub-
ject in this country. In French, reference may be made to such
works as De Greef's Introduction h la sociotogie, Tarde's Les lots de
f imitation, the writings of Fouill6e and Guyau, and many others.
In German, the most elaborate contribution is Schiffle's Bau
und Leben des socialen Kb'rpcrs. The works of Simmel (Uebef
sociale Dijfferenzierung and Einleitung in die Moralwissenschafl) have
a special interest from the intimate way in which he seeks to con-
nect Sociology with Ethics. He practically regards Ethics as a de-
partment of Sociology. Some account and criticism of his views
will be found in Bougie's recent work on Les sciences societies en
Alleinagne. See also Mind, New Series, VoL I., no. 4, and Vol. III.,
no. 2. Several American writers have also dealt with Sociology,
notably Mr. Lester F. Ward. Profs. Small and Vincent have written
An Introduction to the Study of Society, and, more recently, two in-
teresting handbooks have been written by Profs. Giddings and
Fairbanks. There is also an American Journal of Sociology, pub-
lished at Chicago. It thus seems clear that some beginning has
been made in the study of the science. But it can hardly be said as
yet that it has any recognized principles or method The student
who desires to gain some idea of its present position will probably
find The Principles of Sociology by Prof. Giddings or An Introduction
to Sociology by ProL Fairbanks most helpful Both contain good
Bibliographies. The recent article by Dr. Bosanquet on Philosophy
and Sociology (Mind, January, 1897) will also be found exceedingly
instructive.
E*.

H4 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. v.

CHAPTER V.
THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT.

§ 1. THE EARLIEST FORMS OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT.—
The germs of moral judgment, like the germs of con-
duct, may be found even among the lower animals.
Domesticated animals, especially dogs, seem often to
have a consciousness of having done wrong ; at least
they seem to be aware when they have rendered them-
selves liable to punishment. And even wild animals,
of the more gregarious species, seem to exhibit certain
rude beginnings of moral judgment. They seem at
least to exhibit a certain discomfort at the violation of
a general and settled habit of action, and even in some
cases, if all tales are true, to inflict punishment on those
members of the herd that violate its traditions. But
the severest punishments appear to be inflicted on
those whose only crime is that of being diseased or
wounded ; so that their action may perhaps be inter-
preted, if it is to liave a quasi-moral interpretation at
all, ' as an instinctive defence of the herd against any-
thing that would tend to weaken it, rather than any-
thing of the nature of a distinctly moral judgment. But

1 The probability is rather, as Mr. Stout suggests, that " the distress
of the comrade, and especially the smell of blood, rouses blind fury,
which tends to find a definite channel, and thus vents itself on the
object which is the centre of attention, i. e., the distressed comrade
Itself. If an enemy is at hand, he will suffer."

§ 2.] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 11$

among primitive races of mankind also the judgment
passed on conduct, and expressing itself in reward and
punishment, seems to mean little more than approbation
of that which strengthens and disapproval of that which
weakens the tribe.1 The important point to notice,
however, is that the earliest forms of moral judgment
involve reference to a tribe or form of society of which
the individual is but a member. The germ of this is
no doubt found in the gregarious consciousness of
animals.

§ 2. THE TRIBAL SELF. — This point was brought out
in an interesting way by Clifford in his account a of what
he described as "The Tribal Self." Clifford begins by
saying that the Self means essentially ' ' a sort of centre
about which our remoter motives revolve, and to which
they always have regard." It is, in short, a universe
of reference. "If we consider now," he goes on, "the

1 Something of the same sort may be observed even in more
developed communities under certain conditions. Thus, in Bryce's
American Commonwealth (chap. Ixiii.), the following remarks are
made on some aspects of American political life : " Even city poli-
ticians must have a moral code and a moral standard. It is not the
code of an ordinary unprofessional citizen. It does not forbid false-
hood, or malversation, or ballot stuffing, or 'repeating.1 But it
denounces apathy or cowardice, disobedience, and, above all, treason
to the party. Its typical virtue is ' solidity,' unity of heart, mind,
and effort among the workers, unquestioning loyalty to the party
ticket He who takes his own course is a kicker or bolter ; and is
punished not only sternly but vindictively." Nor is this kind of
moral standard wholly unknown in English party politics, or in the
medical profession, or in the working of Trades Unions. But such
a moral standard in modern times, being as it were a standard within
a standard, is not able wholly to maintain itself against the recog-
nized moral standard of the people. Even the professional politician
sometimes finds it necessary " to pander a little to the moral sens*
of the community," (Bryce op. cit., chap. Ixviii.).

* Lectures and Essays (" On the Scientific Basis of Morals ").

n6 ETHICS. [BK. L, CH. v.

simpler races of mankind, we shall find not only that
immediate desires play a far larger part in their lives,
and so that the conception of self is less used and less
developed, but also that it is less definite and more
wide. The savage is not only hurt when anybody
treads on his foot, but when anybody treads on his
tribe. He may lose his hut, and his wife, and his op-
portunities of getting food. In this way, the tribe be-
comes naturally included in that conception of self
which renders remote desires possible by making them
immediate." "The tribe, qud tribe, has to exist, and
it can only exist by aid of such an organic artifice as
the conception of the tribal self in the minds of its
members. Hence the natural selection of those races
in which this conception is the most powerful and
most habitually predominant as a motive over imme-
diate desires. To such an extent has this proceeded
that we may fairly doubt whether the selfhood of the
tribe is not earlier in point of development than that of
the individual. In the process of time it becomes a
matter of hereditary transmission, and is thus fixed as
a specific character in the constitution of social man.
With the settlement of countries, and the aggregation
of tribes into nations, it takes a wider and more ab-
stract form ; and in the highest natures the tribal self is
incarnate in nothing less than humanity. Short of
these heights, it places itself in the family and in the
city. I shall call that quality or disposition of man
which consists in the supremacy of the family or tribal
self as a mark of reference for motives by its old name
Piety:'

Without absolutely subscribing to everything that is
Stated by Clifford in this connexion, w« may at leaat

§ 3-] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 1 1/

recognise the importance of the point that he here
seeks to emphasise — viz. the solidarity of the primitive
moral consciousness. Man does not at first naturally
think of himself as an independent individual, but
rather as a part of a system * ; and this system may in
a very real sense be called a "self," since it is the uni-
verse to which the individual refers the conduct of his
life. It is here, then, that we find the earliest basis for
the moral judgment ; and, in stating the manner of its
formation, it may still be convenient to follow the mode
of statement given by Clifford.

§ 3. THE ORIGIN OF CONSCIENCE. — "We do not like
a man," Clifford goes on, "whose character is such
that we may reasonably expect injuries from him.
This dislike of a man on account of his character is a
more complex feeling than the mere dislike of separate
injuries. A cat likes your hand, and your lap, and the
food you give her ; but I do not think she has any
conception of you. A dog, however, may like you
even when you thrash him, though he does not like
the thrashing. Now such likes and dislikes may be
felt by the tribal self. If a man does anything gener-
ally regarded as good for the tribe, my tribal self may
say, in the first place, I like that thing that you have
done. By such common approbation of individual
acts, the influence of piety as a motive becomes de-
fined ; and natural selection will in the long run pre-
serve those tribes which have approved the right
things ; namely, those things which at that time gave
the tribe an advantage in the struggle for existence.

* It may be noted that the idea of tribal unity generally embodies
itself in the image of a tribal god ; and the religious bond tends to
become more and more important in giving unity to the system.

ii8 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. v.

But in the second place, a man may as a rule and con-
stantly, being actuated by piety, do good things for
the tribe ; and in that case the tribal self will say, I
like you. The feeling expressed by this statement on
the part of any individual, ' In the name of the tribe,
I like you,' is what I call approbation. It is the feeling
produced in pious individuals by that sort of char-
acter which seems to them beneficial to the com-
munity."

"Now suppose," Clifford proceeds, " that a man has
done something obviously harmful to the community.
Either some immediate desire, or his individual self,
has for once proved stronger than the tribal self.
When the tribal self wakes up, the man says, ' In the
name of the tribe, I do not like this thing that I, as an
individual, have done.' This self-judgment in the name
of the tribe is called Conscience. If the man goes
further, and draws from this act and others an infer-
ence about his own character, he may say, ' In the
name of the tribe I do not like my individual self.'
This is remorse. "

All this ought to present no difficulty to the student
who has grasped the conception of the different Uni-
verses within which we live. The Universe, from the
point of view of which the primitive moral judgment
is passed, is that described by Clifford as "the tribal
self." From this point of view the consciousness of
the primitive savage passes judgment both on himself
and others as individuals within the tribe. And on the
whole, actions are judged to be good or bad, and indi-
viduals to be praiseworthy or blameworthy, according
as they tend to promote or to impede the existence
and the welfare of the tribe.

§ 4-] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 119

§ 4. CUSTOM AS THE MORAL STANDARD. — We must not,
however, suppose that the procedure of the primitive
man is quite so self-conscious as Clifford's manner of
statement might seem to imply. He does not deliberately
ask himself whether his conduct is or is not of such a
kind as to promote the welfare of his tribe. Still less
does he ask such a question with respect to his general
character or to that of others. What happens is rather,
as we have already indicated, that customary modes
of action grow up in the life of a people, that those
modes of action that are favourable to its welfare tend
on the whole to be selected and preserved, and that
those modes of action also tend on the whole to be ap-
proved. In thus approving, the individual puts him-
self at the point of view of his tribe, but he does so
unconsciously ; it does not occur to him that it would
be possible for him to take up any other point of view.
Of himself as an independent individual, or of others
as independent individuals, he has not yet formed any
clear conception. Hence also it is not quite true to say
that he passes judgment on his own character or on that
of others. He hardly thinks of character. He judges
actions. Even in such a comparatively advanced stage
of the moral consciousness as that represented in
Homer, the idea of a general judgment on character
has scarcely emerged. In the Iliad, as Seeley has re-
marked,1 "the distinction between right and wrong
is barely recognised, and the division of mankind into
the good and the bad is not recognised at all. It has
often been remarked that it contains no villain. The
reason of this is not that the poet does not represent his
characters as doing wicked deeds, for, in fact, there is

1 Ecu Homo, chap. ziz.

130 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. V.

not one among them who is not capable of deeds th«
most atrocious and shameful. But the poet does not
regard these deeds with any strong disapprobation, and
the feeling of moral indignation which has been so
strong in later poets was in him so feeble that he is
quite incapable of hating any of his characters for their
crimes. He can no more conceive the notion of a
villain than of an habitually virtuous man. The few
deeds that he recognises as wrong, or at least as strange
and dangerous — killing a suppliant, or killing a father-
he, notwithstanding, conceives all persons alike as ca-
pable of perpetrating under the influence of passion or
some heaven-sent bewilderment of the understanding."
In such a state of society there are things which "one
does not do," actions which are not customary, but
there is hardly anything which is regarded with strong
moral disapprobation.

§ 5. POSITIVE LAW AS THE MORAL STANDARD. — Gradu-
ally, however, as we have seen, Law takes the place
of custom in the control of conduct. Along with this
there comes a certain change in the moral judgment
When "thou shalt not do "takes the place of "one
does not do," the distinction between right and wrong
is made more precise ; and a more definite condemna-
tion attaches to the violation of that which is recog-
nised as right In the early stage of customary
morality, to quote Seeley once more, "men, easily
tempted into crime, flung off the effects of it as easily.
Agamemnon, after violating outrageously the right of
property, has but to say daedftyv, ' My mind was be-
wildered/ and the excuse is sufficient to appease his
own conscience, and is accepted by the public, and
•ren by the injured party himself, who feels himself

§ 6.] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 121

equally liable to such temporary mental perplexities. *
" After the introduction of law crime could never again
be thus lightly expiated and forgotten." " By the law
comes the knowledge of sin. A standard of action is
set up, which serves to each man both as a rule of life
for himself and a rule of criticism upon his neighbours.
Then comes the division of mankind into those who
habitually conform to this rule and those who violate
it, into the good and the bad, and feelings soon spring
up to sanction the classification, feelings of respect for
the one class and hatred for the other."

§ 6. THE MORAL LAW. — But so long as the law taken
as the moral standard is not definitely distinguished
from the positive law of the land, the moral judgment
is not yet fully formed. The positive law of a country
is directed primarily against external acts prejudicial to
the welfare of society, whereas the moral judgment in
its fully developed form has reference rather to men's in-
tentions, motives, and characters, than to their mere
external performances. Now in the life of a develop-
ing people this distinction gradually emerges. We see
it perhaps most clearly in the case of the Jews, when the
Ten Commandments become definitely distinguished
from the ceremonial and civil laws of the country.
These Commandments include the rule, "Thou shall
not covet," as well as "Thou shalt not steal," and
thus introduce the conception of a judgment to be passed
on the inner attitude of mind, as well as on the outer
action. As the moral consciousness develops, this con-
ception becomes more and more pronounced.

§ 7. MORAL CONFLICT. — When moral development
has arrived at such a stage as this, certain conflicts

122 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. V.

almost inevitably arise, both in action and in the judg-
ment that is passed on action. In primitive societies
each man's duty is comparatively obvious. There is
little division of labour, and the way in which the
welfare of the tribe is to be promoted can seldom
be doubtful. But when law is added to custom, and
moral law added to positive law, and when at the same
time a man finds himself occupying many different
positions within his society (being, for instance, at once
father, soldier, judge, husbandman, and the like), the
right thing to do on a given occasion is not always so
apparent. Law may conflict with custom, or one law
with another. The classical instance of such a con-
flict is found in the Antigone of Sophocles, where the
definite law of the state comes into collision with the
more customary principle of family affection. Anti-
gone prefers the latter, because it is of immemorial
antiquity and its origin cannot be traced, whereas the
law of the state has been made and may be unmade
again. But the ultimate result of such a conflict is to
give rise to reflection, and to the search for some
deeper standard of judgment.

§ 8. THE INDIVIDUAL CONSCIENCE AS STANDARD. — Such
a standard is sometimes sought in an appeal to the
heart or conscience of the individual. An appeal may
be made from the outer law of the state to the inner
voice, or law of the heart. But this is soon found to
be unsatisfactory, inasmuch as the conflicts found in
the outer law are in reality repeated in the inner law.
The heart may attach itself, for instance, to the idea of
the family, but it may also attach itself to the idea of
the state; and devotion, to the one may be incom-

§ 10.] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 123

patible with devotion to the other. ' We are accord-
ingly thrown back upon reflective analysis.

§ 9. THE GROWTH OF THE REFLECTIVE JUDGMENT. — It
is thus that men are gradually led to ask themselves
what is the real basis of the moral judgment. This
question inevitably leads to the attempt to construct
some sort of scientific ethical system. It may, how-
ever, for a time stop short of this, and merely lead to
the formulation of certain fundamental principles,
without any definite attempt at systematic construc-
tion. In any case universal principle::, applicable to
all times and peoples become gradually substituted for
the customs and laws of particular tribes and nations.

§ 10. ILLUSTRATIONS FROM ANCIENT PEOPLES. — The de-
velopment of the moral judgment is perhaps most

1 Cf. the attitude of Blanche in Shakespeare's play of King John,
lAcL III, scene i) s—

" Which is the side that I must go withal ?
I am with both : each army hath a hand ;
And in their rage, I having hold of both,
They whirl asunder and dismember me.
Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win ;
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose ;
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ;
Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive ;
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ;
Assured loss before the match be played."

Here the puzzle is — On which side is the self ? On which side is
the deepest and most abiding interest ?

Cf. also the attitude of Desdemona in Othello— (Act L, scene 3) *—
" I do perceive here a divided duty."

Indeed it is out of such conflict that all the most profoundly tragic
situations arise.

124 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. v.

easily studied in the great nations of antiquity, in
which there was less interference from without than in
the case of most modern peoples.

Among the Jews, for instance, it is easy to trace a
development from the customary and ceremonial law,
through the Ten Commandments, to the deeper and
more inward principles represented by the Psalms and
the later prophets. The idea of the "pure heart"
gradually substitutes itself for external observances ;
and, in Christianity, the law is quite definitely super-
seded by the idea of the inner principle of love. When
this takes place, the purely national character of the
Jewish morality is at the same time broken down, and
it becomes a morality that is applicable to all times and
peoples. In the case of this line of development, how-
ever, it is to be noted that every step takes place, as
it were, by a new enactment. The deeper principle is
always formulated by the voice of some prophet, speak-
ing more or less definitely in the name of "the Lord."
The idea of a divine law remains fundamental through-
out. Even when the inner principle of Christianity is
set against the external rules of the older system, it still
appears in the form of a definite enactment, a ' New
Commandment.' " It was said by them of old time.

.... But I say unto you " The appeal is

still to an authoritative law.

Among the Greeks the case is very different. Here,
indeed, we start also from the idea of law, and indeed
of divine law. But it is a law that is never distinctly
formulated in a code of commandments ; and the
process of its development is different. The deeper
principle is not introduced in the form of a new pro-
phetic utterance, but in the form of a reflective inter-

§ 10.] THE GROWTH OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 12$

pretation. Men begin to question the validity of the
old principles of action, and to ask themselves how
they are to be justified; and this soon gives rise to
reflective systems of Ethics. The growth of these will
be briefly noticed in the following Book. What it is
important to observe, however, is that, different as this
course of development is from that found among the
Hebrews, it leads, nevertheless, to substantially similar
results. Here also the growth is one from external ob-
servances to the idea of action based on principle — from
the idea of duty done in obedience to the law of the state
to that of duty done TOO xaXoo gvexa, for the sake of the
beauty or nobility of it. At the same time there is a
gradual advance from the idea of a kind of life which is
possible only for the Greek, and not for the Barbarian,
to the idea (which becomes especially prominent among
the Stoics) of a kind of life which is simply human, and
which belongs to all mankind as citizens of the world.

Among the Romans nothing quite similar can be
traced. In their later life they were too much influenced
by Greek thought for anything quite spontaneous to
arise among themselves. But we see something of
the same sort in the development of their law. Roman
law is at first simply Roman, and rests on no definite
principle. By the help of the stoical philosophy, how-
ever, they gradually introduced an inner principle into
it, and in so doing made it cease to be Roman Law,
and become the Law of the world.

Thus, these three peoples gradually developed from
their national institutions a universal religion, a uni-
versal science, and a universal law, at the same time
as they substituted an inner principle of action for a
merely external obedience to their laws.

126 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. v.

§ 11. GENERAL NATURE OF MORAL DEVELOPMENT. — From
this brief sketch the general nature of the development
of the moral judgment may be more or less apparent
The following features may be specially noted : —

(1) It develops from customs, through law, to reflec-
tive principles.

(2) It develops from the judgment on external acts
to the judgment on the inner purpose and character.

(3) It develops from ideas peculiar to the circum-
stances of particular tribes and nations to ideas that
have a universal validity.

Having thus indicated the general nature of the de-
velopment of the moral judgment, we may now be in
a position to consider the essential elements involved
in that judgment in its fully developed form.

§ I.] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. I2/

CHAPTER VI.

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT.

§ 1. THE NATURE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. — From the
statements that have now been made, the general na-
ture of the moral judgment ought to be to a consider-
able extent apparent; but there are still some questions
that it is important to ask with respect to its fully
developed content and significance. These questions
will naturally fall under two distinct heads. It is evi-
dent, in the first place, that the moral judgment is not
simply of the nature of what is called a judgment in
Logic. It is not merely a judgment about, but a judg-
ment upon. It does not merely state the nature of
some object, but compares it with a standard, and by
means of this standard pronounces it to be good or evil,
right or wrong. This is what is meant in saying that
the moral point of view is normative. Now it follows
from this that there are two main questions to be asked
— (i) What is the object upon which judgment is pro-
nounced ? — (2) What is the point of view from which
such a judgment is possible? The consideration of
these questions will naturally lead us up to the consid-
eration of the precise nature of the standard, which is
to be the subject of the following book.

The two questions which we have now to consider
may be briefly expressed as follows : — (i) What is the
object of the moral judgment ? (2) What is the subject
of the moral judgment ?

1 23 ETHICS. [_BK- !•» CH- VI.

§2. THE OBJECT OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. — In a general
way the nature of the object upon which the moral
judgment is passed is clear enough. The object is
voluntary action. It is with this, as we have seen,
that Ethics is concerned throughout. It has to do with
the right direction of the will. The moral judgments
which we pass are, in like manner, concerned with the
will. Whatever is not willed, has no moral quality.
An avalanche rolling down a mountain may devastate
a village ; a shower may save a nation from famine :
but we do not judge either the one or the other to be
morally bad or good. In like manner, we do not pass
moral judgments on tigers or horses for their ravages
or for their services, so long as we regard these as
dictated by mere instinct, without volition. When we
praise or blame them, we do it under the tacit assump-
tion that their acts were voluntary. Moral judgments,
then, are not passed upon all sorts of things, nor even
upon all sorts of activities, but only upon conduct.

§ 3. THE GOOD WILL. — We are thus led to the famous
declaration with which Kant opened his great treatise
on Ethics.1 He begins it by saying that "there is
nothing in the world, or even out of it, that can be
called good without qualification, except a good will."
The gifts of fortune, he said, and the happiness which
they bring with them, are to be regarded as good only
on condition that they are rightly used. Talents and
worldly wisdom are, in like manner, good only when
they are subordinated to the attainment of high aims.
These things are only conditionally good. But a good
will is good without condition. It is, as Kant said, the
only jewel that shines by its own light
1 Metaphysic of Morals, section L

§ 3-] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 129

But in thus commending the good will as supremely
good, and regarding it as the ultimate object approved
by the moral judgment, we must be careful to distin-
guish will from mere wish. "Hell," it is said, "i»
paved with good intentions." A good will is not
merely a good intention, in the sense in which we dis-
tinguish an intention from a fully formed purpose, ' but
a determined effort to produce a good result — though it
may be an effort that has still to wait for its appro-
priate opportunity of issuing in overt action. Such an
effort is, from a moral point of view, supremely good,
even if, from some unforeseen contingencies, the good
result is not itself achieved. A good wish is merely
the consciousness that the attainment of a certain end
would give satisfaction : a good will is the identifica-
tion of oneself with that end.

But again, when we say that a good will is supremely
good, even if it fails to achieve a good result, it ought
not to be supposed that a good will can actually fail to
issue in a good action — if, at least, it issues in action at
all. a Will and act, when there is an act at all, are but the
inner and outer side of the same phenomenon. A good
will issues in a good action ; and, conversely, there can
be no good action without a good will. But an action
which in itself is good may lead, through the interfer-
ence of other circumstances, to a bad result ; and a bad
action may lead to a good result "The morality of
an action," said Dr. Johnson, 1 "depends on the motive

1 7. e., the sense in which we distinguish Wish from Will Th«
term " Intention " is here used in a sense somewhat different from
that explained in Chapter L of the present Book.

* Cf. above, Book I., chap. L, 591

• Bos well's Life of Johnson, VoL '.

fitb. f

130 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. vi.

from which we act. If I fling half-a-crown to a beggar
with intention to break his head, and he picks it up and
buys victuals with it, the physical effect is good, but,
with respect to me, the action is very wrong." On the
other hand, an act in itself good may be perverted to
evil ends. " You taught me language," says Caliban
to Prospero, "and my profit on't is, I know how to
curse." He who benefits another may be only nour-
ishing a snake. What constitutes the goodness of an
action is the goodness of the intention ; but a good
intention, though it produces a good action, need not
produce a good result. A result is generally a resultant
of several causes, of which the will of any particular
agent is only one.1

§ 4. JUDGMENT ON ACT AND ON AGENT. — So far there is
no difficulty. But it is necessary now to draw a dis-
tinction between two forms in which the moral judg-
ment is passed. We may judge a man's actions, or we
may judge the man himself. It can hardly be doubted
that both these forms of judgment are to be found even
at the most developed stage of the moral consciousness
that has yet been reached. The distinction corresponds,
in the main, to that between Right and Good. Some
of a man's actions may be right, and yet we may not

1 If we took account of all the effects, direct and indirect, of a
man's actions, we should probably find that the amount of good in
the result is much more nearly in proportion to the amount of good
in the intention than is commonly supposed. Green says (Prolego-
mena to Ethics, p. 320), that " there is no real reason to doubt that
the good or evil in the motive of an action Is exactly measured by
the good or evil in its consequences." It should be noted that, in
what is said up to this point, no account is taken of the question,
afterwards discussed, whether it is strictly on the intention or on the
motive that the moral judgment is passed,

§5-] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 13!

judge him to be a good man, and vice versa. We some-
times, that is to say, judge character, and sometimes
will in the narrower sense. Now, with respect to the
judgment on character no particular difficulty seems to
arise. We judge men's characters by the degree in which
the total content of their moral consciousness tends
towards the realisation of the highest end, whatever
that may be conceived to be. It is not so easy, how-
ever, to say what it is that we judge when we judge an
act rather than an agent. We do not judge the act by
its result, but by the purpose of the agent. On this all
are agreed. But it remains to be asked whether we
judge it by the whole intention involved in it, or rather
by that part of the intention which is described as the
motive. On this point there is considerable difference
of opinion, and the question is further complicated by
a want of uniformity in the interpretation of the terms
Intention and Motive.

§ 5. Is THE MORAL JUDGMENT CONCERNED WITH MOTIVES
OR WITH INTENTIONS ? — The controversy on this subject *
has been carried on chiefly between writers of the in-
tuitional and the utilitarian school.* The former have
generally maintained that the moral judgment is con-
cerned entirely with the motives of our actions, that
our actions are to be pronounced good or bad in pro-
portion to the goodness or badness of the motives by
which we are actuated in doing them. Thus Dr. Mar-
tineau, the most eminent of recent intuitionist writers,

1 This subject is well treated by Prof. Dewey in his Outlines of
Ethics, pp. 4-6, and more fully in Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp.
57-62.

* The nature of these two schools will become apparent in the
•equeL

132 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. vi.

has drawn out an elaborate table of the motives of our
conduct, and arranged them in order of merit1 He
places reverence at the top, and censoriousness, vin-
dictiveness, and suspiciousness at the bottom, while
between these lie a great variety of passions, appetites,
affections, sentiments, etc. ; such as love of ease, fear,
ambition, generosity, and compassion. Now to dis-
cuss the merits of such a scheme as this would evi-
dently carry us beyond the limits of such a handbook
as the present Two criticisms, however, may be
passed upon it In the first place, the list of motives,
or "springs of action " (as they are also called), seems
to rest on a false conception of psychological divisions.
The student of psychology will probably have become
familiar with this objection. Modern Psychology
treats the human mind as an organic unity, and repu-
diates any hard and fast distinctions of faculties, such
as seem to be implied in Dr. Martineau's list The
motives which he enumerates are not simple, but
highly complex, phenomena ; and their merits in any
particular case would depend on the way in which
they are composed. Fear, for instance, is not a simple
element in consciousness, but a complex state ; and
its merit or demerit depends on the way in which we
fear and the thing of which we are afraid. The same
applies to ambition, and to most of the other motives
enumerated by Dr. Martineau. But, apart from this,
the list seems to involve that confusion between the
different senses of the term " motive " to which refer-

1 Types of Ethical Theory, Part II., Book I., chap, vu A criticism
of Martineau's doctrine will be found in Sidgwick's Methods ofEthic*
Book III., chap, xii

§ 5-] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 133

ence has already been made. Thus fear and compas-
sion, though referring to objects, may be treated as
emotional states ; whereas ambition does not denote a
state of feeling, but rather an object aimed at — not in-
deed a definite object, but a range of objects almost
infinite in variety (from the desire to be Mayor of a
town to the desire to be the saviour of one's country),
having only in common the desire of some form of
personal eminence. Now mere feelings in the mind,
such as fear and compassion, do not seem, as I have
already indicated, to constitute motives at all, in the
proper sense of the term : they are not inducements
to action. What induces us to act is the presentation
of some end to be attained. Consequently, if we are
to have a list of motives, this list should take the form
rather of a classification of ends to be attained, than
of feelings that exist in our minds. Further, these ends
would have to be arranged, not under any such ab-
stract headings as " ambition " and the like, but in
accordance with their actual, concrete nature.

The antagonism of the utilitarians seems to be partly
due to the inadequacy of the intuitionist theory. Thus
Mill urges x that "the morality of an action depends
entirely upon the intention — that is, upon what the
agent wills to do. But the motive, that is, the feeling
which makes him will so to do, when it makes no
difference in the act, makes none in the morality :
though it makes a great difference in our moral esti-
mation of the agent, especially if it indicates a good
or a bad habitual disposition." "The motive of an
action," he says again,* "has nothing to do with tha

i Utilitarianism, chap, ii, p. 27, note. * Ibid., p. 2&

134 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. vi.

morality of the action, though much with the worth of
the agent." The reasonableness of this view is ap-
parent. If one man is animated by compassion and
another by fear, we may think the former a more
amiable man and the latter a more cowardly man :
but if they are led to act in precisely the same way,
must not their actions be regarded as equally good or
bad ? They are not perhaps equally good men ; but
that is not the question. A good man may do a bad
action, and a bad man may do a good action. The
question is simply — Are their actions good or bad?
How they feel in doing the actions may affect our
judgment of their characters, of their lives as a whole,
but not of their particular actions. Of course if their
actions are different in consequence of their feelings —
if, for instance, the man who feels compassion does
the act in a more gracious way, and the man who feels
fear does it in a hurried and awkward way — our moral
judgment upon the actions will be different. But the
reason is that in this case the feeling has to some ex-
tent affected the nature of the act that is willed. This
is Mill's view ; and it is evidently a reasonable view,
so far as it goes. Nevertheless, it appears to me to be
erroneous.

§ 6. THE MORAL JUDGMENT is PARTLY CONCERNED WITH
MOTIVES. — So long indeed as the reference is merely to
the feelings by which our actions are accompanied,
there is no need to dispute Mill's position. ' But if we
understand the motive to mean that which induces us

1 Of course the nature of our feelings is ultimately determined by
the nature of the ends that we have in view, and consequently in
disputing the one position we are in reality disputing the other aa
well

§ 6.] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 135

to act in a particular way; then I think we must main-
tain that it is on the motive that the moral judgment
is passed, or at least that the motive is properly taken
into account in passing judgment. Mill's error seems
to arise from this, that he supposes the moral judgment
to be passed on things done, whereas the moral judg-
ment is not properly passed upon a thing done, but
upon a person doing. If it were not so, we should
pass moral judgment on the instinctive acts of animals,
and even on the movements of rocks, clouds, and
avalanches. What we judge is conduct ; and this
means not merely an overt act, but the attitude of a
person in acting ; and his attitude must include his
motive. Now Mill himself admits that the motive
(even in the sense of the mere feeling, and surely '
much more in the sense of the end with reference to
which we are induced to act) makes a difference in
our estimation of the agent. It is true, indeed, that in
passing a moral judgment upon a particular act we
need not take account of the whole character of the
man who does it. If a man gets drunk, or tells a lie,
or defrauds his neighbour, we can say that he has done
wrong, without needing to inquire whether he is in
other respects a good man or a bad. But this does
not imply that we judge his action simply from the
outside, as a thing done. It is the man doing it that
we judge ; and the question, what induced him to do
it, is not irrelevant to this judgment. It may be ad-
mitted that we frequently omit this inner side of a
man's conduct in forming our judgments. But the
reason is, that it is so difficult to ascertain what the
inner side is. With regard to all men's actions (except
our own),

1 3$ 1THICS. [BK. I., CH. VL

•One point most still be greatly dark,
The moving why they do if

Hence the force of the precept "judge not 1 " But in
so far as we do judge, when we try to be thoroughly
just in our moral appreciations, it seems unquestion-
able that we take account of the motive, and that this
is what we are bound to take account of. *

It may be objected, of course, that a man's motives
are sometimes excellent, while yet we feel bound to
condemn his actions. Some fanatics, for instance,
have performed acts of the utmost atrocity, "thinking
that they did God service." Are we to approve these
actions, it may be asked, because the end aimed at
was good ? In answering this question, we must be
sure that we understand exactly what the question is.
Are we to understand that we are asked, whether, in
the case of such actions, we regard the thing done as

1 An example may help to make this clear. It has been urged
that if it is just to put a man to death, this act will not be rendered
vicious by the mere fact that the execution of it is accompanied by a
feeling of resentment or malevolence. Certainly, I should answer,
the mere feeling of resentment will make no difference in the
morality of the action, any more than a feeling of reluctance or a
feeling of weariness. But it is otherwise if the gratification of the
feeling was the motive of the act If a judge were to condemn a
criminal to death, not because it is just, but because he feels resent-
ment, and aims at the gratification of this feeling, then undoubtedly
his action would be wrong, though the result of it might accidentally
be right — i. e. it might be the case that the criminal ought to have
been put to death. Of course in such a case the intention is wrong
aa well as the motive. This is necessarily so ; for the motive is part
of the intention. In the case supposed, it is part of the judge's in-
tention (his inner intention, as I have called it) to gratify his feeling
of resentment But if this had not been part of his motive, it would
not have vitiated his action — ;'. e. Hit had not been part of his induce-

$ 7-] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 137

a desirable result ? If so, our answer would no doubt
be decidedly, No. In the same way we should say
that the fall of an avalanche is not a desirable result
But in neither case is our judgment a moral judgment
On the other hand, if we are asked whether we con-
sider that the fanatics in question acted rightly, then
we must answer that, in so far as they were aiming
steadfastly at a definite end, and in so far as that end
was a good one, we must approve of their actions. As
a rule, indeed, we shall not entirely approve of them ;
but the reason is that we do not regard their aims as
perfectly good. This is implied in calling them fanatics.
A fanatic is one who pursues some narrow end as if it
were the supreme good. The motive of such a man is
not the best possible, and the more conscientiously he
is guided by that motive the more certainly will his
actions not be the best possible.

§ 7. BUT THE JUDGMENT is REALLY ON CHARACTER. — It
appears from this, however, that it is only in a some-
what strained sense that the judgment can be said to
be passed either on the intention or on the motive
alone. The truth seems to be rather that the fully de-
veloped moral judgment is always pronounced, directly
or indirectly, on the character of the agent. That is to
say, as I have already remarked, it is never simply on
a thing done, but always on a person doing, that we
pass moral judgment. It is true that, in some cases,
we may have regard only to the person as doing this one
particular action, while in other cases we may think
of him as having general habits of action. But in all
cases, when we are passing a strictly moral judgment,
we think 'of the action, not as an isolated event, but as
part of a system of life. We judge its significance not

138 T ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. YI.

in the abstract, but for the person who does it, situated
as he happens to be, and viewing the world as he has
learned to view it. Thus we judge the action to be
good or evil according to the extent to which the
various elements in the whole presented content serve
as inducements to act or to refrain from acting. In
thus regarding the action, we are judging the whole
intention, but with reference to the extent to which the
various elements in it serve, or do not serve, as motives
to action. We thus judge the motives, both positively
and negatively, and in so doing judge the whole inten-
tion. Hence it is somewhat misleading to say simply
that we pass judgment either on the intention or on
the motive. *

§ 8. THE SUBJECT OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. — Having
thus considered the precise nature of the object upon
which the moral judgment is passed, we must now turn
our attention to the subject of the moral judgment,
** e. to the point of view from which an action is judged
to be good or bad. In a sense, every man may be
said to judge his own action to be good at the moment
when he does it. In deliberately choosing to do it, he
pronounces it to be the course of action which offers
most inducement at the time. By what right, then,
we may ask, does any one else pronounce it to be
wrong ? Or, how does it happen that the man him-
self, on calm reflection, judges his action to fall short
of an ideal standard ? The answer is that it is looked

1 For further discussion on this point, the student may be referred
to Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book II., chap.-iL, Book III., chap.
L, Book IV., chap, i.; Martineau's Types of Ethical Theory, Part IL
Book I., chap. vL, § 15 ; and International Journal of Ethics, Vol. IV.
Nos. i and 2,

§ 9-] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 139

at from a different point of view, regarded within a
different universe or system, from that from which the
individual was regarding it when he decided to act in
that particular way. But there are an indefinite number
of universes within which an action might be placed,
an indefinite number of points of view from which an
action or an agent might be judged. What claim has
any one of these to be regarded as preferable to any
other ?

Now to give any complete answer to this question
would involve the discussion of the various theories of
morals, to which our attention is to be directed in the
next Book. But, without entering into this discussion
at present, it may be profitable to notice some ways
in which the subject of the moral judgment may be
conceived.

§ 9. THE MORAL CONNOISSEUR. — One way in which
we may help ourselves to understand it is by calling
to our aid the analogy of the judgments which are
passed on works of art. We say that a poem or a play
or a novel is a good or a bad artistic product. In so
saying, we are passing a judgment upon it, just as we
do when we say that an action is good or bad. Now
from what point of view is such a judgment pro-
nounced? Not, it seems clear, from that of the person
who happens at the time to be reading or hearing or
seeing the artistic product, any more than the moral
judgment is passed from the point of view of the
individual who is acting. The artist appeals from the
judgment of the multitude to the judgment of the
skilled and sympathetic critic. l Now it may be said

1 " Like Verdi when, at his worst opera's end
(Th« thing they gave at Florence— what's its nam« ?)

140 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. VL

that in like manner, when we are dealing with conduct,
the appeal is to the judgment of the moral connoisseur.
This is the view of the Moral Sense School, to which
we shall have occasion to refer in the sequel, and in
particular of Shaftesbury, its most notable exponent.
Without discussing the point of view of that School at
present, it suffices to say here that it hardly seems to
furnish us with a satisfactory answer to the present
question. A work of art aims, as we have already
noted, at the production of a certain result. The skilled
critic is the only judge whether such a result has been
achieved. "We musicians know." But in morals, as
we have seen, it is rather the action than the result
that is judged. Now this action, if it is a real action
at all, has been already judged by the person who acts.
He has deliberately chosen to act in a particular way.
Yet his action is judged to be wrong, and judged to be
wrong not merely by the moral connoisseur, but by
himself when he reflects upon it.

§ 10. THE IMPARTIAL SPECTATOR. — A somewhat more
elaborate theory was put forward by Adam Smith.
His theory rests upon the fact of sympathy, to which
reference has already been made. He points out that
our approval or disapproval of the conduct of others
depends on the extent to which we are able to sym-
pathise with them. "We run," he says,1 "not only
to congratulate the successful, but to condole with th*

While the mad houseful's plaudits near out-bang
His orchestra of salt-box, tongs and bones,
He looks through all the roaring and the wreaths
Where sits Rossini patient in his stall"

Browning — Bishop Blougram's Apology,
* Theory oj the Moral Sentiments, Part I., Sect I., chap. ii.

§ 10.] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 14!

afflicted ; and the pleasure which we find in the con-
versation of one whom in all the passions of his heart
we can entirely sympathise with, seems to do more
than compensate the painfulness of that sorrow with
which the view of his situation affects us." " If we
hear a person loudly lamenting his misfortunes, which,
however, upon bringing the case home to ourselves,
we feel can produce no such violent effect upon us,
we are shocked at his grief ; and, because we cannot
enter into it, call it pusillanimity and weakness. It
gives us the spleen, on the other hand, to see another
too happy, or too much elevated, as we call it, with
any little piece of good fortune. We are disobliged
even with his joy ; and, because we cannot go along
with it, call it levity and folly. We are even put out
of humour if our companions laugh louder or longer at
a joke than we think it deserves ; that is, than we feel
that we ourselves could laugh at it."

"When," he goes on,1 " the original passions of the
person principally concerned are in perfect concord
with the sympathetic emotions of the spectator, they
necessarily appear to this last just and proper, and
suitable to their objects ; and, on the contrary, when,
upon bringing the case home to himself, he finds that
they do not coincide with what he feels, they neces-
sarily appear to him unjust and improper, and unsuit-
able to the causes which excite them. To approve of
the passions of another, therefore, as suitable to their
objects, is the same thing as to observe that we entirely
sympathise with them ; and not to approve of them as
such, is the same thing as to observe that we do not
entirely sympathise with them. The man who resenta

iii

142 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. vi.

the injuries that have been done to me, and observes
that I resent them precisely as he does, necessarily
approves of my resentment. The man whose sym-
pathy keeps time to my grief, cannot but admit the
reasonableness of my sorrow. He whp admires the
same poem, or the same picture, and admires them
exactly as I do, must surely allow the justness of my
admiration. He who laughs at the same joke, and
laughs along with me, cannot well deny the propriety
of my laughter. On the contrary, the person who,
upon those different occasions, either feels no such
emotion as that which I feel, or feels none that bears
any proportion to mine, cannot avoid disapproving
my sentiments on account of their dissonance with his
own. If my animosity goes beyond what the indig-
nation of my friend can correspond to ; if my grief
exceeds what his most tender compassion can go
along with ; if my admiration is either too high or too
low to tally with his own ; if I laugh loud and heartily
when he only smiles, or, on the contrary, only smile
when he laughs loud and heartily ; in ali these cases,
as soon as he comes from considering the object, to
observe how I am affected by it, according as there is
more or less disproportion between his sentiments and
mine, I must incur a greater or less degree of his dis-
approbation ; and upon all occasions his own senti-
ments are the standards and measures by which he
judges of mine."

It follows from this that our earliest moral judgments
are passed, not upon ourselves, but upon others.
"Our first ideas," he says,1 " of personal beauty and
deformity, are drawn from the shape and appearance

IIL. chap i

§10.] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 143

of others, not from our own. We soon become sen-
sible, however, that others exercise the same criticism
upon us." "In the same manner our first moral
criticisms are exercised upon the character and conduct
of other people; and we are all very forward to
observe how each of these affects us. But we soon
learn that other people are equally frank with regard
to our own. We become anxious to know how far
we deserve their censure or applause, and whether to
them we must necessarily appear those agreeable
or disagreeable creatures which they represent us. We
begin, upon this account, to examine our own passions
and conduct, and to consider how these must appear
to them, by considering how they would appear to us
if in their situation. We suppose ourselves the spec-
tators of our own behaviour, and endeavour to imagine
what effect it would, in this light, produce upon us.
This is the only looking-glass by which we can, in
some measure, with the eyes of other people, scrutinise
the propriety of our own conduct. If in this view it
pleases us, we are tolerably satisfied. We can be
more indifferent about the applause, and, in some
measure, despise the censure of the world ; secure
that, however misunderstood or misrepresented, we
are the natural and proper objects of approbation."

" When I endeavour,'' he goes on, " to examine my
own conduct, when I endeavour to pass sentence upon
it, and either to approve or condemn it, it is evident
that, in all such cases, I divide myself, as it were, into
two persons; and that I, the examiner and judge, re-
present a different character from that other I, the
person whose conduct is examined into, and judged of.
The first is the spectator, whose sentiments with regard

144 ETHICS. [BK. i., CH. VL

to my own conduct I endeavour to get into, by placing
myself in his situation, and by considering how it
would appear to me, when seen from that particular
point of view. The second is the agent ; the person
whom I properly call myself, and of whose conduct,
under the character of a spectator, I was endeavouring
to form some opinion. The first is the judge ; the
second the person judged of. But that the judge
should, in every respect, be the same with the person
judged of, is as impossible, as that the cause should,
in every respect, be the same with the effect."

Adam Smith was thus led to the idea of what he
called the "impartial spectator," from whose point of
view our moral judgments are pronounced. He distin-
guishes this point of view as that of "the man within,"
whose judgments are opposed to those of the "man
without." An appeal, he says,1 lies from the opinions
of mankind " to a much higher tribunal, to the tribunal
of their own consciences, to that of the supposed im-
partial and well-informed spectator, to that of the man
within the breast, the great judge and arbiter of their
conduct."

§ 11. THE IDEAL SELF. — How far this conception of
an "impartial spectator" is valuable, and what exactly
is to be meant by his "impartiality," we cannot here
discuss. I have given this reference to Adam Smith
merely on account of the clearness with which he brings
out the fact that our moral judgments involve a certain
reference to a point of view higher than that of the in-
dividual who acts — an appeal, so to speak, "from
Philip drunk to Philip sober." The point of view to
which an appeal is thus made may perhaps be most
L, Part IIL.chap.ii.

§ II.] SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MORAL JUDGMENT. 14$

fittingly described as that of the Ideal Self. At early
stages of development it corresponds to what Clifford
described as " the Tribal Self." The normal member
of the tribe * may be said to be the ' ' impartial spectator "
to whose judgment the appeal is made. At more
advanced stages of human development the nature of
the Ideal Self becomes more complicated; and we
cannot discuss it satisfactorily until we have con-
sidered the significance of the moral standard. In
the meantime this much seems necessary in order to
bring out the fact that in the moral judgment there is
an appeal from the Universe of the individual con-
sciousness to a higher or more comprehensive system.
With this in view, we are now able to proceed to the
consideration of the various theories of the moral
standard.

1 This may be compared with the view of the " normal man,*
taken by such a writer as Dr. Simmel. A somewhat similar concep-
tion is contained in the theory of the standard of moral value, given
by Meinong in his Psycholo&scb-ethischc Untersuchungcn zur Werti*
theorie.

146 ETHICS. [BK. I., CH. VI.

NOTE ON THE MEANING OF CONSCIENCE.

Throughout this chapter, as well as some of the preceding, w«
have had frequent occasion to refer to conscience ; and it may be
well at this point to explain more precisely the sense (or senses) in
which this term is used. The term is derived from the Latin con-
scire, to be conscious (of wrong). The Greek ovwiijaw, the
German Gewissen, and the old English Inwit,a.re similar in meaning.
Conscientia used to be employed almost indifferently for conscience
and for consciousness in general ; and in English, as in French,1 the
term conscience is occasionally found with the latter meaning. It
is in this sense that Milton says, referring to the loss of his eyes,

" What supports me dost thou ask ?
The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overplied
In liberty's defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side."
But even here there is perhaps a certain implication of a moral
consciousness ; as there is also in Hamlet's saying,

" Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,"
(hough here it seems to mean little more than reflection. In Chau-
cer's description of the Prioress, where he says,

" All was conscience and tender heart,"

It appears almost to mean sensibility. But the definitely moral
sense soon became established in English, especially under the
influence of such writers as Butler. Even in the moral sense of the
term, however, there is some ambiguity. It sometimes means a feel-
ing"of pleasure or pain, and especially a feeling of pain, accompany-
ing the violation of a recognised principle of duty. At other times
it means the principle of judgment by which we pronounce one
action or one kind of action, to be right and another wrong. In the
latter sense, again, it may refer to this principle of judgment as it
appears in a particular individual or in a body of men. Such
phrases as " the Non-Conformist Conscience," " the Conscience of
Europe," and the like, illustrate this use of the term. We shall have
to make some further comments on the nature of conscience, espe-
cially in dealing with the intuitional school of morals and with the
social nature of the moral consciousness. But this much seemed
necessary at present by way of general explanation of the use of
the term.

1 Malebranche and some other French writers use the term con*
iricncc, more particularly in the sense of s«//-consciousness.

§ I.] DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 147

BOOK II.

THEORIES OF THE MORAL STANDARD.
CHAPTER I.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT.

§ 1. EARLY GREEK ETHICS. — Thought on Ethics, as
on most other scientific subjects, first took definite
shape among the Greeks.1 Attention, however, was
not strongly drawn to this subject till a considerable
time after philosophical thought in general had begun
to develop. The earliest thinkers among the Greeks
directed their attention chiefly to physical inquiries —
especially to the question, What is the world made of?
Two of the physical philosophers, however, do appear
to have touched with some definiteness upon the ethical
problem — viz. Heraclitus and Democritus (sometimes
known as the "weeping" and the "laughing" philo-
sopher). These two may be regarded as the founders of
those modes of thinking which afterwards developed in-
to Stoicism and Epicureanism respectively. Heraclitus
took Fire as his fundamental physical principle — i. e.
the bright and dry — and he seems to have regarded
this as incessantly struggling with the dark and moist
principle which is opposed to it In the life of man he

1 For a more detailed account of the way in which this took place,
**fcrence should be made to Sidgwick's History of Ethics.

148 ETHICS. [BK. u., CH. i

appears to have thought that this struggle can be found
going on ; and the great aim of the moral life is to
secure the victory for the bright and dry. ' ' Keep your
soul dry," was with him the fundamental moral law.
Hence also the saying, so often quoted, that ' ' the dry
soul [or the 'dry light '] is the best.'' This opposition
of the moist and dry — the "blood and judgment "' —
runs through a very long period of philosophic thought.
With Democritus, on the other hand, the fundamental
principle of morals seems to have been pleasure.' But
there is no evidence that either of these philosophers
made any attempt to develop his ethical ideas in a
systematic form.

§ 2. THE SOPHISTS. — Parmenides and the Pythago-
reans, and indeed to some extent all the early phi-
losophers, seem also to have touched, either in a purely
theoretical or in a more directly practical way, upon the
ethical and political side of speculation. In fact, from
quite an early period, philosophy among the Greeks
seems to have come to mean a way of living as well
as a way of thinking. 3 But it was that remarkable
group of teachers known as the Sophists who seem first
to have brought the ethical problem to the front. The

* " Blest are those

Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled.
That they are not a pipe for fortune's fingers
To play what stop she pleases."
On the views of Heraclitus, see Burnet's Early Greek Philosophy,

PP. 138, 139, 178, 179

• Not, however, sensuous pleasure. It was rather peace or Arapof ia.
Perhaps his point of view might be compared with that represented,
In modern times, by Dr. Stanton Coit in a paper in Mind, Old Series,
VoL XI., p. 324 sqq.

• Thus we hear of the " Parmenidean Life," of the Pythagorean
rules of conduct, &c Cf. Burnet, op. cit, pp. 29, 40, 182, 316

§ 3-] DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 149

aim of these teachers was to a large extent practical,
i. e. it was the aim of preparing the young men of
Athens to be efficient citizens. In instructing them in
the duties of citizenship, they found it necessary to
inquire into the basis of political obligation and of social
morality in general. This seems to have been done by
them in general in a serious and candid spirit ; but,
naturally enough, inquiries of this kind tended to be
somewhat subversive of the older moral standards, and
the more conservative minds were alarmed. This
alarm found expression especially in the satirical drama
of Aristophanes ; and as Plato also shared, to a con-
siderable extent, the unfavourable view thus taken of the
tendency of the sophistic teaching, the name of the
Sophists has fallen into evil odour. Probably this is
in the main unjust — perhaps in pretty much the same
way as the criticisms of such men as Carlyle and
Ruskin on modern science were often unjust The
Sophists were probably the most enlightened men of
their day, and did more than any others to awaken the
intellectual life of the city. *

§ 3. SOCRATES. — Socrates was closely associated with
the Sophists, and indeed was regarded by Aristophanes
as the typical example of them. He was distinguished,
however, from most of the others by the fact that he
did not set himself up as a professional teacher, but
rather regarded himself throughout his life as a student
of moral science. When commended by the oracle for
his wisdom, he replied that it consisted only in know-
ing his own ignorance. By this attitude he displayed,
perhaps not more modesty (for his modesty was at

1 Reference may profitably be made to the articles on the " So
phisu and " Socrates " in the Encyclopaedia Bntatimca.

i$o ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. L

least in part ironical), but at least more earnestness
than his fellow-Sophists. He was less of a dogmatist,
because he was more clearly aware of the difficulty of
the problem. The one point on which he was fully
convinced was the unsatisfactoriness of the commonly
received explanations of the moral life, and the neces-
sity for a more scientific account. He believed that
this was necessary, not merely for the satisfaction of
speculative curiosity, but for the sake of practical
morality. For it seemed to him that there could be no
true morality which did not rest on a scientific basis.
" Virtue," he said, " is knowledge " (or is science). He
believed that if any one fully understood the nature of
the moral end, he could not fail to pursue it On the
other hand, he conceived that if any one did not fully
understand the nature of the moral end, he could not
be moral except by accident ; and this is not, in the
full sense, morality at all Whatever is not of knowl-
edge is sin.1 As to the nature of the moral end, how-
ever, Socrates only professed to be an inquirer. The
view that he suggested seems sometimes to have leaned
to Hedonism ; * but there is no reason to suppose that
he had explicitly developed any theory on the subject.
The fact that diverse schools arose, claiming him as

iThis is perhaps a slight exaggeration. But Socrates, like Platq
maintained that to be temperate or courageous without knowledge*
is to be temperate by a kind of intemperance or courageous by a
kind of cowardice. He even went so far as to say that it is better to
do wrong consciously than unconsciously ; since the former involves
at least the knowledge of right Cf. Zeller's Socrates and the Socrabc
Schools, p. 147.

* In Plato's Protagoras he is represented as definitely putting for-
ward such a doctrine ; and there are also indications of the sama
tendency in Xenophon's Memorabilia.

§ 5-] DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 151

master, seems to afford some evidence that his view
had not been clearly defined.

§ 4. THE SCHOOLS OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. — Immediately
after the time of Socrates, ethical speculation began to
run in separate schools, which with variations may be
said to have lasted even down to our own day. The
two most distinctly ethical schools, among the fol-
lowers of Socrates, were those of the Cynics and the
Cyrenaics, which afterwards gave rise to those of the
Stoics and Epicureans. The members of these schools
fixed on points connected with the general char-
acter and influence of Socrates, almost as much as
with his speculative activity. The Cynics were struck
with his independence and freedom from want ; and
they made this their fundamental principle. The Cy-
renaics were more impressed by his tact and skill in
making the most of his surroundings. The Cynics
were thus led to asceticism, and the Cyrenaics to
Hedonism. These two tendencies have persisted
throughout almost the whole course of ethical specula-
tion.

§ 5. PLATO AND ARISTOTLE. — But in the meantime
there were other writers who made more definite efforts
to connect ethical ideas with the general principles of
philosophy, and so to get beyond the one-sidedness of
opposing schools. Plato, in particular, put forward a
metaphysical view of the world, upon which he en-
deavoured to rest his ethical conceptions. His general
view is contained in what is known as the theory of
Ideas or Types. ' He believed that the fundamental

It is difficult to render this in English. The word " idea"
has come to mean in English (chiefly through the influence of Locke.
Berkeley, and Hume) that which exists or goes on in our head*

152 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. i

reality of things is to be found in the Type to whid>
they conform, and to which they are imperfect approx-
imations. Among these Types he held that the most
fundamental is the Type or Idea of the Good, and it is
in approximating to this that the ideal of virtue is to be
found. To understand this Type it is necessary to go
through a course of metaphysical training ; and hence
the highest form of virtue is attainable only by the
philosopher. Plato, however, recognised also a lower
form of rirtue which can be cultivated by the good
citizen, and he was accordingly led to analyse the
virtue of the citizen. Aristotle carried this analysis
further, and even devoted a considerable part of his
great work on Ethics to the description of the various
aspects of the virtuous life as found in the Athenian
society of his time, * though he agreed with Plato in
thinking that the highest type of life is to be found in
the contemplation of the philosopher, rather than in
the active life of the citizen. The opposition thus in-
troduced between the life of the philosopher and that
of the ordinary citizen was further developed by the
Stoics. They flourished at the time when the Greek
City State was decaying, and were thus not able, aa
Plato and Aristotle had been, to see in the life of the
citizen the type of an ideal self-realization. Hence
they were led to seek for the highest form of human

Our word " Ideal " comes nearer to the Platonic meaning, provided
we remember that he understands it to signify, not an unreal
•hadow-picture, but rather the most real of all things, of which th«
existent world is but a shadow (or, as he seems to have generally
conceived it, a realization in an imperfect medium — the vwoaoxi of
the Tinueus.) Cf. above, p. 28, note, and below, pp. 266-7.

1 This species of Descriptive Ethics was further developed by
Thoophrastus, the chief of Aristotle's disciples. See his Characters*

§ /.] DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 153

life in the perfect independence of the Sage, rather
than in the activity of the good citizen. A similar ten-
dency appears in the schools of the Epicureans and
Sceptics. It was only with the advent of Christianity
that it again became possible to conceive of an ideal
kingdom, of which all are members, and in which even
the humblest citizen may participate by faith, though
unable to understand with any fulness the nature of the
unity within which his life is passed.

§ 6. MEDIAEVAL ETHICS. — Mediaeval ideas on Ethics1
were much influenced by those of Plato and Aristotle,
but partly also by those of the Stoics and by concep-
tions derived from Christianity. The more religious
aspects of morals were specially developed ; and a good
deal of attention was also given to the application of
ethical ideas to the guidance of the individual life.
Casuistry owed its origin to the efforts that were made
in the latter direction.

§ 7. SCHOOLS OF ETHICS IN MODERN TIMES. — The de-
velopment of Ethics in modern times is considerably
more complex, and we can only indicate some of its
main lines. Descartes is generally regarded as the
founder of modern philosophy ; but his interests were
mainly metaphysical. In Ethics he and his school did
little more than develop the ideas of the Stoics, to which
they were specially attracted in consequence of the
opposition between mind and body involved in their
metaphysics. In the meantime, however, a more ma-
terialistic school of thought was growing up, led by
Gassendi and Hobbes, and the members of this school
allied themselves rather with the Epicurean school of

> These are dealt with pretty fully in Sidgwick's History of Ethic*

154 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. L

ancient times. Gassendi was definitely a disciple of
Epicurus. Hobbes worked out a more independent
line, regarding the attainment of power as the great aim
of human life. Hobbes was opposed by the Cambridge
Platonists and by Cumberland, who endeavoured to
bring out the more social, and at the same time the
more rational, side of human nature. Out of their posi-
tion was developed what came to be known as the
Moral Sense School, represented by Shaftesbury and
Hutcheson. According to these writers we have an
intuitive perception of the distinction between right
and wrong, similar to the aesthetic perception of the
distinction between the beautiful and the ugly ; but at
the same time this perception is capable of explanation.
It depends on the social nature of man. What is bene-
ficial to society strikes one naturally as good ; what
is harmful is instinctively regarded as bad. This point
of view forms a sort of watershed, from which several
streams of tendency in ethical speculation emerge.
Some writers tended to emphasise exclusively the fact
that there is an intuitive perception of right and wrong.
Out of this came the Intuitionist School of Reid and his
followers. Others were specially struck by the fact
that the distinction between goo^ and bad rests on a
reasonable consideration of the results of action. Hence
arose the rational school, represented by Locke, Clarke,
Wollaston, &c. This line of thought may be said to
have culminated in Kant; and, in the works of his
immediate successors, it gave rise to a point of view
approximating to those of Plato and Aristotle. This
view afterwards passed into English thought in tha
school of modern Idealism represented by Green and
Others. Finally, some of those who were impressed

§7-] DEVELOPMENT OF ETHICAL THOUGHT. 1 55

by the teaching of the Moral Sense School were led to
attach special importance to the fact that the good is
that which is beneficial to society, or that which pro-
motes human happiness. From this consideration the
school of modern Utilitarianism was developed. These
three schools — the Intuitionist, the Rational, and the
Utilitarian, were the main lines of modern ethical
thought, until the school of the modern Evolutionists
arose.

156 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CIL IL

CHAPTER IL

THE TYPES OF ETHICAL THEORY.

§ 1. GENERAL SURVEY. — We are now able to take ac-
count of the leading types of ethical thought that hava
occurred throughout the history of speculation. In
details there is wide diversity, but in their broad out-
lines the types are few and simple. Two types, in
particular, come up again and again in the course
of ethical thought as opposing points of view — the
types represented by Heraclitus and Democritus, An-
tisthenes and Aristippus,Zeno and Epicurus, Descartes *
and Gassendi, Cudworth and Hobbes, Reid and Hume,
Kant and Bentham. This antithesis may be roughly
expressed as that between those who lay the emphasis
on reason and those who lay the emphasis on passion ;
but, as we go on, we shall have to endeavour to define
it more precisely. Besides these opposing schools,
however, we find throughout the course of ethical
speculation another point of view which may be de-
scribed as that which lays the emphasis on the concrete
personality of man, rather than on any such abstract
quality as reason or passion. This point of view does
not usually appear in opposition to the other two, but
rather as a view in which they are reconciled and
transcended. It appears chiefly in the great specula-

1 Geulincx and Malebranche represented the more ethical aspect
of the Cartesian School somewhat more definitely than DesoutM
himscli

§ 2.] TYPES OF ETHICAL THEORY. 157

live thinkers who rise above the oppositions of the
schools — such as Plato and Aristotle, Hegel, an*" one
or two others. ' In recent times, however, it has come
out more distinctly as one school (or perhaps we should
say two schools) side by side with the others — the
school which may be broadly characterized as that of
development. Besides these main positions there are
a number of others that are more transitory and les»
recurrent — such as the aesthetic school, represented
chiefly by the Moral Sense writers and Herbart ; the
school of sympathy, represented by Adam Smith ; and
one or two others.

We must now try to make the main lines of contrast
a little clearer.

§ 2. REASON AND PASSION. — It has already been in-
dicated that the main line of opposition may be said
to consist in the antithesis between reason and passion.
We have seen that the human consciousness may be
described as a Universe or system, consisting, when
we regard it from the active point of view, of various
desires placed within a more or less fully co-ordinated
group. Now it is possible to direct special attention
either to the separate desires existing within this whole
or to the form of unity by which it coheres as a system.
We may regard human life as essentially a struggle
between desires seeking gratification, or as the effort
to bring those desires into subjection to the idea of a
system. The antithesis between the two schools arises,

1 Spinoza should on the whole be classed with them. Though a
Cartesian, he fully recognises the element of truth in the point of
view of such a writer as Hobbes, and his final view of the highest
good as being found in the " Intellectual Love of God," is to a
large extent a reproduction of the teaching of Plato and Aristotle
Wtth regard to the Speculative Life.

158 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. ii.

in the main, from the tendency to lay emphasis on one
or other of these sides. The one tendency is perhaps
best represented by such a doctrine as that of Hume,
that "reason is and must always be the slave of the
passions, " i. e. that reason can do nothing but guide
the particular impulses to their gratification. When
this view is taken, the chief good of life is almost in-
evitably conceived as consisting simply in the gratifica-
tion of the particular impulses as they arise. This is
the view of the Cyrenaics, and, in a modified form, of
the Hedonists in general The opposite view is that
which recognises some law to which the particular
impulses must be subjected, in order to bring them
into systematic form. In the history of ethical thought,
this law has generally been conceived as the law of
reason, just as the attainment of the end of the parti-
cular impulses has generally been thought of as plea-
sure. But Hobbes thought of the end of the desires
rather as Power than as Pleasure ; and so also there have
been thinkers who have thought of the law to which
the impulses are to be subjected in some other form
than as the law of reason. Hence we are led to state
the opposition in a slightly different form.

§ 3. THE RIGHT AND THE GOOD. — It has been pointed
out already that there are two main forms in which
the moral ideal presents itself — as the Right and as the
Good. We may think of morality as conformity to a
rule or standard, or as the pursuit of an end. Now the
distinction between the two opposing schools of Ethics
connects itself, to a considerable extent, with this dis-
tinction. It is on the whole true that the line of
thinkers from Heraclitus, through the Stoics, to Kant,
think of the supreme standard in morality as some

g 4.] TYPES OF ETHICAL THEORY. 1 59

Bort of law, rule, or imperative, from which we learn
what it is right to do ; while the line of thinkers from
Democritus, through the Epicureans, to Bentham, think
father of a Good (generally described as Happiness) at
which men aim, and by reference to which their actions
are to be praised or blamed. The two schools may
thus be roughly characterised as those that take Duty
and Happiness, respectively, as their standards.

§ 4. DUTY, HAPPINESS, PERFECTION. — If we describe
the two opposing theories as those of Duty and Happi-
ness, the term Perfection may appropriately be used to
characterise the middle theory, which, to a large extent,
combines the other two.

It may be noted that these are not merely three
different theories of the moral standard, but that differ-
ent types of life correspond to them. It has been re-
marked of Kant that his life reminds us of the " categor-
ical imperative of duty," which was for him the kernel
of morals.1 In like manner the life of Bentham may

1 Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, VoL I., p. 63. Dr. Caird quotes,
in this connection, the following humorous account of Kant from
Heine. " The life of Immanuel Kant is hard to describe t he had
indeed neither life nor history in the proper sense of the words. He
lived an abstract, mechanical, old-bachelor existence in a quiet, re-
mote street of Konigsberg, an old city at the northeastern boundary
of Germany. I do not believe that the great cathedral clock of
that city accomplished its day's work in a less passionate and more
regular way than its countryman, Immanuel Kant Rising from bed,
coffee-drinking, writing, lecturing, eating, walking, everything had
its fixed time ; and the neighbours knew that it must be exactly half-
past four when they saw Professor Kant in his grey coat with his
cane in his hand step out of his house door, and move towards the
little lime-tree avenue, which is called after him the Philosopher's
Walk, Eight times he walked up and down that walk at every
season of the year, and when the weather was bad or the grey
oiouds threatened rain, his servant, old Lampe, was seen anxiously

160 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. IL

be taken as typical of the Hedonistic Dosition — a life
spent in devotion to the improvement of the mechanical
conditions of existence, the means of happiness.1 The
kind of life that corresponds to Perfection would be best
represented by such men as Plato and Aristotle, or by
the modern Greek, Goethe.

To some extent the three great peoples, the Hebrews,
Romans, and Greeks, might be taken as representing
these three ideals. With the Hebrews the law of
righteousness is supreme. The Romans were also
devoted to law, but in a different sense. The law
which interested them most was rather that by which
the mechanical conditions of life are regulated, and
which provide the material of happiness. The Greeks
obviously represent the ideal of perfect development of
personality.

§ 5. MIXED THEORIES. — In contrasting these different

following him with a large umbrella under his arm, like an image of
Providence." " Strange contrast between the outer life of the man
and his world-destroying, thought Of a truth, if the citizens of
Konigsberg had had any inkling of the meaning of that thought,
they would have shuddered before him as before an executioner.
But the good people saw nothing in him but a professor of philoso-
phy, and when he passed at the appointed hour, they gave him
friendly greetings and set their watches."

1 Bentham's great interest was legislation. " Bentham," says Sir
Henry Maine (Early History of Institutions, p. 400), " was in truth
neither a jurist nor a moralist in the proper sense of the word. He
theorises not on law but on legislation ; when carefully examined, he
may be seen to be a legislator even in morals. No doubt his language
seems sometimes to imply that he is explaining moral phenomena ; in
reality he wishes to alter or rearrange them according to a working
rule gathered from his reflections on legislation. This transfer of
his working rule from legislation to morality seems to me the true
ground of the criticisms to which Bentham is justly open as an
analyst of moral facts." On this point, see below, Book II., chap, vi,

§ 5-1 TYPES OP ETHICAL THEORY. l6l

views of the supreme standard in morals, it should be
remembered always that many of the theories held by
the most representative writers cannot be classed
quite definitely under any one head, but rather re-
present combinations of the different views. Thus,
even the Stoics may be said to stand midway between
the theory of Duty and that of Perfection ; for though
their ideal may be described as that of obedience to
law, it is at the same time that of the attainment of th«
life of the perfectly wise man. The same applies to
the Cartesians and to Kant. Again, in the Moral Sense
School, the ideas of Duty and Happiness are to a large
extent combined, as they are also, in a different way,
in the views of Dr. Sidgwick. The modern Evolution-
ists, such as Mr. Herbert Spencer, combine the ideas
of Happiness and Perfection. And in many other
ways the different theories have been united. But, as
we are not at present studying the history of ethical
theory, but only its most typical forms, it is most con-
venient for us to consider the different views, as far as
possible, apart

l6f ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IIL, PT. L

CHAPTER IIL

THE STANDARD AS LAW.
PART I. : THE GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW.

§ 1. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. — In dealing with the
different types of ethical theory, it seems most con-
venient to start with those that take as their funda-
mental conception the idea of Duty, Right, Law,
Obligation. To the race, as to the child, morality
presents itself first in the form of commandments, and
even in the form of threats. It is only at a later stage
of development that we learn to regard the moral life
as a good, and finally as the realisation of our own
nature. Hence it seems most natural to begin with
those theories which are based rather on the idea of
tightness than on that of the Good. From this point
of view, morality presents itself as obedience to the
Law of Duty. The significance of this conception,
and the different forms which it may take, are what we
have now to consider.

§ 2. THE MEANING OF LAW IN ETHICS. — A good deal
of confusion has been caused in the study of Ethics,
as well as in that of some other subjects, by a certain
ambiguity in the word Law.1 It is important, there-
fore, that we should try to understand exactly the
sense in which it is here to be used.

It has been customary to distinguish two distinct

* C/. Whately's Logic, p. 209 ; and Welton's Manual of Logic, voL i,

§ 2.J GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. 163

senses in which it may be used. We speak of the laws
of a country and also of the laws of nature ; but it is
evident that the kinds of law referred to in these two
phrases are very different. The laws of a country
are made by a people or by its rulers ; and, even in the
case of the Medes and Persians, there is always a
possibility that they may be changed. There is also
always a possibility that the inhabitants of the country
may disobey them ; and, as a general rule, they have
no application at all to the inhabitants of other coun-
tries. The laws of nature, * on the other hand, are con-
stant, inviolable, and all-pervading. There are three
respects, therefore, in which different kinds of law
may be distinguished. Some laws are constant :
others are variable. Some are inviolable : others are
liable to be disobeyed. Some are universal : others
have only a limited application. The last of these three
points, however, is scarcely distinguishable from the
first : for what is universal is generally also constant
and necessary, and vice versa. Consequently, it may
be sufficient for the present to distinguish different kinds
of laws as (i) changeable or unchangeable, (2) violable
or inviolable — though we shall have to return shortly to
the third principle of distinction. Adopting these two
principles, we might evidently have four different
classes of laws — (i) Those that can be both changed and
violated, (2) those that can be changed but cannot be
violated, (3) those that can be violated but cannot be
changed, (4) those that can neither be changed nor
violated.

i 1 mean such laws as those that are stated In treatises on theore-
tical mechanics. These laws relate to tendencies that are operative
throughout the whole of nature. See following note.

164 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. in., PT. i.

Of the first and last of these, illustrations have
already been given. Of the second also it is not dif-
ficult to discover examples. The laws of the solar
system, of day and night, seedtime and harvest, and
all the vicissitudes of the seasons, are inviolable so
long as certain conditions last; but if these conditions
were changed — say, by the cooling of the sun, by the
retardation of the earth's velocity, or its collision with
some comet or erratic meteor — the laws also would
change with them.1 Again, most of the laws of po-
litical economy are of this character. They hold good
of certain types of society, and among men who are
swayed by certain motives ; and within these limits
they are inviolable. But change -the conditions of
society, or the characters of the men who compose it,
and in many cases the laws will break down. Such
laws are sometimes said to be hypothetical They are
valid only on the supposition that certain conditions
are present and remain unchanged. Some philoso-
phers 2 have thought that even the laws of mathematics
may be of this character — that there might be a world
in which two and two would be equal to five ; and
that if a triangle were formed with the diameter of the
earth for its base and one of the fixed stars for its apex,
its three angles might not be equal to two right angles.3
But this appears to be a mistake. The laws of

* It might be urged that all laws of nature are of this character,
I. «. that they are all hypothetical, depending on the continuance of
the present constitution of the universe. This is true, unless there
are some laws of such a kind that no system of nature could exist
without them. The consideration of this question, however, belongs
to Metaphysics.

• Tbi» waa the opinion of Gauss, for instance

§ 2.] GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. 1 6$

mathematics belong rather to the last of our four
classes.

The laws of Ethics, however, must on the whole be
regarded as belonging to the third class. They cannot
be changed, but they may be violated. It is true, as
has been already stated, that the particular rules of
morals may vary with different conditions of life ; but
the broad principles remain always the same, and are
applicable not only to all kinds of men, but to all
rational beings. If a spirit were to come among us
from another world, we might have no knowledge of
his nature and constitution. We might not know what
would taste bitter or sweet to him, what he would
judge to be hard or soft, or how he would be affected by
heat or sound or colour. But we should know at least
that for him, as for us, the whole is greater than any
one of its parts, and every event has a cause ; and that
he, like us, must not tell lies, and must not wantonly
destroy life.1 These laws are unchangeable. They
can, however, be broken. We may, indeed, speak of
ethical principles which it is impossible to violate. An
ethical writer, for instance, may insist on the truth that
every sin brings with it some form of punishment.
This is a truth from which there is no escape ; but it is
rather a metaphysical than an ethical truth. It is a
fact about the constitution of the world, not a moral
law. A moral law states something that ought to
happen, not something that necessarily does happen.

Moral laws are not the only laws that are of this

1 Some theological writers have denied this, holding that goodness
in God may be something entirely different from goodness in man.
This opinion is ably refuted by Mill in his Examination of Hamilton*
chap, vii

1 66 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. m., PT. L

character. On the contrary, the laws of every strictly
normative and of every practical science are essentially
similar. No one can make the fundamental principles
of architecture, navigation, or rhetoric, in any way
different from what they are ; though in practice any
one who is willing to take the consequences may defy
them. No doubt the rules of these sciences might
require modification if they were to be applied to the
inhabitants of another planet than ours ; and even on
our own planet they are not absolutely rigid. A style
of building which is suitable for Iceland would scarcely
be adapted for the Tropics. The navigation of the
Mississippi is different from that of the Atlantic. And
the oratory which would awake the enthusiasm of an
Oriental people might move an Anglo-Saxon audience
only to derision. Still, it is possible in all these
sciences to lay down broad general laws which shall
be applicable universally, or at least applicable to all
conditions under which it is conceivable that we should
wish to apply them — laws, indeed, from which even the
particular modifications required in special cases might
be deduced. For example, we might take it as a prin-
ciple of rhetoric that if an audience is to be moved to
the performance of some action or the acceptance of
some truth to which they may be expected to be disin-
clined, they ought to be led up to the point by an easy
transition, from step to step, beginning with some
things that are obvious and familiar, and in which
their affections are naturally engaged. From this it
might be at once inferred that the character of such an
appeal ought to vary with different audiences, accord-
ing to the nature of the objects to which their experience
has accustomed them, to the intensity of the feelings

§ 3.] GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. 1 6;

which have connected themselves with these objects,
and to the average rapidity of their intellects in passing
from one point to another. The law is constant : it is
only the application that varies. The science of logic
gives us a still more obvious instance of such laws.
The rules of correct thinking cannot be changed,
though the particular errors to which men are most
liable may vary with different objects of study, different
languages, and different habits of mind. In this case
also, as in Ethics, the laws cannot be changed,1 but
may be violated.*

§ 3. Is, MUST BE, AND OUGHT TO BE. — The distinctions
expressed in the preceding section may be conveniently
summed up by saying that some laws express what is,
some what must be (or shall be), and some what ought

1 II may be urged, no doubt, that some at least of the laws of logic
are applicable only within certain hypothetical limits. Some of
them, for instance (viz. those commonly discussed under the head
of Formal Logic), depend on the admission of the principles of
identity, contradiction, and excluded middle ; and it may be main-
tained that there are objects to which these principles are not strictly
applicable. But this point is too subtle to be more than merely
hinted at in this place.

a This distinction between laws, which can and cannot be violated,
like other distinctions of the same sort, must be interpreted with
some care, and not pressed too far. In a sense it is possible to
violate a natural law, i. e. we can evade the conditions under which
it holds. In a sense also it is not possible to violate a moral law.
To act wrongly is, as we shall see, to be in contradiction with our-
selves ; and " a house which is divided against itself cannot stand."
Similarly, even the law of a nation, if it is a real law, cannot be
violated. Punishment may be said to be the open expression of this
impossibility. The violation recoils upon the perpetrator, and anni-
hilates him and his act. Cf. below, Book III., chap, vi., § 5. But of
course all this does not in anyway interfere with the relatively
true distinction between these different classes of law.

168 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. L

to be. * What we call laws of nature are simply general
statements about what is. The law of gravitation
simply states that bodies tend to move in certain ways
relatively to one another. Even the laws recognised
in the more abstract sciences are of this character. The
law of demand and supply simply states that, as a
general rule, prices tend to adjust themselves in par-
ticular ways.* Laws of nations, on the other hand,
state what must be, i. e. what is bound to be unless
certain penalties are incurred. Atoms and prices do
not and cannot violate their laws, so long as the
appropriate conditions hold. Their laws are nothing
but statements of the way in which certain occurrences
uniformly take place under certain conditions.
Human beings, on the other hand, may and do violate

1 It is one of the very few advantages, from a philosophical point
of view, which the English language possesses over the German,
that we have the two words shall and ought, where they have only
sollen, which corresponds rather more closely to shall than to ought.
Hegel's objection to the use of the word sollen (Logic of Hegel,
Wallace's Translation, p. n) seem to be due chiefly to the fact that
it suggests (i) something future, as opposed to what is actually
realised, (2) something commanded by an external authority. The
English word might seems to be free from both these defects.

2 It has already been indicated (note to Introduction, chap. L),
that there is a sense in which the principles of the more abstract
sciences may be said to be normative — that theoretical astronomy
may be said to state the laws according to which the planets ought
to move, that geometry may be said to state the laws that ought to
hold in a perfect triangle or circle, and so forth. But "ought" in
this sense means that these relationships do hold, in so far as the
appropriate conditions are realised ; and the significance of the
sciences lies in the fact that, in the concrete world of experience,
they either do approximately hold, or are determining conditions
in the actual constitution of things. Truly normative principles
are not of this nature. If all men were to go mad, the principle*
of correct thinking would still bold as before.

§ 4-] GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. 169

the laws of their country. But the law states that they
must not do so, and attaches penalties (or sanctions)
to the doing of it. A moral law, finally, is a law that
states that something ought to be. It is the statement
of an Ideal. Thus, if a Government decides to enter
upon a war which is known by the citizens to be un-
just, some of the soldiers may feel that it is wrong to
serve, /'. e. that it is contrary to their ideal of what is
right in conduct. Here they come in conflict with
what they recognise as a moral law. Nevertheless,
they must not desert ; i. e. they will be shot if they do.
Here there is a law of the State. Suppose they do
desert and are shot, they die by a law of nature.

§ 4. THE CATEGORICAL IMPERATIVE. — We are now in a
position to understand the important conception which
was introduced by Kant with reference to the moral
law. He said that it was of the nature of a categorical
imperative. The meaning of this may readily be made
apparent. All laws which are not simply expressions
of natural uniformities may be said to be of the nature
of commands. The laws of nations are commands
issued by the government, with penalties attached to
the violation of them. Moral laws may also (subject
to a certain qualification) be said to be commands,
though we are not yet in a position to consider how
they are issued. Now commands may be absolute in
their character, or subject to qualification. The laws
of a nation are laws that we must obey, unless we
are prepared to sitffer the consequences of disobedience.
Again, the fundamental principles of rhetoric may be
said to be of the nature of commands or rules ; but the
commands which are thus laid down are applicable
only to rhetoricians. The laws of architecture, in like

I/O ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. I.

manner, apply only to those who wish to construct
stable, commodious, and beautiful buildings. Some
of the laws of political economy, again, are neither
constant nor universal. They are not constant; for
they may vary with different conditions of society.
They are not universal ; for they are applicable only
to those who wish to produce wealth. Even the laws
of formal logic are not universal. They apply only
to those who wish to be self-consistent. * Now a man
may reject this aim. He may say, with Emerson,*
"Suppose you should contradict yourself; what then ? "
"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds,
adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines.
With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to
do." 3 Such imperatives as these, therefore, are merely
hypothetical. « They apply only to those who adopt the

1 1 assume of course here that logic is to be regarded as a norma-
tive science, laying down the rules of consistent thought Some
logicians have treated the subject in a different way, regarding it
either as an ordinary positive science, or as an art, or as a combina-
tion of the two.

a Essay on " Self-Reliance."

* No doubt Emerson is referring here to consistency in action,
rather than to consistency in thought But the same might be said
of the latter under certain conditions. " In order to think at all," as
Mr. Bradley says (Appearance and Reality), " you must subject your-
self to a standard." Thinking is a game, and " if you sit down to the
game, there is only one way of playing." So the laws of moral-
ity may be said to constitute the rules of the game. But the latter
Is a game that we must be always playing. We may take a holiday
from thinking, and feel or dream instead, and there is nothingin the
laws of thinking to prevent this. Morality, on the other hand, claimi
a universal jurisdiction. It is not a rule of thought that you must
always be thinking ; but it is a rule of action that you must always
be doing what is right in the given conditions.

4 Such laws as those of political economy are thus hypothetical in
a double sense — hypothetical with regard to the conditions under

§ 4-J GENERAL IDEA OF MORAL LAW. I /I

end with which the particular normative science is
concerned.

The laws of Ethics differ from all other laws in being
not hypothetical, but categorical. It is true that Emer-
son's paradox about consistency has been capped by
that of the preacher who bade us, "Be not righteous
overmuch."1 But if this maxim is to have any
intelligible meaning, we must understand the term
" righteous " in a somewhat narrow sense. It cannot
be taken to mean that we should not, to too great an
extent, do what we ought to do. This would be a
contradiction in terms. If we are not to be too fana-
tical in the observance of particular moral rules, it must
be in deference to other moral rules or principles that
are of a still higher authority. The supreme moral
principle, whatever it may be, lays its command upon
us absolutely, and admits of no question. What we
ought to do we ought to do. There can be no higher
law by which the moral imperative might be set aside.

There are, indeed, some other laws which might
eeem to be scarcely less absolute, because they relate
to ends that every one naturally seeks. Thus, every
one would like to be happy ; and consequently if there
were any practical science of happiness, every one
would be bound to follow its laws. Accordingly, Kant
called such laws assertorial,* because although they de-
pend on the hypothesis that we seek for happiness, yet
it may be at once asserted of every one that he does seek

which they are applicable, and hypothetical with regard to the end
with reference to which they are applicable.

1 Cf. Stephen's Science of Ethics, p. 418. "'Be good if you would
be happy,' seems to be the verdict even of worldly prudence ; but it
adds in an emphatic aside, ' Be not too good.' "

*Metaphysic of Morals, section IL

1/2 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. t

this end. Again, intellectual perfection is an end
which a rational being can hardly help desiring. There
is probably no one who would not, if he could, have
the penetration of a Newton, or the grasp of a Shake-
speare or a Goethe. Hence if there were any science
that taught how such perfection is to be attained, its
laws would have at least an almost universal applica-
tion. Still, even such laws as these are not quite
parallel to the laws of morals. Their universality, if
they are universal, depends on the fact that every one
chooses the end to which they have reference ; whereas
the laws of morals apply to all men irrespective of their
choice. If, indeed, happiness could be shown to be
necessarily bound up with virtue, and unhappiness
with vice, then the obligation to follow the rules of
happiness would have the same absoluteness as the
obligation to obey the moral law ; but only because
these two things would then be identical. In like
manner, if we were to accept quite literally the view
of Carlyle, that all intellectual perfection has a moral
root, so that a man's virtue is exactly proportional to
his intelligence, in this case also the laws of intel-
lectual perfection would become absolute, but only
because they would become moral. The moral law,
then, is unique. It is the only categorical imperative.1
Up to this point, I have, so far as possible, been
following the account of Kant There are, however,
two points on which some slight criticism, or at least
caution, seems to be required, (i) It is somewhat

1 On this subject the student should consult Kant's Metaphystc oj
Morals, section II. The opening paragraphs of Clifford's Essay
" On the Scientific Basis of Morals ' may also be found suggestive,
though he does not entirely accept the view indicated above.

§ 5-] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 173

misleading to describe the moral law as an impera-
tive. At least it can only be so described on a certain
view of its nature, which will have to be further con-
sidered. To call it an imperative or command is to
represent it as being of the nature of a must rather
than of an ought. It should rather be described a»
based on an ideal. (2) In saying that it is categorical,
we must remember that all that can at present be seen
to be categorical is the principle that we must do what
is right, when we know what it is. It remains to be
seen whether it is possible to lay down any rule for
the determination of what is right. If there is any
such rule, it will be categorical; but it may turn out
that there is none. In the latter case, it is somewhat
misleading to speak of a categorical imperative.

With these general remarks on the nature of moral
law, we may now proceed to ask what exactly the
law is which is thus categorically imposed.

PART II.: VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF THE MORAL
LAW.

§ 5. THE LAW OF THE TRIBE. — We have already seen
that the earliest form in which the idea of law pre-
sents itself is that of the law of the tribe, or of the
chief of the tribe. s But this is soon felt not to be cate-
gorical. It often comes into conflict with itself; and
the reflecting consciousness demands something more
consistent. At the best it furnishes a must, rather

1 An illustration of this form of law, in comparatively recent times,
may be found in the well-known saving of the Highland wife, when
her husband was at the foot of the gallows, — " Go up, Donald, my
man ; the Laird bids ye." Contrast this with the attitude of Antigone^
referred to above, Book I., chap, v., § 7.

i/4 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH, in., PT. 11

than an ought; and the free man soon rebels against
such government from without.

§ 6. THE LAW OF GOD. — It is a stage higher when
the moral law is distinguished from the law of the
land, and regarded as a principle which owes its
authority, not to any man or body of men, but to God
or the gods. The best known instance of such a set
of laws is to be found in the Ten Commandments of
the Jews. But these also may come into conflict, and
require qualification. Besides, the moral conscious-
ness soon begins to ask on what authority the divine
law rests. If it rest merely on the command of
powerful supernatural beings, it is still only a must,
not an ought. If God is not Himself righteous, His
law cannot be morally binding merely on account of
His superior power. But to ask whether God is right-
eous is to ask for a law above that of God Himself,
and by which God may be judged. Hence the law of
God cannot be accepted as final

§ 7. THE LAW OF NATURE. — In order to get over this
difficulty, the view has sometimes been taken that the
most fundamental law of all is that which lies in the
nature of things. In Greek Ethics, in particular, the
conception of nature (^y<rt?) plays a very prominent
part. The Greeks understood by nature the essential
constitution of things underlying their casual appear-
ances. It was in this sense, for instance, that the
Stoics used their famous phrase to "live according to
nature " (vtvere convenienler natures). In modern timea
also, especially in the latter part of the seventeenth and
the greater part of the eighteenth centuries, much was
made of the idea of natural law. Perhaps in Ethics
one of the most striking applications of this conception

§ /•] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 1/5

is to be found in the system of Samuel Clarke. Clarice
held that certain differences and relations between
things are inherent in their very nature, and that any
one who observes them in a careful and unprejudiced
way will become aware of these differences and rela-
tions. "The differences, relations, and proportions of
things both natural and moral, in which all unpreju-
diced minds thus naturally agree, are certain, unalter-
able, and real in the things themselves." ' To the laws
of nature thus discovered "the reason of all men every-
where naturally and necessarily assents, as all men
agree in their judgment concerning the whiteness of
the snow or the brightness of the sun."a " That from
these different relations of different things there neces-
sarily arises an agreement or disagreement of some
things with others, or a fitness or unfitness of the
application of different things or different relations, is
likewise as plain as that there is such a thing as pro-
portion in Geometry or Arithmetic, or uniformity or
difformity in comparing together the respective figures
of bodies. "3 Here we have the statement of the cele-
brated doctrine of "the fitness of things." But in all
statements of this sort, taken as the basis of moral
theory, there seems to be an obvious confusion in-
volved. There are certainly laws in nature ; but these,
as we have noted, are simply statements of the uni-
form ways in which things occur ; and such laws are
exhibited quite as much in what is evil as in what is
good. The destruction of a building by the explosion
of a bomb is as much in accordance with the fitness
of things, as deduced from the laws of nature, as the

1 Natural Religion, pp. 44-45.

ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. II.

movements of the planetary system.1 Fitness, in
ftny sense in which it can serve as the basis of
moral theories, must be fitness for something — i. e. it
tnust involve some reference to an end or ideal ; and
no alchemy can ever extract this out of the mere
observation of natural laws.2 The analysis of the

i As illustrating this confusion, reference may perhaps be made
to those primitive conceptions of the relation between the natural
and the moral order, according to which a man by committing a
crime might prcAuce an earthquake. Some interesting facts of this
sort are to be found in D'Alviella's Hibbert Lectures (e.g., p. 168).
Mill's E«spy on ''Nature" (in his Three Essavs on Religion) is still
worth reading, with the view of clearing up this confusion. Cf.
also Marshall's Principles of Economics (3d Edn.), pp. 55-57.

* Cf. LQ Kossignol's Ethical Philosophy of Samuel Clarke, p. 43. Mr.
Leslie Stephen's comment on Clarke's doctrine (English Thought
in the Eighteenth Century, vol. ii., p. 7.) may be worth noticing here.
* An obvious difficulty," he says, " underlies all reasoning of this class,
even in its most refined shape. The doctrine might, on the general
assumptions of Clarke's philosophy, be applicable to the ' Laws of
Nature,' but is scarcely to be made applicable to the moral law.
Every science is potentially deducible from a small number of pri-
mary truths. . . Thus, for example, a being of sufficient knowledge
might construct a complete theory of human nature, of which every
proposition would be either self-evident or rigorously deducible from
self-evident axioms. Such propositions would take the form of
laws in the scientific, not in the moral, sense ; the copula would be
' is,' not ' ought ' ; the general formula would be ' all men do so and so,
not ' thou shalt do so and so.' . . . The language which he uses about
the moral law is, in reality, applicable to the scientific law alone. It
might be said with plausibility . . . that the proposition ' all men are
mortal ' is capable of being deductively proved by inferences from
some self-evident axioms. A denial of. it would, therefore, involve
a contradiction. But the proposition ' Thou shalt not kill ' is a
threat, not a statement of a truth ; and Clarke's attempt to bring
it under the same category involves a confusion fatal to the whole
theory. It is, in fact, a confusion between the art and the science of
human conduct" I quote this passage, because it not only brings out
what seem* to be the error of Clarke, in confounding natural and

I 8.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 177

' is, " in any such sense as this, can never yield an
Bought" Similar doctrines to that of Clarke have
frequently been put forward, even in quite recent times ; *
but they all seem to labour under the same fatal de-
fect.

§ 8. THE MORAL SENSE. — If the laws of nature or the
laws of God are to yield us moral principles, it must be
because they in some way appeal to our own conscious-
ness, because we in some way feel that obedience to
them or observance of them serves to realise an ideal
which we bring with us. Now an obvious way of
making the connection between such external prin-
ciples and our own minds is to say that we have a
natural feeling which leads us to approve some things
and disapprove of others. We are thus led to the con-
ception of the moral sense.

This point of view, like most others in Ethics, has
had a long history. It connects itself essentially with
the Greek view of the identity between the Beautiful
and the Good. In Greek r<J xativ was used habitually
either for beauty or for moral excellence. Thus, the
Stoic maxim, 8n IU&VQV dyaff^v rd xcdtv, means that only
the beautiful (/'. e. the morally excellent) is good. A
similar view has frequently appeared in modern times.
Thus, the philosopher Herbart insisted strongly on the
identity of Goodness with Beauty, and definitely treated

moral law, but also illustrates the other error of confounding moral
law with the command of a superior. Thou shall not kill,' as a moral,
law, is not a threat, but the statement of a normative principle.
Similarly, there seems to be an error in representing Ethics as the
nri of conduct

i The theory of James Hinton, for instance,— «o far as he had a
theory— seems to bear a considerable resemblance to that of Clark*
See an interesting account of his ideas in Mind, old series, VoL IX.
Eth. 13

178 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. in., PT. it.

Ethics as a part of ./Esthetics. f The conception of a
kind of feeling, like aesthetic feeling, accompanying the
moral judgment, comes out also in some of the writers
of the school known as the Cambridge Platonists,
especially in Henry More. But the writers who are
specially known as the representatives of the idea of a
moral sense are Shaftesbury and Hutcheson. * " Should
one," says Shaftesbury,' "who had the countenance of
a gentleman, ask me, 'Why I would avoid being nasty,
when nobody was present ? ' In the first place I should
be fully satisfied that he himself was a very nasty gen-
tleman who could ask this question ; and that it would
be a hard matter for me to make him even conceive
what true cleanliness was. However, I might, notwith-

1 See, for instance, his Science of Education, recently translated
by Mr. and Mrs. Felkin ; and cf. Bosanquet's History of ^Esthetics, p.
3691 We may also refer, in this connection, to the saving of Ruskin,
"Taste is not only a part and an index of morality; it is the only
morality. The first and last and closest trial question to any living
creature is, ' What do you like ? Tell me what you like, and I will
tell you what you are.1 " (Sesame and Lilies). See also Adam
Smith's Theory of the Moral Sentiments, Part IV., sect II., and cf. the
saying of Aristotle quoted above, Book I., chap, iii., § 5.

* Shaftesbury was the founder of this school, and its subsequent
development was due chiefly to Hutcheson. See Sidgwick's History
of Ethics, p. 1891 It is scarcely necessary to point out that the meaning
of the term " sense," as here used, is different from that in which we
speak of the sense of taste, touch, sight, &c. The latter " senses "
are concerned simply with the apprehension of particular qualities
of objects ; whereas the moral sense or the sense of beauty passes
judgment on such qualities. The meaning of calling it a moral sense
is merely to imply that it is an intuitive faculty of judgment Simi-
larly, we might say that the judgments of the epicure or of the tea-
taster rest upon a sense ; but it is not on the mere " sense of taste "
that such judgments rest, since they involve a standard as well as an
apprehension.

• Characteristics, "An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour.*
Part IIL. sect iv.

§ 8.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 179

standing this, be contented to give him a slight answer,
and say, ''Twas because I had a nose.' Should he
trouble me further, and ask, 'What if I had a cold?
Or what if naturally I had no such nice smell ? ' I
might answer perhaps, ' That I cared as little to see
myself nasty, as that others should see me in that con-
dition.' But what if it were in the dark? Why even
then, though I had neither nose nor eyes, my sense
of the matter would still be the same ; my nature
would rise at the thought of what was sordid ; or if it
did not, I should have a wretched nature indeed, and
hate myself for a beast. Honour myself I never could ;
whilst I had no better sense of what, in reality, I owed
myself, and what became me, as a human creature."
"Much in the same manner," he goes on, "have I
heard it asked, Why should a man be honest in the
dark j3 What a man must be to ask this question, I
won't say." And so on. Shaftesbury is thus led to
conceive that to be virtuous is to be a 'virtuoso,' that
a cultivated taste is our only guide. " To philosophise
in a just signification is but to carry good breeding a
step higher."

The plausibility of this point of view arises chiefly
from the fact that in a well-developed character the
habit of obedience to the moral law becomes a second
nature, so that the choice of the right and the avoidance
of the wrong passes almost into a kind of instinct
From this point of view it may quite rightly be main-
tained that the moral sense is a kind of taste.1 But

1 Using the term "taste," of course, in that secondary sense in
which we speak of " good taste." It is not a taste like that which
simply apprehends savour, but a taste like that of the tea-taster (who,
by the by, is properly tez-smeller), who judges the qualities of teas
by a kind of intuitive perception.

i8o ETHICS. [BK. 11., CH. in., PT. IL

it must be remembered that the sense of beauty, as
well as the sense of tightness, is capable of being
explained and justified. Though it is commonly said
that "there is no disputing about tastes," yet we do
habitually dispute about them, and pronounce them to
be right or wrong. The moral taste, then, is so far
quite analogous to the aesthetic taste, and it may be
quite correct to refer to it as a sense.1 But since it is
not simply an inexplicable sense, but is capable of a
rational explanation, no ethical theory can be regarded
as thorough which simply treats it as a sense and does
not endeavour to explain it Moreover, what can be
explained can usually also be criticised. When the
sense of beauty, for instance, has been explained, it is
possible to criticise the sense of beauty as it is found
in particular individuals ; and to determine that the
aesthetic taste of some men is good, while that of others
is defective. Similarly, when the moral sense is ex-
plained, it will naturally be possible to pass judgment
on the moral tastes of different individuals and even of

1 In this connection it may be noted that even complex Intellect-
ual processes become, after long practice, scarcely distinguish-
able from intuitive perceptions. A man who is highly skilled in
any art seems to see at a glance what requires to be done on
any given occasion. Yet we do not postulate a sense in such
cases, because we know that the judgments of the expert rest in
reality on rational grounds (though frequently he might not be able
to give any clear account of the grounds of his own judgment). An
illustration of a similar fact may be found in "Lord Mansfield's
advice to a man of practical good sense, who, being appointed gov-
ernor of a colony, had to preside in its Court of Justice, without
previous judicial practice or legal education. The advice was to
give his decision boldly, for it would probably be right ; but never
to venture on assigning reasons, for they would almost infallibly be
wrong" (Mill's Logic, Book II., chap, iii., § 3). In such a case the
Masons of the action arc latent ; but DO ono would doubt that reasons

§9-] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. l8l

different ages and nations. For these reasons, then,
a system of ethics which simply rests content with the
idea of a moral sense, can scarcely be regarded as
satisfactory.

As a matter of fact, indeed, the moral sense was not
accepted either by Shaftesbury or by Hutcheson as a
sufficient basis for Ethics. They both sought to ex-
plain it as due to the nature of man as a social being.
They both thought that what a cultivated moral taste
approves is that which is beneficial to society as a
whole, what tends to bring about "the greatest happi-
ness of the greatest number. " x All that they urged was
that it is not necessary to reflect upon this principle,
since it is naturally embodied in any cultivated taste.

But, of course, in morals we want some principle
which will apply generally, not merely to those of cul-
tivated taste ; or at least we require to know definitely
What it is that constitutes a cultivated taste, in order
that it may be developed, as far as possible, in all

could be found So in the moral life the good man seems to see
instinctively in many cases what he ought to do, and frequently
could not give any reason. It is this fact that makes it appear as if
there were some special " moral sense " involved. But the truth is
that even intellectual insight depends, from this point of view, on a
kind of developed intuition. Everything that we really know, we
know by directly looking at it, rather than by arguing round about it
" All the thinking in the world," as Goethe said, " does not bring
us to thought ; we must be right by nature, so that good thoughts
may come to us, like free children of God, and cry ' Here we are.1 "
So it is with moral perception. It depends on a developed sense
or intuition, but not an unintelligible sense, or one destitute of inner
principle. "Our instinctive knowledge," says Mach (Science of
Mechanics, Chap. I., sect ii.), " leads us to the principle which explains
that knowledge itself, and which is in its turn corroborated by the
existence of that knowledge." So it is with our instinctive morality:
iThis phrase was actually used by Hutcheson.

1 82 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. in., PT. IL

mankind In this way the moral sense differs from
the artistic sense. A man who is deficient in the lattel
may be a respected member of society ; but the man
who lacks the former is condemned by all who have
it. It is this authoritativeness of the moral sense that
is not sufficiently brought out when it is regarded as
analogous to the sense of beauty.

§ 9. THE LAW OF CONSCIENCE. — Bishop Butler was
strongly impressed by the unsatisfactoriness of the
view of Shaftesbury in this respect ; and he endeavoured
to remedy the defect by substituting the idea of Con-
science for that of the moral sense. In itself this is
but a slight change ; but by Conscience Butler under-
stood something considerably different from what
Shaftesbury had meant by the moral sense. Butler
thought of human nature as an organic whole, con-
taining many elements, some of which are naturally
subordinate to others. Thus, there are in our nature
a number of particular passions or impulses which lead
us to pursue particular objects ; but all these are na-
turally subordinate to Self-love, on the one hand, and
to Benevolence, on the other ; *'. e. it is natural for
us to restrain or guide our passions with a view to the
good of ourselves or of others. But there is a certain
principle in human nature which is naturally superior
even to Self-love or Benevolence. This is the principle
of reflection upon the law of Tightness ; and this is what
Butler understood by Conscience. He regarded this
principle as categorical, on account of its place in the
human constitution. "Thus that principle, by which
we survey, and either approve or disapprove our own
heart, temper, and actions, is not only to be considered
as what is in its turn to have some influence ; which

§ 10.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 183

may be said of every passion, of the lowest appetites :
but likewise as being superior ; as from its very nature
manifestly claiming superiority over all others ; inso-
much that you cannot form a notion of this faculty,
conscience, without taking in judgment, direction,
superintendency. This is a constituent part of the idea,
that is, of the faculty itself : and to preside and govern,
from the very economy and constitution of man,belongs
to it. Had it strength, as it has right, had it power,
as it has manifest authority, it would absolutely govern
the world. " x

When we ask, however, what is the nature of this
authoritative principle, two different views seem to
present themselves. According to one view, it is
simply an inexplicable faculty which we find within us,
by which laws are laid down. According to another
view, it is an intelligible authority whose commands
can be understood by rational reflection. It is not quite
clear in which of these two ways Butler thought of Con-
science ; but among those who followed him the two
views began to be clearly distinguished. The former
view is that which is generally known as Intuitionism,
in the narrower sense : the other is the view of a law
of Reason.

§ 10. INTUITIONISM. — Intuitionism 2 may be described
generally as the theory that actions are right or wrong

1 Sermon II.

a From Latin, intueri, to look at The intuitionists hold that w«
perceive the lightness or wrongness of actions by simply looking at
them, without needing to consider their relations to any ends out-
side themselves. It may be noted here that the term is generally
written in the longer form " Intuitionalism." But the shorter form
has been made current by Dr. Sidgwick, and seems more convenient

ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. m.f PT. n.

according to their own intrinsic nature, and not in vir-
tue of any ends outside themselves which they tend to
realise. Thus, truth-speaking would be regarded as a
duty, not because it is essential for social well-being,
or for any other extrinsic reason, but because it is right
in its own nature. x This theory has been held in vari-
ous forms, more or less philosophical in character. For
a full account of these forms reference must be made
to histories of Ethics and Philosophy.' Here it is only
possible to notice the leading points.

In the narrower sense of the term, Intuitionism is
understood to mean the doctrine which refers the judg-
ment upon actions to the tribunal of Conscience, under-
stood as a faculty which admits of no question or
appeal.

When conscience is thus referred to as the funda-
mental principle of morals, we must not under-

1 It should be observed that there is a certain ambiguity in the
use of the term Intuitionism. It is employed in a wider and in a
narrower sense. In the narrower sense it means a doctrine which
traces our moral judgments to some unanalysable form of perception,
some purely intuitive conviction of which no rational account can
be given. In this acceptation of the term, Kant and his forerunners,
Clarke, Wollaston, &cx, were not intuitionists ; for Kant at least
rested the moral judgment on the practical reason, not on percep-
tion. But in a wider sense all the writers of this class may be char-
acterised as intuitionists ; since they appeal to self-evident laws,
rather than to any conception of a good with reference to which
our moral actions may be regarded as means.

• For the best modern statement of the intuitionist doctrine, the
student should consult Martineau's Types of Ethical Theory, Part II.
An excellent criticism of intuitionism will be found in Sidgwick's
Methods of Ethics, Book I., chaps, viii. and ix., and Book III. For
the history of the subject, see Sidgwick's History of Ethics, especially
pp. 224—236. Also pp. 170—204. Calderwood's Handbook of Moral
Philosophy may also be referred to.

§ 10.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 185

stand it to mean the conscience of this or that indi-
vidual. The conscience of any particular individual is
simply the consciousness of the harmony or dishar-
mony of his action with his own standard of right : and
if this standard is defective, the same defect will appear
in the conscience. His conscience may be, in Mr.
Ruskin's phrase, "The conscience of an ass." The
man who does not act conscientiously certainly acts
wrongly : he does not conform even to his own stand-
ard of Tightness. But a man may act conscientiously
and yet act wrongly, on account of some imperfection
in his standard. One who acts conscientiously in ac-
cordance with some defective standard is generally
known as a "fanatic." *

When, however, Kant says that " an erring con-
science is a chimera,"* or when Butler says of the
conscience that "if it had power, as it has manifest
authority, it would absolutely govern the world," or
when, in general, intuitionist writers refer to the con-
science as the supreme principle of morals, what they
mean by conscience is rather what may be called the
universal conscience. They mean that ultimate recog-
nition of the Tightness and wrongness of actions, which
is latent in all men, but which in some men is more
fully developed than in others. The principles by
which this recognition is made are sometimes referred
to as principles of Common Sense, because they are

1 Cf. above, Book I., chap, vl, § 6. It is there explained that we
judge the action to be wrong because it is not done from the best
motive. It may, however, appear to the agent to be the best See
also below, Book III., chap, ii., § 14.

* See the Preface to his Metaphysical Elements of Ethics (Abbott's
translation), pp. 311 and 321.

1 86 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. IIL, PT. n.

supposed to be common or universal throughout the
whole human race.1

The principles of common sense have been referred
to by some writers3 as if they were simply certain
moral truths which are found unaccountably in the
consciousness of mankind. Against this view there is
the same objection as there is against the correspond-
ing view with regard to intellectual truth. It conflicts
with a principle which is deeper than any other principle
of common sense can well be — the principle, namely,
that the world must be regarded as an intelligible sys-
tem of which a definite account can be given before the
bar of reason. If this principle is a mistaken one, it is
hard to believe that there can be any other that has
a deeper claim to be regarded as of universal validity.
The inadequacy of conscience as a basis of morals
becomes further apparent when we endeavour to de-
termine definitely what principles are laid down by

1 It will thus be seen that there is a certain ambiguity in the use
of the term " conscience." There is another ambiguity, to which
we shall have occasion to refer by and by. Conscience is frequently,
perhaps even generally, understood to denote, not the principles of
moral judgment, but the feeling of pain which accompanies the
violation of moral law. When we speak of "the voice of con-
science," and of conscience as laying down laws, we are of course
not speaking of it as a mere feeling of pain, but as containing prin-
ciples in accordance with which we form our moral judgments.
The confusion which results from this ambiguity in the use of the
term is well brought out by Mr. Muirhead in his Elements of Ethics
pp. 78-9. Cf. also Porter's Elements of Moral Science, p. 246. And
see above, Note at end of Book I.

8 Especially Reid and the other members of the so-called Scotch
School See Sidgwick's History oj Ethics, pp. 226-233. Dr. Marti-
neau's theory is essentially a carrying out of this view. On the
other hand, such a book as Janet's Theory of Morals represents a
more rational interpretation of the intuitional principles.

§ 10.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. l8/

it The content of conscience, even if we mean by
it the conscience of a people or an age, rather than
that of an individual, is found to vary very consider-
ably in different times and countries ; and even at the
same time and place the rules that are laid down by it
are of a very uncertain character. * Reflection shows,
moreover, that these variations are not arbitrary, but
have a distinct reference to the utility of actions under
varying conditions for the realisation of human welfare.
This has been well brought out in the very thorough
examination of Common Sense Morality which is given
in Dr. Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics.* From this it
appears that the moral sense must not be regarded as
a blind faculty, laying down principles for our guid-
ance which are not capable of any further analysis or
justification. On the contrary, the principles which it
lays down can be rationally ju:,:iQed and explained.
In fact, it is only by such justification and explanation
that we can distinguish what is permanent and reliable
in the decisions of conscience from what is variable
and untrustworthy. But when we thus draw distinc-
tions and pass judgment upon conscience itself, it is
evident that we must somehow have a conscience be-
hind conscience, a faculty of judgment which stands
above the blind law of the heart.

§11. THE LAW OF REASON. — The view, however,
which holds that there are certain universal principles
of moral truth in the human consciousness is not
necessarily pledged to regard these principles as unin-

1 See Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Book I.,
chap, iil, and Spencer's Principles of Ethics, Part II.

3 See especially Book III., chap, xi., for a summary of Dr. Sidg-
wick's carefully reasoned conclusions on this point

1 88 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. in., PT. n.

telHgible. Just as Kant held that there are certain
principles of intellectual truth — what he called categories
• — which belong to the nature of all intelligent beings
as such, so it may be held also that there are certain
universal principles of moral truth. And just as the
categories of our intellectual life may be deduced from
the very nature of thought, so also the principles of our
moral life may be capable of a rational deduction.
There may be principles of our moral life which are as
obvious to us, when we reflect upon them, as that 2 -{-
2 = 4, or that every event must have a cause ; and yet
it may be possible, as in these latter cases it is, to see,
on further reflection, why it is that these principles are
obvious. If this were so, the intuitions of the moral con-
sciousness would in reality be due to a kind of rational
insight. They would be a manifestation of what
might be called moral reason. This is the view of the
deeper intuitionists, of whom Clarke may be taken as a
type ; * for the law of reason, in this sense, is scarcely
distinguishable from what was referred to above as the
law of nature. The Stoics, and most other writers who
have referred to a law of nature, have also described it
as the law of reason — nature being nearly always con-
ceived by them as in some sense, a rational system.'

1 See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 179—184. A similar view
seems to be represented by Janet in his Theory of Morals, Book III.,
chap. iv. Janet holds that, in spite of the apparent diversities of
moral sentiment in different peoples brought out by such writers as
Locke and Spencer, there are yet certain latent principles which are
the same in all men, and to which a final appeal may be made.
This view seems not inconsistent with the recognition that particular
individuals and races may have a very imperfect apprehension of
the ultimate principles involved in their moral judgments.

* When the law of nature is thus conceived, as a principle of reason,
it comes to be thought of as normative.

§ II.] VARIOUS CONCEPTIONS OF MORAL LAW. 189

•

VVhen, however, the unsatisfactoriness of basing moral
principles on a law of nature has become apparent,
writers of this type are naturally led to lay more and
more emphasis on the fact that it is in reality a law
of reason with which we are concerned. Ethics thus
comes to be conceived after the analogy of Logic, just
as the moral sense school conceived it on the analogy
of ^Esthetics. Wollaston, a disciple of Clarke, repre-
sents this tendency in its most extreme form. " Moral
evil, according to Wollaston, is the practical denial of
a true position, and moral good the affirmation of it
To steal is wrong because it is to deny that the thing
stolen is what it is, the property of another. Every
right action is the affirmation of a truth ; every wrong
action is the denial of a truth."1 "Thirty years of
profound meditation," says Stephen,3 " had convinced
Wollaston that the reason why a man should abstain from
breaking his wife's head was, that it was a way of deny-
ing that she was his wife. All sin, in other words, was
lying." If a man runs another through the body, it is
simply a pointed way of denying that he is a man and
a brother ; and the evil lies not in the pointedness but
in the error. " It is worse than a crime — it is a blunder. "
In all this the sophistry is obvious. A bad action is
inconsistent; but it is not inconsistent with fact : it is in-
consistent with an ideal — the ideal, for instance, which
is involved in the relationship between man and man.3

1 Le Rossignol's Ethical Philosophy of Samuel Clarke, p. 87.

* English Thought in the Eighteenth Century, voL L, p. 1301

• What is said above refers specially to the views of Clarke and
Wollaston. With Locke Ethics is conceived more definitely on the
analogy of mathematics. He thinks of these as the two demonstra-
tive sciences, starting with nominal definitions and proceeding by
the law of self -consistency. This seems to involve some iiiisconcop-

190 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. Ill

A more ingenious and suggestive form of this
doctrine was put forward by Kant, who argued that
bad actions are essentially inconsistent with them-
selves ; or at least that there is an inconsistency in the
principle upon which they proceed. His view on this
point is so important that we must examine it at some
length.

PART III. THE DOCTRINE OF KANT.

§ 12. KANT'S VIEW OF THE MORAL REASON. — Kant argued
that, since the moral imperative is categorical, it cannot
be derived from the consideration of any end outside of
the will of the individual. For every external end is
empirical, and could give rise only to a hypothetical
imperative. We should only be entitled to say that, j/
we seek that end, we are bound to act in a particular
way, with a view to its attainment. Kant held, there-
fore, that the absolute imperative of duty has no refer-
ence to any external ends to which the will is directed,
but simply to the right direction of the will itself.
"There is nothing good but the good will;" and this is
good in itself, not with reference to any external facts.
It must have its law entirely within itself. If the im-
perative which it involves were dependent on any of
the facts of experience, which are by their nature con-
tingent, it would itself be contingent, and could not be
an absolute law. It follows from this that the moral
law cannot have any particular content It cannot tell

lion of the nature both of mathematics and of morals. Geometry
does not start simply with nominal definitions. It starts with the
conception of space. Similarly, Ethics does not start with arbitrary
definitions of justice, &c., but with the conception of the concrete
human ideal This is a subject, however, into which we cannot enter
With any fulness here*

§ II.] THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. IQI

us any particular things that we are to do or to abstain
from doing ; because all particular things have in them
an empirical and contingent element, and the moral
law can have no reference to any such element.
Hence the moral law cannot tell us what the matter or
content of our actions ought to be : it can only instruct
us with regard to inform. But a pure form, without
any matter, must be simply the form of law in general.
That is to say, the moral law can tell us nothing more
than that we are to act in a way that is conformable to
law. And this means simply that our actions must
have a certain self-consistency — t. e. that the principles
on which we act must be principles that we can adopt
throughout the whole of our lives, and that we can
apply to the lives of others. Kant is thus led to give
as the content of the categorical imperative this
formula — "Act only on that maxim (or principle)
which thou canst at the same time will to become a
universal law. " '

He illustrates the application of this formula by
taking such a case as that of breaking promises. It is
wrong to break a promise, because the breach of a
promise is a kind of action which could not be univer-
salised. If it were a universal rule that every one
were to break his promise, whenever he felt inclined,
no one would place any reliance on promises. Prom-
ises, in fact, would cease to be made. And of course,
if they were not made, they could not be broken.
Hence it would be impossible for every one to break
his promise. And since it is impossible for every one,
it must be wrong for any one. The essence of wrong-
doing consists in making an exception.

1 Mctaphvsic of Morals- section IL

192 ETHICS. [BK. u., CH. in., PT. IIL

Similarly, it may easily be shown that we could not,
without a certain absurdity, have universal suicide, « or
universal stealing, or even universal indifference to the
misfortunes of others. Since, then, we cannot really
will that such acts should be done by every one, we
have no right to will that we ourselves should do
them. In fact, the moral law is — Act only in suoh a
way as you could will that every one else should act
under the same general conditions.

§ 13. CRITICISM OF KANT, (i) Formalism. — It seems
clear that the principle laid down by Kant affords in
many cases a safe negative guide in conduct. If we
cannot will that all men should, under like conditions,
act as we are doing, we may generally be sure that
we are acting wrongly. When, however, we en-
deavour to extract positive guidance from the formula
— when we try to ascertain, by means of it, not merely
what we should abstain from doing, but what we
should do — it begins to appear that it is merely a
formal principle," from which no definite matter can
be derived ; and further consideration may lead us to
see that it cannot even give us quite satisfactory
negative guidance.

We must first observe, however, what was the exact

* This is one of the most difficult points to prove in at all a satis-
factory way. Kant's argument is ingenious, but hardly convincing.

* See the criticisms on Kant in Mill's Utilitarianism, chap. L, p. 5,
Bradley's Ethical Studies, pp. 139 sqq., Dewey's Outlines of Ethics,
pp. 78—S2, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 130-135, Adamson's
Philosophy of Kant, pp. 110-20, &c. For a full discussion of Kant's
doctrine on this point, see Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, Book
IL, chap. II Mr. Abbott, in his translation of Kant's TJteory of Ethics,
pp. xlix — Iv, partly defends Kant's point of view, but does not succeed
hi ahowiog that it leads to results that are practically helpful.

§ 1 3.] THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 193

meaning that Kant put upon his principle. It is evident
that it might be interpreted in two very different ways.
It might be taken to refer to general species of con-
duct, or it might be taken to refer to particular acfs,
with all the limitations of time, place, and circumstance.
It was in the former sense that the principle was under-
stood by Kant ; * but it is well to bear in mind that
there is also a possibility of the latter interpretation.
The difference between the two might be illustrated,
for instance, in the case of stealing. According to the
former interpretation, stealing must in all cases be
condemned, because its principle cannot be univer-
salised. According to the latter interpretation, it would
be necessary, in each particular instance in which
there is a temptation to steal, to consider whether it is
possible to will that every human being should steal,
when placed under precisely similar conditions. The
former interpretation would evidently give us a very
strict view of duty, while the latter might easily give
us a very lax one.

Now if we accept, as Kant does, the former of these
two interpretations, it seems clear that the principle is
a purely formal one, from which the particular matter
of conduct cannot be extracted. In order to apply it
at all, we must presuppose a certain given material.*

1 The reason why Kant took this view is, that he thought that a
man ought not only to be able to will that the principle of his action
should be universally adopted, but that it should be made into a law
of nature. To discuss the ground on which he held this opinion,
would carry us beyond the scope of this manual

* Kant was partly aware of this, and in his later treatment of the

subject seeks to derive the positive part of moral obligation from the

consideration of the twofold end — our own Perfection and the Hap.

piaeas of others— and also from the general principle* of Juriipr*

Etb. x,

194 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. III.

Thus, In order to show that stealing leads to self-con-
tradiction, we must presuppose the existence of pro-
perty. It is inconsistent to take the property of another,
if we recognise the legitimacy of private property ; but
if any one denies this, there is no inconsistency in his
acting accordingly. In order to apply Kant's principle,
therefore, it is necessary first to know what presuppo-
sitions we are entitled to make. Otherwise, there is
scarcely any action which might not be shown to lead
to inconsistency. For instance, the relief of distress,
the effort after the moral improvement of society, and
the like, might be said to lead to inconsistency ; for if
every one were engaged in these actions, it would be
unnecessary for any one to engage in them. They
are necessary only because they are neglected. The
only difference between these cases and that of theft
or of promise-breaking, is that in the one set of cases
the abolition of the activity would lead to what is
regarded as a desirable result — the cessation of distress
or immorality ; while in the other set of cases it would
lead to what is regarded as an undesirable result — the
cessation of property or of promises. But when we
ask why the one result is to be regarded as desirable
and the other as undesirable, there is no answer from
the Kantian point of view. All that the Kantian prin-
ciple enables us to say is that, assuming certain kinds

dence. See Abbott, pp. 296— 3oz Thus, the positive side of duty
would be derived largely from utilitarian considerations, while the
moral reason would simply urge us to be self-consistent Kant's
view thus approximated to that developed in recent times by Dr.
Sidgwick. See below, chap. iv. But on this point, as on many
others, Kant kept the different sides of his theory in separate com-
partments of his mind, and never really brought them together
Gf, Caird'3 Critical Philosophy of Kant, Book II., chaps, vi. and vii

§ 1 3.] THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 195

of conduct to be in general right, we must not make
exceptions on our own behalf.

If, on the other hand, we were to adopt the second
of the two possible interpretations of the principle of
consistency, it would not be possible to derive from it
even this very moderate amount of instruction. For
to say that we are always to act in such a way that
we could will that all other human beings, under
exactly the same conditions, should act similarly, is
merely to say that we are to act in a way that we
approve. Whenever a man approves of his own course
of action, he ipso facto wills that any one else in like
conditions should do likewise. Consequently, from
this principle no rule of conduct whatever can be
derived. It simply throws us back upon the morality
of common sense.1

The pure will of Kant, being thus entirely formal,
and destitute of particular content, has been well
described by Jacobi as a "will that wills nothing."*

§ 14. CRITICISM OF KANT (continued^). (2) Stringency.
— Not only is the Kantian principle open to the charge
of being purely formal, it has also the defect of giving
rise to a code of morals of a much stricter character
than that which the moral sense of the best men *
seems to demand. Of course this cannot be regarded
as a fatal criticism ; for it may be that that moral sense

1 Or upon utilitarian considerations. See preceding note. It may
be remarked that this difficulty in Kant arises from the dualism of
his philosophical point of view.

* See Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., p. 216, note.

* Our English moralists are fond of referring to the opinions of
" the plain man." But it depends a good deal on the character of
" the plain man " whether hia opinions on moral questions are worth
considering

196 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. in., PT. in

is deficient.1 Still on the whole any conflict with that
sense must be regarded as a primd facie presumption
against an ethical system in which it occurs ; and,
along with other criticisms, may help to overthrow
it. Now there are two distinct ways in which the
Kantian system appears to be much too rigorous.

(a) In the first place, according to the Kantian view
no conduct can be regarded as truly virtuous which
rests on feeling. Conduct is right only in so far as it
is dictated by the moral reason ; and the moral reason
is a purely formal principle, which has no connection
with any of the feelings or passions of human nat-
ure. But much of the conduct that men commonly
praise, springs rather from feeling than from any direct
application of reason.1 This has been strikingly
expressed by Wordsworth in his Ode to Duty—

" There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them ; who, in love and truth.
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth :

Glad hearts I without reproach or blot ;

Who do thy work, and know it not*3

l We shall see later (chap, vi.) that few ethical writers are pre-
pared to go against the developed moral sense of mankind ; and, in
particular, it is certain that Kant himself was not

* Kant's point of view might be illustrated by the famous declara-
tion of Sir T. Browne in his Religio Medici : " I give no alms to
satisfy the hunger of my brother, but to fulfil and accomplish the will
and command of my God." Contrast this attitude with that of the
philanthropist who is actuated simply by love of those whom he
seeks to benefit, and it is at once evident, even to the plainest com-
mon sense, that the latter is immeasurably the higher of the two.
Indeed, it would scarcely be a paradox to say that, in such cases, the
more purely a man is guided by love, and the less conscious he is-
of performing a duty, the better his action is. But see next note.

• Schiller has an even more emphatic utterance on the same point
in his poem Der Genius, beginning, " Must I distrust my impulse ?'

§ 14..] THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 197

Kant, resting duty upon a formal principle of reason,
does not recognise the possibility of such an attitude
as this. This defect was early perceived by the poet
Schiller, an ardent student of the Kantian system, who
expressed his dissatisfaction in the form of an epigram.
He supposes an ethical inquirer to bring the following
difficulty before a Kantian philosopher —

* Willingly serve I my friends, but I do it, alas ! with affection.
Hence I am plagued with the doubt, virtue I have not attained"

And he represents him as receiving the following an-
swer—

" This is your only resource, you must stubbornly seek to abhor them.
Then you can do with disgust that which the law may enjoin."

Of course this is a gross exaggeration of Kant's posi-
tion ; for he would not demand the presence of abhor-
rence, nor even the absence of affection. Still, it is
true that he did not recognise the possibility of the
performance of duty from feeling as contrasted with

and ending, " What thou pleasest to do, is thy law." His criticism
is more philosophically expressed in the treatise, Ueber Anmuthund
Wurdc, where he says, among other things, that " Man not only may
but should bring pleasure and duty into relation to one another ; he
should obey his reason with joy." Of course, it would be easy to
carry all this to the opposite extreme from that represented by Kant ;
and perhaps Kant's is the less dangerous extreme of the two. The
over-indulgent parent, for instance, cannot be justified by a mere
appeal to an impulse of affection. All that we are entitled to say is
that a man will often be led to the performance of duty by affection
far more effectively than by the consciousness of law, and that duty
so performed does not thereby cease to be duty ; and further, that
the highest forms of duty, involving love, are not compatible with
the absence of affection, and cannot be satisfactorily done from
mere respect for law. C/. Janet's Theory of Morals, book III., chap.
V. ; and see above, Book I., chap, iii., § $

198 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. in., PT, in.

the performance of it from the mere sense of duty
given by the moral reason.

(£) Another respect in which the rigour of Kant's
point of view appears, is this, that he permits of no
exceptions to his moral imperatives. Now the moral
sense of the best men seems to say that there is no
commandment, however sacred (unless it be the com-
mandment of love), that does not under certain cir-
cumstances release its claims. This objection was
very forcibly put by Jacobi in an indignant protest
against the Kantian system, which he addressed to
Fichte.1 "Yes," he exclaims, "I am the Atheist, the
Godless one, who, in spite of the will that wills no-
thing, am ready to lie as the dying Desdemona lied ;
to lie and deceive like Pylades, when he pretended to
be Orestes ; to murder like Timoleon ; to break law
and oath like Epaminondas, like John de Witt; to
commit suicide with Otho and sacrilege with David, —
yea, to rub the ears of corn on the Sabbath day, merely

i It may be observed that Fichte himself, though a disciple of
Kant, laid stress chiefly on the Kantian dictum that "an erring
conscience is a chimera," and regarded the command to " follow
conscience " as the supreme moral principle. He regarded con-
science, moreover, not as a principle which lays down merely
formal imperatives, but rather as one which bids us advance along
the line of rational development Fichte was thus rather a repre-
sentative of the school of idealistic evolution, referred to below in
chap. v. For this reason, Janet remarks (Theory of Morals, p. 264)
that Jacobi ought to have regarded Fichte as essentially in agree-
ment with himself. For Jacobi also appealed to the heart or moral
sense of the individual. But surely what Fichte meant by the
" conscience " was a rational and universal principle of guidance,
very different from a mere heart or moral sense. Cf. Adamson's
Fichte, pp. 193 sqq. ; Schwegler's History of Philosophy, pp. 273-4 }
Erdmann's History of Philosophy, voL ii., pp, 5&fr-i&

§ I4«] THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 199

because I am hungry, and because the law is made for
the sake of man and not man for the sake of the law. I
am that Godless one, and I deride the philosophy that
calls me Godless for such reasons, both it and its
Supreme Being- ; for with the holiest certitude that I
have in me, I know that the prerogative of pardon in
reference to such transgressions of the letter of the
absolute law of reason, is the characteristic royal right
of man, the seal of his dignity and of his divine
nature." Jacobi held, therefore, that man is not called
upon to act "in blind obedience to the law." He is
entitled to appeal from pure reason to the heart, which
is indeed the only "faculty of ideas that are not
empty." "This heart," he says, "the Transcendental
Philosophy will not be allowed to tear out of my
breast, in order to set a pure impulse of Egoism in its
place. I am not one to allow myself to be freed from
the dependence of love, in order to have my blessed-
ness in pride alone."

To what extent this view of Jacobi is justifiable, will
probably become more apparent as we proceed. In
reality, it is quite as one-sided as the view of Kant to
which it is opposed. It calls attention, however, to
the undue rigour of Kant's principle, in admitting of
no exceptions to his moral imperatives. But indeed,
even apart from such considerations as Jacobi has ad-
duced, it must be tolerably apparent that the rigour of
the Kantian system, in excluding all exceptions, gver-
ehoots the mark. For many actions in ordinary life
are right simply because they are exceptions. Many
instances of heroic self-sacrifice would be unjustifiable
if every one were to perform them. When it is right
for a man to devote his life to a great cause, it is

200 ETHICS. [BK. II., GH. III., PT. III.

usually- right just because it may be assumed that no
one else will do it. Or take the case of celibacy.1
For every one to abstain from marriage would be in-
consistent with the continuance of the human race
on earth ; consequently, any one who abstained from
marriage for the sake of some benefit to posterity would,
from Kant's point of view, be acting inconsistently ;
yet it seems clear that it is not the duty of every one
to marry, and even that it is the duty of some to
abstain, — and to abstain, too, for the sake of posterity.

It appears, then, that the Kantian principle, inter-
preted in this way, is much too stringent. On the
other hand, if we were to accept the other interpreta-
tion, it would be too lax. For it would then admit of
every conceivable exception that we could will to be
universally allowed under precisely similar conditions;
and this would include everything that human beings
do,* except when they are consciously doing what they
know cannot be justified by any rational plea.

§ 15. REAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THE KANTIAN PRINCIPLE. —
We must not, however, conclude from this that the
Kantian principle is to be entirely rejected. There is
a sense in which it is a quite complete criterion of the

i Cf. Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book IV., chap, v., $ 3 ; and
Abbott's translation of Kant's Theory of Ethics, pp. liil, sqq. The
student should observe carefully where the inconsistency comes in
here— viz. in the principle (or maxim) itself, not in its mere results.

* For instance, a man might be dishonest in business, and justify
himself by saying that the principle on which he acted was, that a
shrewd man is entitled to overreach a careless one. If he had per-
fect confidence in his own shrewdness, he might be quite willing
that this principle should be universally carried out; and at the
same time he might uphold the general principle of respect fof
the rights of others, subject only to this particular limitation.

§ 1 5.] THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 2OI

lightness of an action to ask whether it can be consist-
ently carried out. Our moral action is in this respect
exactly similar to our intellectual life. An error can-
not be consistently carried out, and neither can a sin.
But in both cases alike the test is not that of mere
formal consistency. We may take up an erroneous
idea and hold consistently to it, so long as we confine
ourselves to that particular idea. The inconsistency
comes in only when we try to fit the erroneous idea
into the scheme of the world as a whole. It is with
that scheme that error is inconsistent. In like manner
in our moral life we may take up a false principle of
action, and we may carry it out consistently, and even
will that all others should act in accordance with it,
so long as we confine our attention to that particular
action and its immediate consequences. But so soon
as we go beyond this, and consider its bearing on the
whole scheme of life,' it becomes apparent that we
could not will that it should be universalised. The
reason is, not that the action is inconsistent with itself,
but rather that it is inconsistent with the self—i. e. with
the unity of our lives as a systematic whole.3 But
then we have at once to ask — How are we to know

1 How this scheme of life is to be conceived, is a question for
future consideration. We shall see, at a later stage, that life has to
be thought of as a growth or development Hence it can never
stand before us as a completed scheme ; and that with which we
have to be consistent is rather the idea of progress. But, as the
novelists say, " we are anticipating."

1 It skould be observed that Kant to some extent advanced towards
the point of view here indicated ; especially by his conception of
Humanity as an absolute end, and still more by the pregnant idea
of all rational beings as constituting a Kingdom of ends. Metaphysic
oj Morals, Sect II. (Abbott's translation, pp. 46—59). But the pen
•i*tent dualism of KaaL's system prevented him from recognising

202 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. Ill

what is and what is not consistent with this unity?
What can we, and what can we not, desire to see
universally carried out ? This question cannot be
answered by any mere consideration of formal con-
sistency. We must inquire into the nature of out
desires — f. e. we must introduce matter as well as form.
We must ask, in other words, what is the nature of the
self with which we have to be consistent.

the full significance of the advance which he had thus suggested ;
and his principle remained formal after all Cf. Caird's Critical
Philosophy of Kant, vol. ii., pp. 218 — 226. For a more recent criticism
of Kant's ethical position, see Simmel's Einlcitung in die Moral-
urissensckaft, VoL II., chap. v.

THE DOCTRINE OF KANT.

NOTE ox KANT.

Kant's view is rightly characterised by Bradley (Ethical Studies,
Essay I V. ) as that of " Duty for Duty's Sake," 1 and is contrasted with
the utilitarian view (Essay III.), which is described as that of
" Pleasure for Pleasure's Sake." Professor Dewey, in like manner,
describes the Kantian system (Outlines of Ethics, p. 78) as furnishing
us with merely "Formal Ethics," and as being a "theory which
attempts to find the good not only in the will itself, but in the will
irrespective of any end to be reached by the will." Mr. Muirhead
(Elements of Ethics, p. .112 sqq.) has also described the Kantian
theory in similar terms, referring both to Bradley and to Dewey ;
but he has carried Bradley's antithesis between the Kantian Ethics
and utilitarianism to a somewhat extreme point, even going so far
as to characterise the Kantian view of the supreme good by means
of the heading, " The End as Self-Sacrifice." This appears to me to
be an exaggeration. Kant considered that we must do our duty out
of pure respect for the law of reason, and not from any anticipation
of pleasure ; but he nowhere, so far as I am aware, suggests that
there is any merit in the absence of pleasure. On the contrary,
though he does not regard happiness as the direct end at which the
virtuous man is to aim, he yet believes that, in any complete account
of the supreme human good, happiness must be included as well as
virtue — though in subordination to virtue. Indeed, he even con-
sidered that, unless we had grounds for believing that the two
elements— virtue and happiness— are ultimately to be found united,
the very foundation of morality would be destroyed. Thus he says,
" In the summunt bonum which is practical for us, /. e. to be realised
by our will, virtue and happiness are thought as necessarily com-
bined, so that the one cannot be assumed by pure practical reason
without the other also being attached to it Now this combination
(like every other) is either analytical or synthetical. It has been
shown that it cannot be analytical ;8 it must then be synthetical, and,
more particularly, must be conceived as the connection of cause

1 It should be noted, however, that the account given by Mr.
Bradley in this chapter of the theory of " Duty for Duty's Sake " is
not, and is not intended to be, an exact statement of the position of
Kant

a Critique of Practical Reason, Part I., Book II., chap, it § i. Ab-
bott's translation of Kant's Theory of Ethics, third edition, p. 2091

*/.<•. that happiness is not directly included in virtue, or virtue ta
happiness.

9O4 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. in., PT. in.

and effect, since it concerns a practical good, i. e. one that is pos-
•ible by means of action ; consequently either the desire of happiness
must be the motive to maxims of virtue,1 or the maxim of virtue must
be the efficient cause of happiness. The first is absolutely impossible,
because (as was proved in the Analytic) maxims which place the
determining principle of the will in the desire of personal happiness
are not moral at all, and no virtue can be founded on them. But the
second is also impossible, because the practical connection of causes
and effects in the world, as the result of the determination of the
will, does not depend upon the moral dispositions of the will, but
on the knowledge of the laws of nature and the physical power to
use them for one's purposes ; consequently we cannot expect in the
world by the most punctilious observance of the moral laws any
necessary connection of happiness with virtue, adequate to the
summum bonum. Now as the promotion of this summum bonum,
the conception of which contains this connection, is a priori a neces-
sary object of our will, and inseparably attached to the moral law,
the impossibility of the former must prove the falsity of the latter.
If then the supreme good is not possible by practical rules, then the
moral law also which commands us to promote it is directed to vain
imaginary ends, and must consequently be false."

Kant's view, then, was that the supreme aim of the virtuous man
is simply that of conforming to this law of reason— i. e., according to
him, the law of formal consistency. He must not pursue virtue for
the sake of happiness, but purely for the sake of duty. In this sense
Kant inculcates self-sacrifice. But he does not regard self-sacrifice
as the end. The end is conformity to law, obedience to reason.
Further, Kant considers that though the virtuous man does not aim
at happiness, yet the complete well-being2 of a human being in-
cludes happiness as well as virtue. And apparently he thought that
if we had no ground for believing that the two elements are ulti-
mately conjoined, the ground of morality itself would be removed,

i This is what Kant denies : and it is only in this sense that he is
fairly to be described as an ascetic, or as one who advocates self-
sacrifice.

* Co mplete well-being (bonum consummatum) as distinguished from
supreme well-being (supremum bonum). The supreme good is vir-
tue : the complete good is virtue + happiness. See Critique of Prac-
tical Reason, Part I., Book II., chap. ii. (Abbott's translation, p. 206).
For a' discussion of Kant's view on this point, see Caird's Critical
Philosophy efKant, Book II., chap, v, (voL ii pp. 289-314.)

THE DOCTRINE OF KANT. 2O$

For morality rests on a demand of reason ; and the possibility of
attaining the summum bonum is also a demand of reason. If the
demands of reason were chimerical in the latter case, they would
be equally discredited in the former.! He solves the difficulty by
postulating the existence of God, " as the necessary condition of the
possibility of the summum bonum" *

From this it will be seen that Kant did not really regard self-
sacrifice as the end. Indeed it may be doubted whether it has ever
been regarded as an end by any serious school of moralists. Ben-
tham, indeed (at least as represented by Dumont8), contrasts his
utilitarian theory with what he calls " the Ascetic Principle," saying
of the latter that " those who follow it have a horror of pleasures.
Everything which gratifies the senses, in their view, is odious and
criminal. They found morality upon privations, and virtue upon
the renouncement of one's self. In one word, the reverse of the
partisans of utility, they approve everything which tends to diminish
enjoyment, they blame everything which tends to augment it*
But this description would evidently not apply to Kant,4 nor perhaps
to any school of moralists, if we except some of the extremest of the
Cynics.6 Bentham himself, in the passage from which the above
extract is taken, does not refer to any philosophic writers, but only
to the Jansenists and some other theologians. Even the Stoics • (to
whom certainly Kant bears a strong resemblance T) did not regard

1 Observe the close resemblance between Kant's view on this
point and that of Butler. See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 195-7.
Kant, however, states the difficulty in a much more precise and pro-
found form than that in which it is put by Butler. Kant's attempted
solution, in like manner, is characterised by immeasurably greater
speculative depth.

• Kant, loc. cit, section V. (Abbott, p. 221).

• Theory of Legislation, chap. ii. See also Principles ofMoralsand
Legislation, chap. ii.

4 There is, indeed, a passage in the Methodology of Pure Practical
Reason (Abbott's translation, p. 254), in which Kant says that virtue
is " worth so much only because it costs so much." But the context
shows that his meaning is merely that the cost brings clearly to light
the purity of the motive.

• See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, p. 33-35

• For an account of the Stoics, see Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp.

' Cf. Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, voL ii. pp. 222-3, *c.

206 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. III., PT. III.

the sacrifice of happiness as in itself a good. On the contrary, aa
Kant himself remarks,! both the Stoics and Epicureans were agreed
in identifying virtue with happiness : only while the Epicureans
held that the pursuit of happiness is virtue, the Stoics held, contrari-
wise, that the pursuit of virtue is happiness.2

I have thought it desirable to dwell on this slight divergence be-
tween my view on this point and that stated in Mr. Muirhead's
Elements, not for the purpose of emphasising my disagreement, but
rather to bring out the fundamental identity of our views. For if the
reader will turn to the passage in Mr. Muirhead's book, I think he
will easily see that the difference between us is merely superficial.
Although Mr. Muirhead treats of the Kantian Ethics under the head-
ing " The End as Self-Sacrifice," and refers to it as illustrating the
ascetic principle in morals, yet his actual treatment of Kant's funda-
mental position does not, I think, materially differ from that suggested
in the present manual. I am convinced, therefore, that our diver-
gence on this point is little more than verbal.

It is perhaps fair to add here that a partial reply to Schiller's ob-
jections (referred to above, § 13) was made by Kant in his treatise
on Religion within the Bounds of mere Reason? Kant there admits
that a thoroughly virtuous man will love virtuous activities, and per.
form them with pleasure ; but he regards this as a mere result of
action from the sense of duty. The man who acts from a sense of
duty has a feeling of pleasure gradually superinduced. This admis-
sion obviates the grosser forms of the criticism that has been passed
on Kant with regard to this point ; but it still leaves a fatal dualism
between the law of reason and the affections of human kindness.
In short, it still has the defect of emphasising the mere isolated good
will instead of the good character. * Cf. above, Book I., chap, iii., § z

1 Critique of Practical Reason, Part I., Book II., chap, il (Abbott's
translation, p. 208).

8 Or at least that a certain form of happiness is an Inseparable
accident of the pursuit of virtue. See Sidgwick's History of Ethics,
pp. 83^.

' Cf. also Metaphysical Elements of Ethics (Abbott's translation), ppt

312-13-

4 The point that it is specially important to remember is, that Kant
always insists that duty must not be done from inclination. He
never denies that it may be done with inclination. Consequently,
be is not properly an ascetic.

I.] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 207

CHAPTER IV.

THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS.

§ 1. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. — We thus see that the
idea of a categorical imperative breaks down, or at
least lands us in sheer emptiness. It tells us only that
we must judge our actions from the point of view of a
universal self, not from a private standpoint of our
own, and that we must act in a way that is consistent
with the idea of this higher self. All this is formal : *

1 In saying that it is merely formal, I do not of course mean to
deny its practical importance. In concrete life we constantly tend
to judge ourselves and others by standards that are not of uni-
versal application ; and Kant's formula is useful as a safeguard
against this. Perhaps the following passage from Bryce's A mcrican
Commonwealth (chap. Ixxv.) may serve to illustrate this danger.
''All professions," he says, " have a tendency to develop a special
code of rules less exacting than those of the community at large.
As a profession holds certain things to be wrong, because contrary
to its etiquette, which are in themselves harmless, so it justifies other
things in themselves blamable. In the mercantile world, agents
play sad tricks on their principals in the matter of commissions, and
their fellow-merchants are astonished when the courts of law com-
pel the ill-gotten gains to be disgorged. At the English Universities,
everybody who took a Master of Arts degree was, until lately,
required to sign the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England.
Hundreds of men signed who did not believe, and admitted that
they did not believe, the dogmas of this formulary ; but nobody in
Oxford thought the worse of them for a solemn falsehood. . . .
Each profession indulges in deviations from the established rules of
morals, but takes pains to conceal these deviations from the general
public, and continues to talk about itself and its traditions with an
air of unsullied virtue. What each profession does for itself most
individuals do for themselves. They judge themselves by them-

2o8 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. iv.

we now wait for the content with which the form is to
be filled. We have to ask, in short, what is the nature
of the ideal self, and how it is constituted.

§ 2. HIGHER AND LOWER UNIVERSES. — That certain
forms of will are higher or better than others, may
almost be said to be the fundamental assumption of
Ethics. Now it follows from this that certain desires,
or certain universes of desire, are higher or better than
others. Thus it becomes a problem to determine why
it is that any desire or universe of desires should be
regarded as higher or better than any other. The
significance of this problem may perhaps be best in-
dicated by suggesting a possible answer. It is obvious
that some universes are more comprehensive than
others. If a man acts from the point of view of the
happiness of his nation as a whole, this is evidently a
more comprehensive point of view than that from
which he acts when he has regard only to his own
happiness. The former includes the latter. So too, if
a man acts from the point of view of his own happi-
ness throughout the year, he acts from a more com-
prehensive point of view than if he has regard only to
the happiness of the passing hour. Now the narrower
the point of view from which we act, the more certain
we are to fall into inconsistency and self-contradiction.

selves, that is to say, by tbeir surroundings and their own past
acts, and thus erect in the inner forum of conscience a more lenient
code for their own transgressions than that which they apply to
others. We all know that a fault which a man has often committed
seems to him slighter than one he has refrained from and seen
others committing. Often he gets others to take the same view.
4 It is only his way,' they say : ' it is just like Roger.' The same
thing happens with nations." There is perhaps some cynicism in
this ; but it contains sufficient truth to illustrate the present point

§ 3-] THE STANDARD AS I-IAIT1XESS.' 209

If the universe within which we act is merely that of the
passing hour, that universe will no longer be the dom-
inant one when the hour is past ; and then we shall
find ourselves acting from some different, and perhaps
inconsistent point of view. If, on the other hand, the
universe within which we act is broad and compre-
hensive, we may be able to maintain our point pi
view consistently through life, and also to apply it tc
the actions of others. The wider universe may, there-
fore, be regarded as higher or better than the narrower
one, since it enables us to maintain a more consistent
point of view in our actions. From this consideration
we may partly see why it is that one universe is to be
regarded as higher or better than another. Still, this
does not make it quite clear. For sometimes when we
prefer one universe to another, the former does not
include the latter, and is not obviously wider than it.
What is the ground of preference in such cases we shall
consider at a later point in this inquiry. But in the
meantime, it may be well to notice a plausible expla-
nation of the preference, which we shall see reason
afterwards to reject. In such a subject as Ethics,
erroneous doctrines are often almost as instructive as
those that are correct.

§ 3. SATISFACTION OF DESIRES. — When a desire attains
the end to which it is directed, the desire is satisfied ;
and this satisfaction ij attended by an agreeable feel-
ing ' — a feeling of pleasure, enjoyment, or happiness.

1 I follow Dr. James Ward and others in using the term " Feeling *
for pleasure and pain. It is, however, a very ambiguous term, and
perhaps the term " Affection," which is used by Prof. Titchener in his
Outline of Psychology, is in some ways preferable. Se« Stout's Manual
«f Tsychology, Book II., chap. viii.

Eth. 14

210 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV.

On the other hand, when the end of a desire is not
attained, we have a disagreeable feeling — a feeling of
pain, misery, or unhappiness. Now if we act within a
wide universe, or within a universe that includes de-
sires that are continually recurring throughout life, we
shall be acting in such a way as to satisfy our desires
with great frequency, and so to have many feelings of
pleasure. On the other hand, if we act within a nar-
row universe, or one containing desires that do not
often recur, we may have few satisfactions and a fre-
quent occurrence of painful feelings. Now it seems
plausible to say that, since what we aim at is the satis-
faction of our desires, the best aim is that which will
bring the greatest number of pleasures and the smallest
number of pains. This consideration would supply us
with a criterion of higher and lower universes. The
highest universe within which we could act would be
that which would supply us with the greatest number
of pleasures and the smallest number of pains. The
highest universe, in fact, would be that which is con-
stituted by the consideration of our greatest happiness
throughout life; or, if we consider others as well as
ourselves, by the consideration of the greatest happi-
ness of the greatest number. This leads us to the con-
sideration of Hedonism.

§ 4. VARIETIES OF HEDONISM. — Hedonism is the general
term for those theories that regard happiness or pleas-
ure as the supreme end of life. It is derived from the
Greek word 1)&ovj, meaning pleasure. These theories
have taken many different forms. It has been held
by some that men always do seek pleasure, f. e. that
pleasure in some form is always the ultimate object of
dteirt; whereas other Hedonists confine themselves

§3-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 211

to the view that men ought always to seek pleasure.
The former theory has been called by Prof. Sidgwick
Psychological Hedonism, because it simply affirms the
seeking of pleasure as a psychological fact ; whereas
he describes the other theory as Ethical Hedonism.
Again, some have held that what each man seeks, or '
ought to seek, is his own pleasure ; while others hold .,
that what each seeks, or ought to seek, is the pleasure
of all human beings, or even of all sentient creatures.
Prof. Sidgwick has called the former of these views
Egoistic Hedonism ; the latter, Universalistic Hedonism^
The latter has also been called Utilitarianism — which,
however, is a very inappropriate name. f Most of the
earlier ethical Hedonists were also psychological
Hedonists ; but this latter view has now been almost
universally abandoned. Egoistic Hedonism has also
been generally abandoned. Its chief upholders were
the ancient Cyrenaics and Epicureans.2 Some more
modern writers, however, — such as Bentham and Mill
—did not clearly distinguish between egoistic and
Universalistic Hedonism, and consequently, though in
the main supporting only the latter, often seemed to
be giving their adhesion to the former. The student
must be careful to distinguish between these different
kinds of Hedonism : otherwise great confusion will

* See below, § 9.

8 For an account of these see Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 32-3,
*nd pp. 82-90. See also Zeller's Socrates and the Socratic Schools,
»nd Stoics, Epicureans, and Sceptics. Prof. Wallace's little volume
on Epicureanism (" Chief Ancient Philosophies ") is a most delight-
ful book, which every student ought to read. Prof. Watson's
Hedonistic Theories from Aristippus to Spencer is also exceedingly
interesting, and, though somewhat popular in its mode of treatment
to nearly always reliable,

212 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV.

result. Now the doctrine of Psychological Hedonism
has already been considered in Book I. It is simply
a statement of fact ; whereas Ethical Hedonism is a
theory of Value, a theory of the ground upon which
one form of action ought to be preferred to others.

§ 5. ETHICAL HEDONISM. — We have seen that the theory
of psychological Hedonism is unsound. Ethical He-
donism, however, does not stand or fall with this.
On the contrary, as Dr. Sidgwick has pointed out,1
ethical Hedonism is scarcely compatible with psycho-
logical Hedonism, at least in its most extreme form.
If we always did seek our own greatest pleasure, there
vrould be no point in saying that we ought to seek it ;
while, on the other hand, it would be absurd to say
that we ought to seek the pleasure of others, except in
so far as this could be shown to coincide with our own.
Of course, if psychological Hedonism be merely inter-
preted as meaning that we always do seek pleasure of
some sort, then ethical Hedonism may be understood
as teaching that we ought to seek the greatest pleasure,
whether our own or that of others. But, in any case,
there is no necessary connection between the two
doctrines.* The confusion that has often been made

i Methods of Ethics, Book I., chap, iv., § L

* It will be seen, therefore, that I do not agree with Mr. Muirhead
(Elements of Ethics, p. 114) in regarding the psychological form of
Hedonism as " also its logical form." At the same time, it should be
observed that systems of ethical Hedonism (especially when egoistic)
have nearly always been made to rest on psychological Hedonism,
Nor is this necessarily inconsistent ; for most Hedonists (especially
egoistic Hedonists) have denied any absolute "ought" as having
authority over men's natural inclinations. They have regarded
Ethics as simply laying down rules for the guidance of our actions,
so as to secure the greatest possible gratification to our natural im-
pulses. They have thought that by the introduction of adequate "aanc-

§5-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 213

between the two theories seems to be due in part to
an ambiguity in the word "desirable."1 This point
also may be illustrated by a passage from Mill. "The
only proof," he says, " 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 ... In like manner, I apprehend, the sole evi-
dence it is possible to produce that anything is desir-
able, is that \people do actually desire it." It is here
assumed that the meaning of the word "desirable" is
analogous to that of "visible" and "audible." But
"visible" means "able to be seen," and "audible"
means " able to be heard" ; whereas " desirable" does
not usually mean ' ' able to be desired." When we say
that anything is desirable, we do not usually mean
merely that it is able to be desired. There is scarcely
anything that is not able to be desired. What we
mean is rather that it is reasonably to be desired, or that
it ought to be desired. When the Hedonist says that
pleasure is the only thing that is desirable, he means
that it is the only thing that ought to be desired. But
the form of the word "desirable" seems to have mis-
led several writers into the notion that they ought to

lions" (see below, Note to Book III., chap. vL) the greatest pleasure
of the community as a whole might be made coincident with the
individual's greatest pleasure. Bentham was particularly explicit
on this point, saying even, paradoxically, that the word " ought "
" ought to be abolished." (But cf. Principles of Morals and Legisla-
tion, chap, i., § la) But this view is, of course, incompatible with
the admission (now generally made by all Hedonists) that the
gratification of our own inclinations may conflict with duty. If this
is allowed, ethical Hedonism cannot rest on psychological Cf.
Gizycki's Introduction to the Study of Ethics, pp. 70—78.
* Cf. Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book III., chap, xiii, § j

214 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. iv.

show also that pleasure is the only thing that is capable
of being desired.1 The latter view is that of psycho-
logical Hedonism, which seems clearly to be unsound.
The former is that of ethical Hedonism, which we have
still to examine.

We have already stated that there are two forms of
ethical Hedonism — egoistic and universalistic. But be-
fore we proceed to consider these, it will be well to
indicate more precisely what the general meaning of
ethical Hedonism is.

§ 6. QUANTITY OF PLEASURE. — Hedonism is not merely
the vague theory that we ought to seek pleasure. It
states definitely that we ought to seek the greatest
pleasure. Otherwise of course it would give us no
criterion of right and wrong in conduct Pleasure
may be found by acting in the most contradictory
ways. But when we are told to seek the greatest plea-
sure, there can usually be but one course to follow. In
estimating the quantity of pleasure, it is usually said
that there are two points to be taken into account —
intensity and duration.* Some pleasures are preferable
to others because they last longer. Pains require also

1 The fallacy here involved is that known to writers on Logic as
the " Fallacy of Figure of Speech " (figure? dictionis). See Whately's
Logic, pp. 117-18, Davis's Theory of Thought, p. 270, Welton's Manual
of Logic, vol. II., p. 243. Jevons (Elementary Lessons on Logic, p. 175)
seems to have quite misunderstood this fallacy, as well as many
others.

3 In estimating the value of pleasures, there are, according to Ben-
tham, some other qualities also which should be taken into account
— viz. certainty, propinquity, fecundity (power of producing other
pleasures), and purity (freedom from pain). He considered also
that we should take account of their extent—/, e. the number of per-
sons who participate in them. See his Principles of Morals and Legis-
lation, He summed up his view in the following doggerel verse»—

§ 7-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 21 5

to be taken into account. Pain is simply the opposite
of pleasure, and is consequently to be treated just at
negative quantities are treated in mathematics. If a
pleasure is represented by -f- «, the corresponding pain
will be represented by -a ; and what we are to aim at
is to secure the greatest sum of pleasures or the small-
est sum of pains, pleasures being counted as positive
and pains as negative. If there are three pleasures,
valued respectively at 3, 4, and 5 ; 5 is to be preferred
to either 3 or 4, 3 -}- 4 is to be preferred to 5, 3 4- 5 to
3+4, and 4 + 5 to 3 -f- 5- Again, if we have pains
valued at — 3, — 4, — 5 ; — 3 is to be preferred to — 4, and
— 4 to - 5. So too 5 — 3 is to be preferred to 4 — 3, and
3 — 4 to 3-5; while between 4 — 3 and 5-4, or between
3-3 and 4-4, there is no ground of preference. And
so on.

§ 7. EGOISTIC HEDONISM. — Egoistic Hedonism is the
doctrine that what each ought to seek is his own greatest
pleasure. Almost the only writers who have held this
doctrine in a pure form are the Cyrenaics and Epicu-
reans. The writers of the former school, however,
confined themselves to inculcating the pursuit of the
pleasure of each moment as it passes — f. e. they did
not take account of duration. The Epicureans in-
culcated rather the endeavour to secure the happiness

"Intense, long, certain, speedy, fruitful, pure,
Such marks in pleasures and in pains endura
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."

Cf. Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 240-1, and Dewey's OvtHn«toJ
Eihict, pp. 36-7.

216 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV.

of life as a whole. In modern times, owing to the
spirit of self-sacrifice introduced by Christianity, this
doctrine has seldom been avowed in any form. Hobbes f
and Gassendi are the chief modern writers who
decidedly adopt this view ; and it is by them made to
rest on psychological Hedonism. It appears also in a
manner in Spinoza ; a but he subordinates it to a cer-
tain metaphysical theory, which we cannot here con-
sider.

Egoistic Hedonism has always presented a repulsive
appearance to the moral consciousness. Yet it is pos-
sible to give it a plausible appearance, and even at the
present time it is recognised by Dr. Sidgwick as an
inevitable element in a complete system of Ethics.
The reason why this should seem to be so is evident
enough. It is clear that the end at which we are to
aim must be some end that will give us satisfaction.
When asked why we pursue any end, the only reason-
able answer that can be given, is that it satisfies some

1 For an account of Hobbes, see- Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp
163-170. It should be observed, however (what perhaps Dr. Sidg-
wick does not sufficiently bring out), that the Egoism of Hobbes is
much more pronounced than his Hedonism. It is even open to
question whether he is strictly to be regarded as a Hedonist at all,
though on the whole the answer seems to be in the affirmative. Cf.
Croom Robertson's Hobbes, p. 1361 Helvetius and Mandeville may
perhaps also be classed as Egoistic Hedonists. See Lecky's History
of European Morals, p. 6 sqq. But Mandeville can hardly be taken
seriously. It should be added that scarcely any of these writers can
be regarded as purely (or at least consistently) egoistic. Even
Hobbes is led in the end to recognise a law of Reason (though of a
rery derivative character) bidding us have regard to the general
good. See Croom Robertson's Hobbes, p. I4Z

• See Principal Caird's Spinoza, chaps. xiL and xiiL Spinoza'*
highest end was rather blessedness than pleasure. See below, § &
UX and Chap. V., § 14

§ /•] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 2I/

demand of our nature ; and the only finally satisfac-
tory answer that can be given, is that it satisfies the
most fundamental demand of our nature. For if we
say that we pursue the end for some external reason-
as, e. g. because we are commanded by some supe-
rior authority — there still remains the question why we
are to be influenced by that external reason. The only
answer that leaves no further question behind it, is the
answer that has reference to an ultimate demand of
our nature. Now, when we are asked what it is that
satisfies the ultimate demands of our nature, it is very
natural to answer "Pleasure."

On consideration, however, it appears that, in giv-
ing this answer, we are misled by the same ambiguity
as that which we encountered in dealing with psycho-
logical Hedonism. It is undoubtedly true that what-
ever satisfies the ultimate demands of our nature will
bring pleasure with it, and may consequently be de-
scribed as a pleasure. But this pleasure must have
some objective content, and that content is not itself
pleasure. The object that gives us pleasure may be
the pleasure of some one else, or it may be the welfare
of our country, or it may be the fulfilment of what we
conceive to be our duty. These things are pleasures —
i. e. they are objects the attainment of which will bring
us pleasure. But they are not themselves pleasure —
t. e. agreeable feeling. Here, again, therefore, to say
that we ought to seek pleasures, is not to say that we
ought to seek pleasure.

Dr. Sidgwick, however, thinks * that " when we sit
down in a cool hour " (as he says, quoting Butler), wt

Hetturts of Ethics. Book III., chap, »T. f 5,

218 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. iv.

perceive that there is nothing which it is reasonable to
seek — i*. e. nothing which is desirable in itself — except
pleasure. He then argues that since pleasure is the
one desirable thing, the greatest pleasure must be the
most desirable. A more intense pleasure is conse-
quently to be preferred to a less intense, and a pleasure
which lasts longer to one that is of shorter duration.
Further, he urges that, in estimating our pleasures, a
past or future pleasure ought, c&tcris paribus, to be
regarded as of equal value with a present one. For
mere difference of time * can of itself make no dif-
ference to the value of our pleasures.* All this is
evidently true, on the assumption that pleasure is the
one desirable thing. But there seems to be no warrant
for this assumption, a

§ 8. UNIVERSALISTIC HEDONISM. — Universalistic He-
donism or Utilitarianism is the theory that what we
ought to aim at is the greatest possible amount of
pleasure of all human beings, or of all sentient crea-
tures. The chief exponents of this theory are Bentham,
J. S. Mill, and Professor Sidgwick. Bentham's proof
of the theory is not very explicit,* and may perhaps
be considered to be sufficiently represented by that
of Mill. Mill's argument is stated thus in the fourth
chapter of his Utilitarianism : ' ' No reason can be given
why the general happiness is desirable, except that
each person, so far as he believes it to be attainable,

i Apart from the uncertainty which Is generally connected with
the lapse of time. Allowance would, of course, have to be mad*
for this.

* Methods of Ethics, Book III., chap, xiil, § >

* Cf. § 5, and see below, § ia

4 €/. Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 241-345.

§ 8.] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 219

desires his own happiness. This, however, being a
fact, we have not only all the proof which the case
admits of, but all which it is possible to require, that
happiness is a good : that each person's happiness is a
good to that person, and the general happiness, there-
fore, a good to the aggregate of all persons. " He then
goes on to argue that happiness is the only good, on
the ground that we have already noticed — viz. that to
desire a thing and to find it pleasant are but two ways
of expressing the same thing. Now it would be diffi-
cult to collect in a short space so many fallacies as are
here committed. We have already noticed the confu-
sion in the last point, due to the ambiguity in the word
"pleasure." We have also noticed the confusion with
regard to the meaning of "desirable," which vitiates
the first part of the argument It only remains to
notice the fallacy involved in the inference that " the
general happiness is a good to the aggregate of all per-
sons." The fallacy is that which is known in logic as
"the fallacy of composition." It is inferred that be-
cause my pleasures are a good to me, yours to you,
his to him, and so on, therefore my pleasures -f- your
pleasures -f- his pleasures are a good to me -f- you -f-
him. It is forgotten that neither the pleasures nor the
persons are capable of being made into an aggregate.
It is as if we should argue that because each one of a
hundred soldiers is six feet high, therefore the whole
company is six hundred feet high. The answer is that
this would be the case if the soldiers stood on one
another's heads. And similarly Mill's argument would
hold good if the minds of all human beings were to be
rolled into one, so as to form an aggregate. But as it
is, " the aggregate of all persons " is nobody, and con*

220 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV.

sequently nothing can be a good to him. A good must
be a good for somebody. f

Dr. Sidgwick's proof is of a more satisfactory char-
acter. He considers universalistic Hedonism to be
established in the very same way as Egoistic Hedonism
is established.* He thinks that he has shown that
pleasure is the only thing that is in itself desirable.
This being the case, pleasure is always to be chosen.
And in the choice of pleasure, reason bids us be im-
partial. The greatest attainable pleasure is always to
be selected. In choosing our own pleasures, the future
is to be regarded as of equal weight with the present.
In like manner, also, the pleasures of others are to be
regarded as of equal weight with our own. It might
be thought that in this way Dr. Sidgwick had over-
thrown egoistic Hedonism, and shown universalistic
Hedonism to be the only reasonable Hedonistic system.
But, for some reason which it is not easy to discover,
he does not consider this to be the case. So far as
can be made out, the reason seems to be that what is
primarily our good is our own pleasure ; and it is only
in a secondary way that we discover that the pleasure
of others ought to be equally regarded. Now this
secondary discovery cannot overthrow the first primary
truth. Hence we are bound still to regard our own
pleasure as a supreme good. For this reason Dr. Sidg-
wick considers that there is a certain contradiction or
dualism in the final recommendations of reason. We
are bound to aeek our own greatest pleasure, and yet
we are bound also to seek the greatest pleasure of the
aggregate of sentient beings. Now these two enda

1 Cf. Bradley's Ethical Studies, p. 103.

« Methods of Ethics, Book IIL, chape xiii, J 3.

§ 8.] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 221

may not, and probably will not, coincide. There is
thus a conflict between two different commands of
reason. This conflict is referred to by Dr. Sidgwick
as "the Dualism of Practical Reason."1 But if there
is any force in this consideration, it seems as if we
might carry it further, and say that there is a similar
conflict between the pursuit of our own greatest plea-
sure at a given moment and the pursuit of the greates*
happiness of life as a whole. For it is the pleasure of
a given moment that appears to be primarily desirable.
At any given moment what seems desirable is the
satisfaction of our present wants. Consequently, on
the same principle we might say that we are bound to
seek the greatest pleasure of a given moment no less
than the greatest pleasure of our whole life. There
would thus be three kinds of Hedonism instead of two
— the Cyrenaic view being recognised as well as the
Epicurean and the Benthamite. However, it is per-
haps scarcely worth while to consider which form of
Hedonism is the most reasonable, as they seem all to
be based on a misconception.

Two points may be noted with regard to universal-
istic Hedonism. In the first place, it used to be de-
scribed as Utilitarianism, because it was supposed to
inculcate the pursuit of what is useful. But it is now
seen that pleasure is not more useful than any other
possible end ; and the name has consequently been
dropped in scientific writings — though, for shortness,

1 For Dr. Sidgwick's view on this point, see his Methods of Ethics,
concluding chapter. Prof. Gizycki, who is to a large extent a fol-
lower of Dr. Sidgwick, does not accept his doctrine on this point
See his criticism of the fourth edition of the Methods of Ethics in th«
Juternational Journal of Ethics for October, 1890.

222 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV.

the term is still often used as a designation of the school
In the second place, the end of universalistic Hedonism
used to be described as being the attainment of "the
greatest happiness of the greatest number." The mean-
ing of this was,1 that if we had to choose between a
great happiness of a small number and a smaller hap-
piness of a great number, we ought to prefer the latter,
even if the total happiness were less. But it is now
recognised that if pleasure is to be regarded as the
good, we are bound to choose the greatest pleasure,
even if it should be concentrated in a single person,
instead of being distributed over a large number.
Accordingly, this phrase has also been abandoned.*

§ 9. GENERAL CRITICISM OF HEDONISM, (a) Pleasure
and Value. — We see now the general foundation on
which the Hedonistic theory of Ethics rests. It may
be based either on a psychological theory of the object
of desire or on a theory of value. The former basis
has been perhaps sufficiently discussed ; but on the
latter some remarks must still be added.

The general point of view is that, though our desires
may often be directed to other objects than pleasure,
yet, when we set ourselves calmly to consider the
matter, we see that pleasure is that which alone con-
stitutes the value for us of the objects of our experi-

1 In so far as it had any definite meaning. The phrase seems to
have been frequently employed without any definite meaning being
attached to it There is an interesting discussion of this point in
Edgeworth's Mathematical Psychics, p. 117 sqq.

8 It should be observed that Bentham himself seems, in his later
years, to have discarded the expression " of the greatest number.'
His reasons for doing so (which are not very clearly explained) may
be found in Burton's Introduction to Bentham's Works, pp. 18 and ift
note.

§ 9-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 22$

ence. A psychosis (to use Prof. Huxley's term,1
adopted by recent psychologists), it e. a state of con-
sciousness, is valuable for us exactly in proportion as
it is pleasant. Consequently, though the impulse of
desire may sometimes move towards the less pleasant
of two possible objects ; and though, therefore, we
cannot say that our desires are always moved simply
by the calculation of pleasure ; yet, when we reflect
calmly, and from a purely egoistic point of view, we
see that the only reasonable ground of preference be-
tween two psychoses is that the one is more pleasurable
than the other. Hence, though it is not true that we
always act in such a way as to secure for ourselves the
pleasantest of possible psychoses, yet we ought (/. e.
it is reasonable) to secure for ourselves the most plea-
sant, so long as this does not interfere with the pleasure
of any one else ; and, in general, we ought to act in
such a way as to make the sum of the pleasures of all
psychoses, present and future, as great as possible.

Now it is true, I think, that pleasure may fairly be
described as a sense of -value. * Mr. Bradley has said *

1 Huxley's Hume, p. 62.

3 Cf. Dewey's Psychology, p. 16. I mean that it is truer to call
pleasure a sense of value than to represent it as constituting value.
But even to call it a sense of value involves a kind of anticipation.
In sensuous pleasure, for instance, we can hardly be said to have
any consciousness of value. The general subject of the relation
between pleasure and value is, however, too complicated to be dis-
cussed here. I have made some attempt to deal with it in a Note on
Value at the end of Chap. IV. of my Introduction to Social Philosophy.
Cf. also '• Notes on the Theory of Value " in Mind, New Series, Vol.
IV., no. 16.

' Ethical Studies, p. 234. Mr. Bradley has since abandoned this
view. The element of truth in it seems to lie in the fact that
pleasure consists in a certain harmony of the content of conscious-

ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. IV.

that pleasure is essentially " the feeling ofself-realised-
ness. " Exception might be taken to this, on the ground
that it can scarcely be applied to the feelings of ani-
mals, or to the more animal pleasures of men. But at
any rate we may say that the feeling of pleasure is the
accompaniment of objects which have a certain value '
for the consciousness to which they are presented. It
is of some importance, I think, to remember that it is
the objects, not the feelings of pleasure, that have
value — the feeling of pleasure being the sense of value,
not the value itself; but with this point we need not
here trouble ourselves. It is sufficient to note that,
from this point of view, it seems at least plausible to
say that, though pleasure is not the direct object of
desire, and though it is not even in itself that which
has value for us, yet it may be accepted as the measure
of value ; just as the degrees of a thermometer, though
not themselves heat, may be taken as the measure of
heat ; or as a token currency, though of little value in
itself, may serve to measure the values of commodi-
ties.

This, I say, is a plausible view. But it evidently
rests on the assumption that pleasures are all of the
same sort ; just as the power of money to serve as a
measure of the values of goods rests on the assumption
of a certain uniformity in the currency. If the sense

ness with the form of unity within which it falls. But this form of
unity need not be a definite consciousness of self and its realization.
i Wherein this value consists, we are not here called upon to de-
cide. It may lie, as many psychologists have supposed, in a certain
heightening of general vitality or of particular vital functions. On
the general nature of pleasure and pain, and their place in our
conscious life, the student may be referred to Mr. Stout's Analytic
PtychoUgy, chap, xii., or to his Manual, pp. 234-240.

§ 9-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 22$

of value which we have in pleasant feeling is to be
taken as the measure of the values which we reasonably
attach to the different objects that are presented to our
consciousness, this implies that the values are always
judged by the same standard, always presented, so to
speak, before the same court of appeal. Or (taking Mr.
Bradley's phrase) if pleasure is the feeling of self-rea-
lisedness, then in taking pleasure as the measure of
our self-realisation, we assume that it is always the
same self that is realised. But is this the case ? Be-
fore considering this point any further, it may be
well to notice the form in which it was presented by
Mill.

(b) Quality of Pleasures.— We may say briefly that
the Hedonistic theory proceeds on the assumption that
all pleasures are capable of being quantitatively com-
pared—that it is always possible to determine with
regard to two pleasures, or two sums of pleasures,
which is the greater and which is the less. On this point
a serious difficulty was raised1 byj. S. Mill, who called
attention to the fact that pleasures differ not merely in
quantity but also in quality — that some pleasures are
preferable to others, not because as pleasures they are
greater, but because they are of a more excellent kind.
If this is the case, it is evident that the Hedonistic
theory must be abandoned, for it is then no longer true
that pleasure is the only desirable thing. One pleasure
is, on this view, more desirable than another, not on
account of its nature as pleasure, but on account of
some other quality that it possesses, beyond its mere

1 Utilitarianism, chap. ii. He did not, indeed, raise the point as a
difficulty, but rather as indicating a way out of a difficulty. But
evidently it is a difficulty from the Hedonistic point of view.
Eth.

226 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. iv.

pleasantness. Further, if we admit differences of
quality, it becomes impossible to place pleasures, and
sums of pleasure, in any precise order of desirability.
Qualities cannot be estimated against quantities, unless
in some way they can be reduced to quantities — and
this, on Mill's supposition, is not the case. It becomes
important, therefore, to consider whether there really
are qualitative differences among pleasures. In order
to do this, we must recur to some of the points that
were discussed in a former chapter.

(c) Kinds of Pleasure. — At the beginning of Book I.
we distinguished between appetites and desires, and we
pointed out also that desires may belong to a great
variety of distinct universes. Now just as there is a dis-
tinction between different kinds of desire, so there is a
distinction between the feelings of satisfaction which
accompany the attainment of their objects. When an
appetite is satisfied, the feeling of satisfaction is simple
and immediate. It is to this kind of feeling that the term
pleasure is perhaps most properly applied. On the
other hand, the feeling which accompanies the satis-
faction of desire is of a more intellectual or reflective
character, and ought perhaps rather to be described as
happiness. Human desire involves the more or less
direct consciousness of an end, and in the feeling which
accompanies its satisfaction there is also a more or less
direct consciousness of an end attained. These feel-
ings vary greatly, according to the nature of the uni-
verse within which we are living at the time when the
desire is satisfied. The feelings of satisfaction that
belong to the universe of self-interest are very different
from those that belong to the universe of duty ; those
that belong to the universe of animal enjoyment are

§9.] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 22/

very different from those that belong to the universe
of poetic or religious emotion. Carlyle has suggested x
that, in the case of such higher universes as these, the
feeling ought to be described rather as blessedness*
than as happiness. At any rate, whether or not we
use different words for the different universes, it seems
clear that the feelings in question are of very different
characters. It is, in fact, a very different self that is
realised in each of these cases ; and the feeling of self-
realisedness is consequently different. Or, to put it in
the other form that we have used, the sense of value
in each case is a sense of value for a different judge.
We are estimating, as it were, sometimes in gold,
sometimes in silver, and sometimes in copper. Now
it might be possible, no doubt, to find a common
denominator for these : but this common denominator
does not seem to be supplied in the feeling of pleasure
itself.

There is, however, a difficulty which is apt to pre-
sent itself at this point. It is apt to be thought that
what is different in these different cases is not the
feeling itself, but merely the object on which the
feeling depends. This is the point that we have next
to consider.

(d) Pleasure inseparable from its Object. — Pleasure,
it must be remembered, is not an entity, having an ex-
istence by itself, independently of the object in which
pleasure is felt, or of the unity of consciousness to

1 Sartor Resartus, Book II., chap. Ix

* Spinoza also seems to use the term beatitude in this sense. This
form of happiness is found, according to Spinoza, in the '• Intellec-
tual Love of God," i. e. in the appreciation of the universe as tho
realization of a spiritual principle. Cf. also Janet's Theory of Morals,
Book L, chap. ix.

ETHICS. [SIC. II., CH. IV.

which that object is presented. It is an element in a
total state of consciousness, and is entirely relative to
the other elements in that state. It is the inner side
of that of which the other elements may be said to
form the outer side. The sharp distinction that we
are apt to draw between an object of consciousness
and the feeling of pleasure or pain which accom-
panies it, is due largely to an inadequate apprehension
of the nature of the object which is presented to our
consciousness. Take, for instance, the pleasure which
accompanies the hearing of a musical performance.
The pleasure here is evidently quite distinct from the
music which we hear. But it must be remembered
that the music which we hear is not the total object
that is before our consciousness. The hearing of the
music is accompanied by all sorts of ideas which it
calls up in our minds. It is accompanied also by
other ideas which were passing through our minds
before the music commenced. The object which is
before our consciousness is a complex total of in-
numerable thoughts and images. Now the feeling of
pleasure is not this complex total ; but neither can it
be said to be anything that is separable from that
total. It is the inner side to which that total corre-
sponds as the outer side. Given that total, we could
not but have that feeling of pleasure. Change that
total, and our feeling of pleasure must also be
changed The total content of our consciousness in
listening to a piece of music is different from the total
content in reading a novel or witnessing a dramatic
performance : the feeling of pleasure is also different
The feeling and the object to which it corresponds are
like the two sides of a curve. They are distinguishable

§ 9-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 22Q

from one another ; yet they are inseparable, and the
one necessarily varies with the other.1

(e) Pleasures cannot be Summed. — It follows from
this that there cannot be any calculus of pleasures —
f. e. that the values of pleasures cannot be quanti-
tatively estimated. For there can be no quantitative
estimate of things that are not homogeneous. But,
indeed, even apart from this consideration, there
seems to be a certain confusion in the Hedonistic idea
that we ought to aim at a greatest sum of pleasures.
If pleasure is the one thing that is desirable, it is clear
that a sum of pleasures cannot be desirable ; for a
sum of pleasures is not pleasure. We are apt to think
that a sum of pleasures is pleasure, just as a sum of

i Dr. Sidgwick has replied to this objection, as stated by Green.
" It is sometimes said," he remarks (Methods of Ethics, Book II., chap,
ii., § 2, note) " that ' pleasure as feeling, in distinction from its con-
ditions which are not feelings, cannot be conceived.' This is true in
a certain sense of the word 'conceive ' ; but not in any sense which
would prevent us from taking pleasure as an end of rational action.
To adopt an old comparison, it is neither more nor less true than the
statement that an angle cannot be ' conceived ' apart from its sides.
We certainly cannot form the notion of an angle without the notion of
sides containing it ; but this does not prevent us from apprehending
with perfect definiteness the magnitude of any angle as greater or less
than that of any other, without any comparison of the pairs of con-
taining sides. Similarly we cannot form a notion of any pleasure
existing apart from some ' conditions which are not feelings ' ; but
this is no obstacle to our comparing a pleasure felt under any given
conditions with any other, however otherwise conditioned, and pro-
nouncing it equal or unequal : and we require no more than this to
enable IB to take ' amount of pleasure ' as our standard in deciding
between alternatives of conduct" But this reply seems to involve a
misconception of the precise nature of the criticism. The length
of the sides makes no difference to the size of the angle ; whereas
Green's argument is that the nature of the objects makes all the
difference in the world to the kind of pleasure that we feeL

230 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. iv.

numbers is a number. But this is evidently not th«
ease. A sum of pleasures is not pleasure, any more
than a sum of men is a man. For pleasures, like men,
cannot be added to one another. Consequently, if
pleasure is the only thing that is desirable, a sum of
pleasures cannot possibly be desirable. If the Hedon-
istic view were to be adopted, we ought always to
desire the greatest pleasure — i. e. we ought to aim at
producing the most intense feeling of pleasure that it
is possible to reach in some one's consciousness.1
This would be the highest aim. A sum of smaller
pleasures in a number of different people's conscious-
nesses, could not be preferable to this ; because a sum
of pleasures is not pleasure at all. The reason why
this does not appear to be the case, is that we
habitually think of the desirable thing for man not as
a feeling of pleasure but as a continuous state of hap-
piness. But a continuous state of happiness is not a
mere feeling of pleasure. It has a certain objective con-
tent. Now if we regard this content as the desirable
thing, we do not regard the feeling of pleasure as the
one thing that is desirable ; ;'. e. we abandon Hedonism.
(/) Mailer without Form, — We may sum up the de-
fects of Hedonism by saying that it has the opposite

1 Just as, if our object were to produce the greatest man (instead
of the greatest pleasure), Falstaff would have to be preferred to the
whole of his ragged company. We may calculate, no doubt, that
nine tailors make a man ; but that is only on the assumption thai
our object is not man as such, but the fulfilment of certain function*
of a man. It might be said that in a number of men there is morq
flesh and blood and bone than in oue. But this is to measure flesh,
blood, and bone, not men. So it is possible that in a number oj
pleasant experiences there is more of something than there is it
one. But they are not a greater pleasure.

§ 9-] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 23!

fault to that which we found in the system of Kant
Kant's principle of self-consistency gave us form with-
out matter — the mere form of reason, with all the par-
ticular content of the desires left out. Hedonism,
on the other hand, gives us matter without form. It
takes up all the desires as they stand, and regards the
satisfaction of all as having an equal right, in so far as
the pleasant feeling accompanying the satisfaction is
equally intense and lasts equally long. This view
ignores the fact that what we really seek to satisfy
is not our desires but ourselves ; and the value of our
satisfactions depends on the kind of self to which the
satisfaction is given — i. e. it depends on the universe
within which the satisfaction is received. It may be
mere animal pleasure : it may be human happiness :
it may be saint-like bliss. To consider it in this way
is to consider our desires with reference to their/orwz
— with reference to the universe in which they have a
place. Hedonism ignores this form. It looks on our
desires and their gratifications simply as quantities
of raw material. It regards our wants as so many
mouths to be filled, and the pleasures of their satisfac-
tion as so many lumps of sugar to go into them. It
is matter without form. '

1 For further criticism on Hedonism, I may refer to Bradley's
Ethical Studies, Essay III., Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book III.,
chap, i., and Book IV., chaps, iii. and iv., Sorley's Ethics of Natural-
ism, Part I., chap, iii., Alexander's Moral Order and Progress, Book
II., Part I., chap, v., § 2, Janet's Theory of Morals, Book I., chap, iv.,
Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 14-67, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics,
Book III., chap. i. See also Watson's Hedonistic Theories from
Aristlppus to Spencer, and the article by Prof. James Seth, " Is
Pleasure the Summum Bonum ?" in the International Journal of
Ethics,Vo\. VI., no. 4. For a fuller statement of my own view on this
subject, I may refer to my Introduction to Social Philosophy, chap. iv.

232 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. iv.

§ 10. RELATION OF HAPPINESS TO THE SELF. — But
though we thus seem bound to reject the Hedonistic
theory, we must not overlook the importance of hap-
piness. If happiness is not exactly " our being's end
and aim," it is yet certain that we cannot attain the end
of our being without attaining happiness. All that we
have to insist 6n is that in seeking happiness we must
observe exactly what kind of happiness it is that we
seek. Happiness is relative to the nature of the being
who enjoys it. The happiness of a man is different from
the happiness of a beast : the happiness of a wise man
is different from the happiness of a fool. What con-
stitutes our happiness, in fact, depends on the universe
in which we live. The smaller our universe, the more
easily is our happiness attained.

" That low man seeks a little thing to do,

Sees it and does it :

This high man, with a great thing to pursue.
Dies ere he knows it."

" It is indisputable," as Mill says,1 " that the being
whose capacities of enjoyment are low, has the greatest
chance of having them fully satisfied ; and a highly
endowed being will always feel that any happiness
which he can look for, as the world is constituted, is
imperfect. But he can learn to bear its imperfections
if they are at all bearable ; and they will not make him
envy the being who is indeed unconscious of the im-
perfections, but only because he feels not at all the
good which those imperfections qualify. It is better
to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied ;
better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied."
IB important, then, is not that we should seek the
* Utilitarianism, chap, ii

§ II.] THE STANDARD AS HAPPINESS. 233

greatest sum of happiness, but the best kind of happi-
ness. " We can only have the highest happiness, " said
George Eliot,1" — such as goes along with being a great
man — by having wide thoughts, and much feeling for
the rest of the world as well as ourselves ; and this sort
of happiness often brings so much pain with it that we
can only tell it from pain by its being what we would
choose before everything else, because our souls see
it is good." The nature of the highest happiness, then,
depends not on its being the greatest sum, but on its
belonging to the highest kind of character. That is,
it depends on the nature of the self, on the nature
of the universe within which we habitually live. To
attain the highest happiness, then, we must live habit-
ually in the highest kind of universe, and the desires
that belong to that universe must be satisfied.

§ 11. SELF-REALISATION AS THE END. — We seem, how-
ever, to be very little farther on than we were at the
beginning of this chapter. For at the beginning of the
chapter we propounded the question, how we were to
distinguish a higher universe from a lower; and this
question is still unanswered. We have only been
enabled to see that quantity of pleasure cannot furnish
the criterion, and that we must look for the criterion
rather in the nature of the character itself. We see, in
fact, that the end must consist in some form of self-
realisation, ;'. e. in some form of the development of
character — that the end, in short, ought to be described
rather as perfection than as happiness. What per-
fection or self-realisation consists in, we must endea-
vour to find out in the following chapter.

J Epilogue to Romola.

334 ETHICS. LBK. "•» CH' v-

CHAPTER V.

THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION.

§ 1. APPLICATION OF EVOLUTION TO MORALS.— The idea
that the end at which we are to aim is the realisation
of the self or the development of character, leads us at
once to regard the moral life as a process of growth.
Although this idea has often been applied to the moral
life in former ages, yet it is chiefly in recent times that
the conception has been made prominent. The whole
idea of growth or development — the idea of "evolu-
tion," as it is often called — may almost be said to be a
discovery of the present century. It was first brought
into prominence by Hegel and Comte ; it was applied
by Lamarck, Darwin, and others, to the origin of
species ; while Mr. Spencer and others have extended
its applications to the origin of social institutions,
forms of government, and the like, and even to the
formation of the solar and stellar systems. With these
applications we are not here concerned. We have to
deal only with the application of the idea of evolution
to morals. And even with this application we have to
deal only in a certain aspect. We are not concerned at
present with the fact that the moral life of individuals
and nations undergoes a gradual growth or develop-
ment in the course of years or ages. This is a fact of
moral history, whereas here we are concerned only
with the theory of that which is essential to the very

§ 2.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 235

nature of morality. When we say, then, that the idea
of evolution is applicable to the moral life, we mean
that the moral life is, in its very essence, a growth or
development. The sense in which it is so will, it is
hoped, become apparent as we proceed.

§ 2. DEVELOPMENT OF LIFE. — We may say, to begin
with, that what we mean is this. There is in the
moral life of man a certain end or ideal, to which he
may attain, or of which he may fall short ; and the signi-
ficance of his life consists in the pursuit of this end
or ideal, and the gradual attainment of it. We may
illustrate what we mean by reference to the forms of
animal life. Among animals there are some that we
naturally regard as standing higher in the scale of being
than others. We judge them to be higher by reference
to a certain (it may be a somewhat vague) standard
that we have in our minds — whether it be, as with Mr.
Herbert Spencer, the standard of adaptation to their
environment, or the standard of approximation to the
human type, or whatever else it may be. Now if
we are right in supposing that there is a continuous
development going on throughout the species of animal
existence, the main significance of this development
Will lie in the evolution of forms of life that approach
hnore and more nearly to the standard or ideal type.
Similarly, the evolutionary theory of Ethics is the view
that there is a standard or ideal of character, and that
the significance of the moral life consists in the grad-
ual approximation to that type.

§ 3. HIGHER AND LOWER VIEWS OF DEVELOPMENT. — In
all development there is a beginning, a process, and an
end. The developing thing starts from a certain level
and moves onwards towards a higher level. Now in

236 ETHICS. [BK. ii.f CH. v.

general what is presented to us is neither the beginning
nor the end, but the process. The lowest forms of
animal life do not often come before our notice, and
the nature of the lowest of all is quite obscure. Nor
do we know what possibilities there may be of still
further development in the forms of animal life. The
starting-point and the goal are alike concealed from
us : we see only the race. So it is also with the moral
life. The earliest beginnings of the moral conscious-
ness are hidden in obscurity ; and, on the other hand,
we can scarcely form a clear conception of a perfectly
developed moral life. We know it only in the course
of its development. Nevertheless, we cannot under-
stand the process except by reference either to its
beginning or to its end. And we may endeavour to
understand it by reference either to the one or to the
other. Hence there are two possible methods of inter-
preting the moral life, if we adopt the theory of devel-
opment. We may explain it by reference to its begin-
ning or to its end. The former is perhaps the more
natural method ; as it is most usual to explain pheno-
mena by their causes and mode of origination. But
further consideration seems to show that this is in reality
the lower and less satisfactory method. Let us con-
sider briefly the nature and merits of the two methods.
§ 4. EXPLANATION BY BEGINNING. — It seems most
natural at first to endeavour to explain the moral life
by tracing it back to its origin in the needs of savages,
or even in the struggles of the lower animals. It is in
this way that we explain ordinary natural phenomena,
such as the formation of geological strata, and even the
growth and decline of nations. We go back to the
beginning, or as near to the beginning as we can get,

§ 5-] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 237

and trace the causes that have been in operation
throughout the development of the object of our study.
We do not inquire what the end of it will be. To
inquire into this would, in general, throw little, if any,
light upon its actual condition. Ought not the develop-
ment of morals to be studied in the same way ? The
answer seems clear. The science of Ethics, as we
have already pointed out, occupies quite a different
point of view from that of the natural sciences. It is
not concerned with the investigation of origins and
with the tracing of history, but with the determination
of ideals and the consideration of the way in which
these ideals influence conduct. Now the ideal lies at
the end rather than at the beginning. In dealing with
natural phenomena we are concerned primarily with
what ts, and secondarily with the way in which it has
come to be what it is. In Ethics, on the other hand,
it is of comparatively little interest to know what is.1
"Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be." It is what
he hopes to be that determines the direction of his
growth. The meaning of this, however, may become
clearer if we direct attention for a little to the theory of
one of the most eminent of those recent writers who
have endeavoured to deal with the moral life by tracing
it back to its origin.

§ 5. MR. HERBERT SPENCER'S VIEW OF ETHICS. — Mr.
Herbert Spencer's theory on this subject is contained
in a very interesting book entitled The Data of Ethics.*
To give any complete account of the contents of that

1 /. e. what is in the purely natural history sense, in which we say
that the lion is, while the unicorn is not. In the deeper sense, of
course, Ethics is concerned with what is — viz. with what man's fun-
damental nature is. Cf. above, chap. iii. of the present Book, § 3.

* NQW Part L of his larger book, The Principles of Ethics.

238 ETHICS. [BK, IL, CH. v.

book would be quite impossible here ; but the follow*
ing may be taken as indicating its drift f Mr. Spencer
begins by trying to determine what we mean by con-
duct, and what we mean by calling conduct good or
bad. He examines this question by going back to the
life of the lower animals. In all life there is what may
be called conduct, and in all life it may be good or
bad. Now the essence of life, as seen in its lowest
forms, consists, according to Mr. Spencer, in "the
continuous adjustment of internal relations to external
relations " — **. e. the constant effort of an organism to
adapt itself to its environment All conduct tends
either to promote or to hinder such adaptation. In so
far as it tends to promote it, it is good : in so far as it
tends to hinder it, it is bad. Good conduct produces
pleasure, because it brings the organism into harmony
with its surroundings. Bad conduct produces pain.
Nearly all conduct is partly good and partly bad.
Perfectly good conduct would be that which produces
only pleasure with no accompanying pain. But con-
duct is relatively good when it tends on the whole to
produce a surplus of pleasure over pain — i. e. when it
tends on the whole to produce a more perfect ad-
justment of organism to environment. The supreme
moral end is to help on the process of development,
which consists in a more and more perfect adjustment
of internal relations to external relations.

§ 6. CRITICISM OF MR. SPENCER'S VIEW. — Now this
theory is in many ways suggestive. It helps to bring
the study of the moral life into co-ordination with the
study of life generally ; and this is in harmony with
the whole development of modern scientific thought,
» Cf. Sidg wick's History of Ethics, pp. 254-25?.

§ 6.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 239

which leads us to believe that there are no absolute
divisions between the various objects of our knowledge,
and that we are never likely to fully understand any
one of these objects without bringing it into relation
to all the rest. Yet a little reflection seems to show
that Mr. Spencer's theory involves a kind of Zarepov
-Kpdrepov, or putting the cart before the horse. For what
is meant by saying that the development of our lives
means a continuous process of adjustment to our
environment ? It is easy to see that in a certain sense
such a process is continually going on. The progress
of our knowledge means that we are constantly adjust-
ing our ideas more and more to the objective realities
of nature. In like manner, the advance of the arts
means that we are gradually learning to adjust our
modes of life to the necessities imposed upon us by
the conditions of the external world. And so in
morals, in so far as we can claim to have "sweeter
manners, purer laws "than our forefathers, in so far as
we have wider ideas of what is required of us, and are
more conscientious in meeting these requirements, all
this means that we are adjusting our modes of life
more and more to the necessities of the case. But
what exactly is implied in this adjustment? Does it
not imply, above everything, that we have certain
ends that we set before ourselves to be attained ?
When we say that two things are not adjusted to one
another, we imply that we have some idea of a relation
in which the two things ought to stand and in which
at present they do not stand. In a sense everything is
adjusted to everything else. Death is an adjustment
A living being is conscious of a certain want of adjust-
ment only because it has certain definite aims. The

240 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. v.

scientific man perceives that his ideas are not fully
adjusted to the facts of nature, and he pursues know-
ledge in order that he may adjust them more com-
pletely ; but a stone is adjusted to its environment
without the need of any such effort.1 The scientific
man is aware of a want of adjustment simply because
he is aware of an unattained end — in other words,
because he brings an ideal with him to which the world
does not conform. But if this be so, then surely we
ought to turn the statement the other way about W«
ought not to say that the deficiency of living beings,
which the development of their lives is gradually
removing, consists in the fact that they are not
adjusted to their environment ; but rather, at least in
the case of self-conscious beings, that the deficiency
consists in the fact that their environment is not
adjusted to them. For it is not in the environment, but
in themselves, that the standard lies, with reference to
which a deficiency is pronounced. If a man were
content to " let the world slide," he would soon enough
become adjusted to his environment ; it is because he
insists on pursuing his own ends that the process of
adjustment is a hard one. It is because he wants to
adjust his environment to himself; or rather, because
he wants to adjust both himself and his surroundings
to a certain ideal of what his life ought to be. Even in
the case of the lower animals, indeed, it would often
be as true to say that they adjust their environment
to themselves as that they adjust themselves to their
environment In any case, adjustment seems to have
no meaning unless we presuppose some ideal form of
adjustment, some end that is consciously or uncon-
1 C/. Pro! Alexander's Moral Order and Progress, pp. 2/1-3.

§ 70 THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 24!

sciously sought But if so, then it is surely rather with
the idea of this end that we ought to start than with
the mere idea of the process of adjustment, in which
the end is presupposed. Though it seems natural to
begin at the beginning in our explanation and move
on, through the process, to the end ; yet since in this
case it is the end by which the process is determined,
it is rather at the end that we ought to begin. x

§ 7. VIEWS OF OTHER EVOLUTIONISTS. — Mr. Spencer's
theory is distinguished from that of most other writers
of the evolutionist school by the distinctness with
which he recognises an ultimate and absolute end to
which conduct is directed. Although he begins his
explanation from below, from the beginning, from the
simplest forms of life, he yet leads up to the concep-
tion of an absolute end. Hence he insists on the
need of treating Ethics from a teleological point
of view * ; and indeed carries his conception of an
ultimate end so far that he even propounds the idea
of an absolute system of Ethics, not relating to the
present world at all, but rather to a world in which
the adjustment to environment shall have been com-
pletely brought about.' Most other evolutionists have
repudiated this absolute Ethics,-* and have also avoided
the statement of any absolute end to which we are
moving. Thus, Mr. Leslie Stephen seems to content

1 For a more complete discussion of Spencer's doctrine, see Sor-
ley's Ethics of Naturalism, especially pp. 303-220, Alexander's Moral
Order and Progress, pp. 266-277, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp,
136-159, and Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 67-78, and pp. 142-1461

* Data of Ethics, pp. 304-5,

* See Dr. Sidgwick's account of this, History of Ethics,?. 236.

* See, for instance, Stephen's Science of Ethics, p-43^ Alexander'*
Moral Order and Progress, p. 270.

242 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. V.

himself with the idea of health or efficiency. " A moral
rule is a statement of a condition of social welfare."1
Virtue means efficiency with a view to the maintenance
of social equilibrium.2 This theory does not require
any view of an ultimate end to which society is mov-
ing ; but simply takes society as it finds it, and regards
its preservation and equilibrium as the end to be aimed
at.3 Prof. Alexander adopts a view which is sub-
stantially the same. Thus he says,* "An act or person
is measured by a certain standard or criterion of con-
duct, which has been called the moral ideal. This
moral ideal is an adjusted order of conduct, which is
based upon contending inclinations and establishes
an equilibrium between them. Goodness is nothing
but this adjustment in the equilibrated whole." This
view of Ethics bears a close relation to the doctrine of
the development of animal life which was set forth by
Darwin. According to Darwin's view, the develop-
ment of animal species takes place by means of a
ri struggle for existence, "in which " the fittest " survive.
This process is commonly referred to as one of "nat-
ural selection." In the same way, the view of Mr.
Stephen and Prof. Alexander is that in the moral life
there is a process of natural selection in which the
most efficient, or the most perfectly equilibrated type
of conduct is preserved. The connection between

1 Science of Ethics, p. 4501 8 Ibid., pp. 79-81, &c.

• Cf. the statement of Mr. Stephen's theory in Sidgwick's History
of Ethics, p. 257. Of course, on such a view, any actual state of
society is regarded as being only partly in equilibrium ; and the end
aimed at may be said to be a condition of perfect equilibrium. But
the writers referred to do not attempt to give any positive account ol
what would be involved in such an equilibrium.

* Moral Order and Progress, p. 399,

§ 5.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 243

this theory and that of Darwin has been well worked
out by Prof. Alexander in a recent article on ' ' Natural
Selection in Morals " ' ; and as this seems to me to
contain perhaps the best summary statement that we
have in English a of the attempt to explain morality
from below, it may be worth while to indicate briefly
its general scope and gist.

§ 8. NATURAL SELECTION IN MORALS. — "Natural Selec-
tion, " says Mr. Alexander,3 " is a name for the process
by which different species with characteristic structures
contend for supremacy, and one prevails and becomes
relatively permanent." In the case of animal life the
struggle is primarily one between different individuals
or sets of individuals, some of which die out, while
the "more fit " survive. It is not exactly so in morals.
"The war of natural selection is carried on in human
affairs not against weaker or incompatible individuals,
but against their ideals or modes of life. It does not
suffer any mode of life to prevail or persist but one
which is compatible with social welfare."-* What
happens in the animal world is that certain individuals
or sets of individuals happen to be born with peculiar
natural gifts. These gifts turn out to be such as make
them more fit to survive than other individuals ; and
accordingly they do survive, and transmit their char-
acteristics to their descendants, while their less favoured

1 International Journal of Ethics, vol. ii., No. 4 (July, 1882), pp. 400-
439. Cf. also Prof. Alexander's Moral Order and Progress, Book III.,
chap, iv., where the same point is brought out

* An even more extreme instance of an attempt to explain morality
from below, and on very similar lines, will be found in a recent Ger-
man work entitled Einleitungin die Moralwisscnschaft by Dr. Georg
SimmeL

• Loc. Cit,, p. 431. « Ibid., p. 428.

244 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. V.

rivals die out. In the case of morals, however, we
are dealing "not with animals as such, but with
minds."1 In such cases "we have something of the
following kind. A person arises (or a few persons)
whose feelings, modified by more or less deliberate
reflection, incline him to a new course of conduct
He dislikes cruelty or discourtesy, or he objects to see-
ing women with inferior freedom, or to the unlimited
opportunity of intoxication. He may stand alone and
with only a few friends to support him. His proposal
may excite ridicule or scorn or hatred ; and if he is a
great reformer, he may endure hardship and obloquy,
or even death at the hands of the great body of persons
whom he offends. By degrees his ideas spread more
and more ; people discover that they have similar
leanings ; they are persuaded by him ; their previous
antagonism to him is replaced by attachment to the
new mode of conduct, the new political institution.
The new ideas gather every day fresh strength, until
at last they occupy the minds of a majority of persons,
or even of nearly all."* " Persuasion and education,
in fact, without destruction, replace here the process
of propagation of its own species and destruction of
the rival ones, by which in the natural world species
become numerically strong and persistent. " " Persua-
sion corresponds to the extermination of the rivals";
for "the victory of mind over mind consists in persua-
sion."3 Thus, then, the origin of moral ideals, like the
origin of species, is to be explained by a process of nat-
ural selection.

§ 9. NEED OF TELEOLOGY. — Now there can be no

« Loc. d t, p. 414. * Ibid., p, 430,

§ 9-] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 245

doubt that all this is very suggestive and instructive ;
but if it is to be taken as a complete account of
the moral ideal, it labours under a fatal defect. It is
a mere natural history of the growth of the moral life.
Now in dealing with animal life we may be content
with a mere natural history. In this case we do not
want to know much more than the nature of the
species that exist and that have existed, and the cir-
cumstances that have led them to survive or perish.
We are not much interested to inquire what right man
has to extirpate the wolf, or how we are to justify the
extermination of the mammoth or the survival of the
ape. We are not specially interested in the relative values
of different species of animal life. But it is just with the
question of value that Ethics is concerned. We wish
to know the ground of preference of one kind of con-
duct over another ; and it is no solution of this problem
to say that the one kind has succeeded in driving out
the other. This, indeed, is partly admitted by Mr. Alex-
ander himself. "A new plan of life," he says, "is
not made good because it succeeds ; its success is the
stamp, the imprimatur affixed to it by the course of
history, the sign that it is good." * But this admission
is of little value ; for when he is asked what it is, then,
that makes it good, what is the common characteristic
that makes ideals morally valuable, he can only answer
"that that common characteristic consists in that such
a plan of life is adapted to the conditions of existence ;
that under it the society reacts without friction upon

1 Loc. cit., p. 418. Sometimes, I think, Mr. Alexander forgets this.
Thus, in his Moral Order and Progress, p. 307, he says — " Evil is
timply that which has been rejected and defeated in the struggle
with the good"

246 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. v

its surroundings, or, as I should prefer to say, that in
the conditions in which it is placed society can with
this ideal so live that no part of it shall encroach upon
the rest, that the society can be in equilibrium with
itself." f But why should we desire that society should
be in equilibrium with itself? What is it that makes
this condition valuable to us? This is the question
which we are forced to ask ; and it is a similar question
that recurs in connection with the view of Mr. Spencer,
and with all similar theories. These writers answer
questions of natural history instead of questions of
Ethics.* What they say may throw considerable light
on the way in which the moral life has developed, but
does not answer the question — Why are we to choose
that life ? Why, we may ask, for instance, should we
not seek to disturb the equilibrium of society, instead
of promoting it? The answer to this could only be
given by showing that that equilibrium is a good.

* Ibid., p. 4191 Cf. also Prof. Alexander's article on " The Idea of
Value," in Mind, vol. L, No. i (Jan., 1892), especially pp. 44-48.

a This point is very fully brought out in Sorley's Ethics of Natural-
ism, Part II., chap, ix A short passage may here be quoted
(pp. 270-1). "A man might quite reasonably ask why he should
adopt as maxims of conduct the laws seen to operate in nature.
The end, in this way, is not made to follow from the natural function
of man. It is simply a mode in which the events of the world occur ;
and we must, therefore, give a reason why it should be adopted as
his end by the individual agent To him there may be no sufficient
ground of inducement to become ' a self-conscious agent in the
evolution of the universe.' From the purely evolutionist point of
view, no definite attempt has been made to solve the difficulty. It
seems really to go no deeper than Dr. Johnson's reply to Boswell,
when the latter plagued him to give a reason for action : ' Sir,' said
he, in an animated tone, 'it is driving on the system of life."" Cf.
Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, p. 83, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics,
pp. 149-15^

§ 10.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 247

Similarly, we may ask — Why may we not set our-
selves in opposition to the stream of development
which Mr. Spencer traces ? Here again the answer to
this question must be found by showing that the stream
of development is leading to something which we re-
cognize as good — something that can serve as an ideal
for our moral nature. If this can be shown, then we
may start from that ideal. That ideal then becomes
the explanation of the process, instead of the process
being an explanation of it. We go through the pro-
cess of development because we are seeking that ideal.
The end, and not the beginning, is thus taken as the
principle of explanation. x

§ 10. EXPLANATION BY END. — Even in the case of the
development of animal life it is not at all certain that
the idea of teleology ought not to be introduced.
Indeed even in Mr. Spencer's view of evolution there
is a kind of teleology. The whole life of animals is
regarded as a continual struggle after a perfect adjust-
ment. That is the ideal by which the whole process is
explained. And it is possible that on a deeper view of
evolution the meaning of the process might be seen to
have a still more profoundly teleological significance.
So at least Emerson thought —

" Striving to be man, the worm
Mounts through all the spires of form."

So also Aristotle and Hegel thought.* But however

1 This seems to be the essential point in the argument of Prof.
Huxley's famous Romanes Lecture (Evolution and Ethics). But
Prof. Huxley partly obscures the point by drawing an unreal anti-
thesis between the processes of nature and the activities of the
moral life. Cf. also Principal Lloyd Morgan's Habit and Instinct,
pp. 271 and 335, and Seth's Man's Place in the Cosmos, I.

• It is still more remarkable (though perhaps not so consistent) t«

£4.8 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. v.

this may be with regard to animal life, and to the life
of nature generally, there can be no doubt that we
must apply teleological ideas in Ethics. Indeed, as
we have seen, this is explicitly stated by Mr. Herbert
Spencer himself. But if this is the case, then the at-
tempt to explain the moral life from behind cannot be
of much avail We must explain it rather by what
lies in front of us, by the ideal or end that we have
in view. How this may be done, may be indicated
by a brief reference to the work of the most dis-
tinguished of those thinkers in recent times who have
attempted it — the late Professor T. H. Green.

§11. GREEN'S VIEW OF ETHICS. — Green's doctrine is
stated in his great work entitled Prolegomena to Ethics,
probably the most considerable contribution to ethical
science that has been made in England during the
present century.1 Green taught that the essential
element in the nature of man is the rational or spiritual
principle within him. Man has appetite, as animals
have, and, like them, he has sensations and mental
images; but these, and everything else in man's
nature, are modified by the fact that he has reason.
His appetites are not mere appetites : his sensations
are not mere sensations. In his appetites there is
always more or less explicitly present the conscious-
ness of an end — i'. e. they are desires and not mere appe-
tites. * In his sensations there is always more or less

find such a pronounced materialist as Dlihring objecting strongly
to the Darwinian attempt to explain evolution by the mere struggle
for existence, and urging the adoption of a more teleological view
See his Cursus der Philosophic, II. iil

* The account of Green's doctrine contained in Sidgwick's History
qf Ethics (pp. 259-260) is unhappily very inadequate.

1 1 may lay *h3* Green seems to me to exaggerate the extent to

§11.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 249

explicitly present the element of knowledge — :'. e. they
are perceptions and not mere sensations. This is due
to the fact that man is rational, self-conscious, spiritual.
This is the essential fact with regard to man's nature.
Green points out, indeed, that even in animal life, and
even in inanimate nature, we must assume the presence
of a rational principle — just as Mr. Spencer points out
that even in animal life there is present the principle of
adjustment. But in nature the presence of this prin-
ciple is implicit. We must believe that it is there, but
it is concealed or imperfectly manifested. In man it is
explicit ; or, at any rate, it is becoming explicit. And
the significance of the moral life consists in the con-
stant endeavour to make this principle more and more
explicit — to bring out more and more completely our
rational, self-conscious, spiritual nature. How exactly
this is to be done, Green admits, it is not easy to
answer, just because our rational nature is not yet
completely developed. The moral life is to be ex-

which animal appetites are transmuted in human consciousness.
Perhaps, however, my own statement above (Book I., chap, i., § 3)
contains an exaggeration on the opposite side. At any rate, the main
point here is that the essence of man consists in his rational nature,
not in anything that he has in common with a mere animal (if there
is any mere animal). What exactly is involved in the consciousness
of the higher forms of animal life, is a difficult question. It seems
absurd to deny them perception. It is hard even to suppose that
they are without perceptual images. Else how does the ox know
his master's crib ? How does the bird construct its nest ? There
seems to be involved in such cases not only an apprehension of the
object before them but an anticipatory image of what is about to be.
And indeed this seems to be required even for Darwin's earthworms
{Vegetable Mould, chap. ii.). But all this lies beyond our present sub-
ject. Reference may be made to Lloyd Morgan's Animal I.ije and
Intelligence (especially chapter ix.), to Wundt's Human and Animal
Psychology,'^. 350-366, and to Stout's Manual, pp. 264-266.

250 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. v.

planned by its end ; but as we have not reached the
end, we cannot, in any complete form, give the ex-
planation. Still, we can to a considerable extent see
in what way our rational nature has been so far de-
veloped, and in what direction we may proceed to
develop it more fully.

This is a brief statement of Green's point of view ;
and it certainly appears to furnish us with an answer
to the question with which we set out — viz. the ques-
tion how we are to determine which is the higher and
which is the lower among our universes of desire.
Green's answer is — the highest universe is that which is
most completely rational. The meaning of this, how-
ever, must be somewhat more fully considered, in
relation to the point of view that we have already tried
to develop.

§ 12. THE TRUE SELF. — We have seen that there are
a great number of universes within which a man may
live. In some of these men live only for moments at
a time : in others they live habitually. Some of them
are universes within which no abiding satisfaction can
be found. The universe of mere animal enjoyment
is of this nature. Its pleasures soon pall upon the
appetite. In others we find that we have a more per-
manent resting-place. Now the nature of the universe
within which a man habitually lives constitutes, as we
have seen, his character or self. If he chances to be
led into some other universe by a sudden impulse
or unexpected temptation, the man scarcely considers
himself to be responsible for his actions within that
universe. He says that he was not himself when he
acted so. He was not within his own universe.

But there is no limited universe within which we can

§ 12.] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 2$ I

find permanent satisfaction. As we grow older, we get
crusted over with habits, and go on, with little misgiv-
ing, within the universe to which we have grown
accustomed. But if the universe is an imperfect one,
we are not without occasional pricks of conscience —
i. e. we sometimes become aware of a higher universe
within which we ought to be living.

"Just when we are safest, there's a sunset-touch,
A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death,
A chorus-ending from Euripides —
And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears,
As old and new at once as nature's sell,
To rap and knock and enter in our soul." 1

On such occasions we begin to feel that even in the life
that we ordinarily live we are not ourselves. There is
a want of permanence in our habitual universe, just as
there is in those into which we find ourselves occa-
sionally drifted by passion and impulse. Just as we
do not feel satisfied in these, but escape from them
as rapidly as we can, and declare that we were not
ourselves when we were in them ; so we become con-
scious at times that even in our habitual lives there is
something unsatisfying, and if it were not for the frost
of custom we would make our escape from these also,
and declare that in them also we are not ourselves.
Where, then, is the universe within which we should
find an abiding satisfaction ? What is the true self ?

The true self is what is perhaps best described as the
rational self. It is the universe that we occupy in our
moments of deepest wisdom and insight. To say fully
what the content of this universe is, would no doubt,
as Green points out,2 be impossible. The content of

1 Browning — Bishop Blougram's Apology.
* Prolegomena to Ethics, § 288, p. 3101

252 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. v.

the universe of rational insight is as wide as the uni-
verse of actual fact. To live completely in that uni-
verse would be to understand completely the world in
which we live and our relations to it, and to act con-
stantly in the light of that understanding. This we
cannot hope to do. All that we can do is to endeavour
to promote this understanding more and more in our-
selves and others, and to act more and more in a way
that is consistent with the promotion of this understand-
ing. So to live is to be truly ourselves. t

§ 13. THE REAL MEANING OF SELF-CONSISTENCY. — From
this point of view we are better able to appreciate the
real significance of the Kantian principle, that the
supreme law of morals is to be self-consistent. This
law, as we pointed out, seemed to supply us with a
mere form without matter. It is not so, however, if
we interpret the statement to mean not merely that we
are to be self -consistent, but that we are to be consistent
with the self— i. e. with the true self. For this principle
has a content, though the content is not altogether easy
to discover. Kant's error, we may say, consisted in
this, that he understood the term Reason in a purely
abstract way. He opposed it to all the particular con-
tent of our desires ; whereas, in reality, reason is rela-
tive to the whole world which it interprets. The uni-
verse of rational insight is the universe in which the
whole world — including all our desires — appears in its
true relations. To occupy the point of view of reason,

1 For some criticisms on the idea of self-realization, see the valu-
able article by Mr. A. E. Taylor in the International Journal of
Ethics, Vol. VI., no. 3. Mr. Taylor's objections do not seem, how-
ever, to bear upon the theory as explained above and as developed
iB the following Book

§ I4-] THE STANDARD AS PERFECTION. 2$$

therefore, is not to withdraw from all our desires, and
occupy the point of view of mere formal self-consist-
ency ; it is rather to place all our desires in their right
relations to one another. The universe of rational in-
sight is a universe into which they can all enter, and
in which they all find their true places. Dirt has been
defined as " matter in the wrong place " : so moral evil
may be said to consist simply in the misplacement of
desire. The meaning of this will, it is hoped, become
somewhat clearer as we proceed

§ 14. THE REAL MEANING OF HAPPINESS. — Just as we
are now better able to appreciate the significance of
the categorical imperative of self-consistency, so we
ought now to be able to understand more fully the true
significance of the principle of happiness. The error
in the conception of happiness, as formerly interpreted,
lay in its being thought of simply as the gratification
of each single desire, or of the greatest possible sum
of desires. We now see that the end is to be found
rather in the systematisation of desire. Now happi-
ness, in the true sense of the word, as distinguished
from transient pleasures, consists just in the conscious-
ness of the realisation of such a systematic content.
It is the form of feeling which accompanies the har-
monious adjustment of the various elements in our
lives within an ideal unity. Happiness, therefore, in
this sense, though not, properly speaking, the end at
which we aim, is an inseparable and essential element
in its attainment.1

§ 15. TRANSITION TO APPLIED ETHICS. — We have now

1 It is in this sense, as Spinoza says, that " happiness [beatitude]
Is not the reward of virtue, but virtue itself,"— i. e., it is an essential
aspect in the attainment of the right point of view.

254 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. V.

seen, in a general way, what the nature of the moral
ideal is, and how the various imperfect conceptions of
this ideal find their place within what seems to be the
true one. We now see, in short, at least in some de-
gree, what is the true significance of the ethical ought.
We see that, if it is to be described as an " imperative"
at all, it is at least not to be thought of, as it is apt at
first to be, as a command imposed upon us from with-
out. It is rather to be regarded as the voice of the true
self within us, passing judgment upon the self as it
appears in its incomplete development. Conscience,
from this point of view, may be said to be simply the
sense that we are not ourselves ; and the voice of duty
is the voice that says, "To thine own self be true."

But statements of this sort are still apt to seem rather
empty and unmeaning, unless we can bring them into
some sort of relationship to the concrete content of
life. Accordingly, what we have now to do is to con-
sider the way in which the concrete moral life may be
interpreted in the light of the general principle which
has now been laid down. This, of course, can only
be done in such a book as this, in the most cursory
and superficial fashion. But some indication of the
kind of way in which it would have to be done in a
more comprehensive work, may at least be found sug-
gestive and helpful. Before we proceed to this, how-
ever, it is necessary to consider the exact sense in which
ethical principles are capable of application to the con-
tent of the practical life. This is the subject of the
following chapter.

§ I.] HIE MORAL STANDARD., 255

CHAPTER VI.

THE AUTHORITY OF THE MORAL STANDARD.

§ 1. THE GENERAL PROBLEM OF AUTHORITY. — In
considering the nature of the moral standard, we have
had to deal incidentally with the character of the
authority which according to different theories is
claimed for it. But it seems desirable now to add
something on this particular point. As the moral
standard is one that claims the absolute devotion of
the human will, it is evident that its authority must
be recognized as supreme and unquestionable ; and
we have accordingly already felt ourselves to be
justified in criticizing certain views of the moral
standard on the ground that they provided no adequate
motive for obedience to the principles that are involved
in it. This defect appears, for instance, in the view
which rests moral obligation on the law of God ; since
the mere might of a supreme being could not be
accepted as a sufficient ground for voluntary obedience.
The same defect appears, in a somewhat different form,
in the theory that appeals simply to the process of
evolution ; since it is of the very essence of the
moral life to oppose itself, if necessary, to the natural
tendencies of things. The consideration of such ob-
jections, however, leads us to inquire more definitely
what is the nature of the authority on which moral
principles must be based.

2 $6 ETHICS. [BK. u., CH. vi/

§ 2. DiFFEREiNT KINDS OF AUTHORITY. — In dealing
with this subject, it may be convenient to recur to the
distinction that has already been drawn between is,
must, and ought. A certain kind of authority may be
said to lie in each. Even in an "is" there is often a
compelling power. " Facts " are said to be " stubborn
things." Carlyle was particularly fond of emphasizing
the absurdity of contending against actualities. It
would be futile for human beings to endeavour to
train themselves to walk constantly on their heads;
and many other actions, not on a surface view quite so
absurd, may be equally impossible. If a man offends
persistently against the general conditions of health,
his sin is sure to find him out; and such sin may
be described as a failure to recognize the existing
circumstances. But even in such instances the com-
pelling power is perhaps more properly to be described
as a "must" than as a simple "is." We do not in
such instances perform actions, or abstain from actions,
in mere obedience to a natural tendency, as a stone
falls to the ground, or as an animal follows its instincts.
Rather we do or abstain, in general, with a certain
foresight of the inconvenient consequences that would
otherwise result. We recognise that we must or that
we must not. We do not simply feel impelled. A
better illustration of the operation of the simple " is "
in human action might be found in certain conventional
practices — in rules of fashion, local customs, profes-
sional etiquette, and the like. The " correct thing " in
such cases means little more than what the " compact
majority " does. Particular people follow the custom,
as a sheep follows its leader. They do things simply

§ 2.] THE MORAL STANDARD. 257

because they are done. But even in such cases it is
probable that there is nearly always a more or less
explicit consciousness of some ground for the action.
It is done, it may be, from fear of public opinion, or
from a conviction that eccentricity is undesirable. In
the former case there is a " must," in the latter an
"ought." On the whole, a careful consideration of
such cases seems to show that, in all action that
is distinctively human (as opposed to animal impulse
or instinct), one or other of these (a "must" or an
" ought ") is the compelling force.

Now, taking the "must" and the "ought" as the
two great moving forces in human action, there might
be some convenience in limiting the uae of the term
"authority," at least in its ethical application, to the
latter. It is in this sense that the term is chiefly used
by Bishop Butler, who has perhaps done more than
any one else to give it a clear meaning in ethical
literature.1 But we must remember that the term is
also commonly used with reference to the "is" and
the "must," as well as the "ought" An appeal to
" authority " means sometimes simply an appeal to
the majority of views that have been expressed on
a particular point ; though even in this case there is
generally an implied conviction that the people whose
views are referred to have some claim to be heard,
that there are reasons why their opinions ought to be
accepted as the most correct, or as the most likely
to be correct, and that, if their views diverge, they
should be weighed as well as counted Again, in law

1 Butler's second Strmon may be referred to as the locus dasricui on
this point.
Bth.

2 $8 ETHICS. [BK. II., CH. Vt.

and politics, the "authority" for an action may simply
refer to the force by which it is accompanied, or the
penalties which can be inflicted in connection with it.
But even legal and political powers are seldom regarded
as authoritative without some degree of conviction that
they represent, on the whole, justice as well as might.
In strictly moral matters, at any rate, it seems clear
that we cannot recognize any authority that is merely
of the nature of force. But the more fully this is
recognized, the more urgent does it become to ascertain
the exact nature of the binding power that is contained
in the moral standard.

§ 3. VARIOUS VIEWS OF MORAL AUTHORITY. — We
have already noticed the chief theories of the moral
standard, and, in doing so, we have incidentally seen
what is the kind of authority that is claimed by each.
But we must now proceed to consider the different
views on this particular point more definitely.

Broadly speaking, we may say that the authority
claimed for the moral standard is either that of an
external law, that of an inner law, or that which is
contained in the idea of an end. The first is seen
in views that refer us to a law of God, a law of Nature,
or a law of some political or social power. The second
appears in the doctrine of a law of conscience or reason.
The third is found in the various doctrines that set up
some form of pleasure or perfection as the end of action.
But the nature of the authority does not always cor-
respond to the nature of the standard. It is possible
to maintain that the criterion of right is of one kind,
while the power that binds us to its pursuit is of
ano;her. Thus, Paley r garded pleasure as the end

§ 4-j THE MORAL STANDARD. 259

of action, but set up the will of God as the supreme
authority for its pursuit. And Utilitarians in general
distinguish the ultimate end from the sanctions which
bind us to follow it. Similar divergences may also be
found, though perhaps in a less degree, in some other
schools. Thus, Shaftesbury appears to have taken the
well-being of society as the end, but the " moral sense "
as the authority. Accordingly, it seems worth while
at this point £o consider the different theories of
authority a little more in detail.

§ 4. THE AUTHORITY OF LAW. — We have already in-
dicated the chief stages in the growth of the view which
rests the authority of the moral principle on some form
ot external law — a view which has not much support
from ethical theory, but a great deal from popular con-
viction. We have traced the growth from customary
obligation, through state law, to the law of a divine
commandment. But there is probably no type of
ethical theory in modern times that would seek to rest
moral authority exclusively on any such external sources.
There have, however, been several attempts in modern
ethics, and especially in modern English ethics, to rest
moral obligation to a large extent upon a legal basis.
In recent times this tendency has been specially charac-
teristic of the Utilitarian school, with whom the so-called
"Sanctions" of morality have played a very important
pnrt. These Sanctions, whether in the rudimentary
form conceived by Paley, or in the more elaborate form
set forth by Bentham and Mill, are external forces,
carrying an authority of that non-moral kind which
v c have characterised as a " must." Some special
cor; H nfirn of ht-s.- will here be in p'ace.

260 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. vi.

§ 5. THE SANCTIONS OF MORALITY. — This term has
been introduced into Ethics in consequence of the
strongly jural way in which the subject has frequently
been treated.1 A sanction means primarily a ratifica-
tion.1 Hence it comes to be applied to that which
ratifies or gives force to the laws of a state — i.e. the
punishment attached to their violation. The meaning
of the term has been extended, chiefly by Utilitarian
writers, to anything that gives force .to the laws of
Duty — t.e. to the motives by which men are induced
to fulfil their obligations. According to the Utilitarian
writers, the only motives are fear of pain and hope
of pleasure. And the pains and pleasures may present
themselves in a variety of forms. Thus, there is
frequently a physical pain as a consequence of the
violation of Duty. Again, there are the pains of social
disapproval, and the pleasures of the approbation of
our fellow-men. The pains of Hell and the pleasures
of Heaven have also, at certain periods of human
history, provided motives to right conduct. Now, if
the view of Ethics indicated in the present handbook
is to be accepted, all this is not of much ethical im-
portance. The right motive to good conduct is the
desire to realize the highest end of human life ; 8 and

1 Cf. Sidpwick's History of Ethics, pp. 8-IO.

1 E.g. " The Pragmatic Sanction." It is derived from the Latin
sanctio, and means primarily " the act of binding," or " that which
serves to bind a mau." Cf. Bentham's Principles of Morals and Legis-
lation, chap, iii., note to § ii.

* It is scarcely necessary to repeat that this motive need not be
consciously present. (Cf. above, p. 197.) In a particular good action
the motive is as a rule simply the interest in some particular good
to be achieved. But the ultimate justification of our interest in *

§ 5-] TIIE MORAL STANDARD. 26 1

what this is we have already seen. That we may be
moved to act rightly in other ways is a fact rather
of psychological, historical, or sociological, than ot
strictly ethical interest. It is also, no doubt, a fact
of some importance for jurisprudence, education,1 and
practical politics. Since, however, the consideration
of these external motives plays a prominent part in
the Utilitarian theory of morals, some further remarks
on this point seem to be called for.

If the theory of Universalistic Hedonism is accepted,
and if this theory is made to rest on the basis of
Psychological Hedonism, it becomes important to con-
sider the motives by which the individual is led to seek
the general happiness. His primary desire, according
to this view, is for his own greatest happiness ; and he
can be induced to seek the general happiness only by
being led to see that the conduct which leads to " the
greatest happiness of the greatest number " is in the
long run identical with that which leads to his own
greatest happiness. Now it is chiefly by means of the
Sanctions that this identity is shown. As Bentham
puts it,1 the general happiness is the final cause of
human action ; but the efficient cause for any given
individual is the anticipation of his own pleasure or

particular good consists in the fact that it is an element in the general
good ; and our interest in a particular good requires frequently to be
modified and corrected by reference to this.

1 Sanctions, as already noted (above, p. 312), are of use as helping
to form habits of goo^ willing and good conduct ; though this use
of them should be gradually decreased till the necessity for them
disappears. Cf. Miss Gilliland's paper on " Pleasure and Pain in
Education," pp. 301-3.

* Principles of Morals and leg 'slation, chap. iii.

262 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. vi.

pain. "The happiness of the individuals, of whom a
community is composed, that is, their pleasures and
their security,1 is the end and the sole end which the
legislator ought to have in view ; the sole standard,
in conformity to which each individual ought, as
far as depends upon the legislator, to be made to
fashion his behaviour. But whether it be this or
anything else that is to be done, there is nothing
by which a man can ultimately be made to do it,
but either pain or pleasure." Accordingly, Bentham
proceeds to enumerate the various kinds of pain
and pleasure which may be made to serve as motives
to the adoption of those forms of conduct which it
is desirable, with a view to the general happiness,
that men should be induced to follow. These various
kinds of pain and pleasure are what he calls the
Sanctions.

Bentham enumerates * four classes of such Sanctions,
which he calls the physical, the political, the moral, and
the religious. If the pleasure or pain comes simply in
the ordinary course of nature, and is not attached to
our actions by the will of any individual, such a source
of motives is called a physical sanction. The pains
following from drunkenness are an example. It, on

1 Bentham does not, ot course, mean that the principle of security
is to be regarded as an independent end in addition to pleasure. He
only mentions it as the indi.spensable condition of the certainty, dura-
tion, and fecundity of our pleasures. Cf. his Principles of the Civil
Code, Part II., chap. vii. Of all the principles subordinate to utility,
there was none to which he attached so much importance as to that
of security.

* Principles of Morals and Legislation, chap. iii. Cf. also Principles
if Legislation, chap, vii., and Sidgwick.'s History of £tAics, pp. 240-245.

$ 5-] THE MORAL STANDARD. 263

the other hand, the pleasure or pain is attached to an
action by the will of a sovereign ruler or government,
it is called a political sanction ; as in the case of
ordinary judicial punishment. If it is attached to an
action by the will of individuals who are not in a
position of authority, it is called a moral (popular)
sanction ; as when a man is " boycotted " or " loses
caste." Finally, if it is attached to an action by the
will of a supernatural power, it is called a religious
sanction ; as in the case of Heaven and Hell, or of the
penalties inflicted by the Roman Catholic Church as
the representative of the Divine will on earth. It may
be worth while to give Bentham's own examples.1
" A man's goods, or his person, are consumed by fire.
If this happened to him by what is called an accident,
it was a calamity:2 if by reason of his own imprudence
(for instance, from his neglecting to put his candle out),
it may be styled a punishment of the physical sanction ;
if it happened to him by the sentence of the political
magistrate, a punishment belonging to the political
sanction ; that is, what is commonly called a punish-
ment : if for want of any assistance which his neighbour
withheld from him out of some dislike to his moral
character, a punishment of the moral sanction : if by
an immediate act of God's displeasure, manifested
on account of some sin committed by him, or through
any distraction of mind, occasioned by the dread

1 Principles of Morals and Legislation, chap, iii., § ix.

* In this case, of course, it is not a sanction at all ; since it is not
regarded as a result of any particular kind of conduct, and consequently
does not serve as an inducement to the avoidance of any particular
kind of conduct

264 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. vi.

of such displeasure, a punishment of the religious
sanction."

J. S. Mill accepted all these sanctions, but character-
ized them all as "external"; and held that we ought to
recognize, in addition to them, the " internal " sanction
of Conscience — i.e. the pleasures and pains of the moral
sentiments.1 All the other sanctions are to a large
extent " physical" Indeed, Bentham himself says : *
"Of these four sanctions the physical is altogether,
we may observe, the groundwork of the political and
the moral ; so is it also of the religious, in as far as the
latter bears relation to the present life. It is included
in each of those other three. This8 may operate in any
case (that is, any of the pains or pleasures belonging
to it may operate) independently of them*: none of
them can operate but by means of this. In a word,
the powers of nature may operate of themselves ; but
neither the magistrate, nor men at large,6 can operate,
nor is God in the case in question supposed to operate,
but through the powers of nature." What Mill calls
the " internal " sanction, on the other hand, does not
rest on physical conditions, but is purely psychological
or subjective; though the particular way in which it

1 Utilitarianism, chap, iii., p. 41 sqq.

* Principles of Morals and Ltgislation, chap, iii., § xi.

* The physical sanction.

4 The other three sanctions.

* It might be urged that the moral sanction sometimes takes the
form simply of an expression of opinion. The fear of adverse public
opinion is often one of the strongest forms of this sanction. But I
suppose Bentham would say that even in this case the expression of
the opinion takes place "through the powers of nature," viz. through
vibrations of sound or light

§6.] THE MORAL STANDARD. 26$

is developed is, no doubt, affected by the external
environment in which our lives are passed.1

Though this sanction is distinguished by Mill as
"internal," yet, in a sense, it is just as external as the
others. All may be called internal, since all involve
the subjective experience of pain, actual or prospective.
On the other hand, all are external, in the sense that
the pain is connected with some law not definitely
recognised as the law of our own being. If, however,
Conscience is definitely regarded as the law of our
nature, it ceases to be merely of the nature of a
sanction, and becomes a real moral authority. It is
in this way that it is conceived, for instance, by
Bishop Butler.8

§ 6. THE AUTHORITY OF CONSCIENCE. — The force of
conscience, from Mill's point of view, lies simply, as
we have seen, in its sting, in its power of making
itself a nuisance. The Intuitionists, on the other hand,

1 Professor Sidgwick notes {History of Ethics, p. 242, note) that even
Bentham, in one of his letters to Dumont, refers separately to what are
ordinarily called moral sentiments as " sympathetic and antipathetic
sanctions." He thus partly anticipated Mill. But there is no official
recognition of these sanctions in his published writings. The reason a
probably that Bentham had a supreme contempt for such sympathetic
and antipathetic sentiments. See his Principles of Morals and Legisla-
tion, chap, ii., § xi, note.

2 An excellent account of the Sanctions will be found in Fowler's
Progressive Morality, chaps, i. and ii. Cf. also Sidgwick's Methods »f
Ethics, Book II., chap, v., and concluding chapter ; and Muirhead's
Elements of Ethics, pp. 101-4. It should be observed that the use of
terms is not quite uniform. Bentham's Political Sanction is sometimes
described as the Legal Sanction ; and his Moral or Popular Sanction is
frequently described as the Social Sanction ; while the term " Moral
Sanction" is reserved for Mill's Internal Sanction. This use of the
terms seems preferable to Bentham's.

266 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. vi.

represent conscience, in general, as having an authority
which is independent of any such power. The attitude
of Butler on this point is particularly striking. As we
have already seen, he represents man's nature as a con-
stitution, in which conscience is the supreme authority.
" Thus that principle," he says,1 " by which we survey,
and either approve or disapprove our own heart,
temper and actions, is not only to be considered as
what is in its turn to have some influence — which may
be said of every passion, of the lowest appetites — but
likewise as being superior, as from its very nature
manifestly claiming superiority over all others, inso-
much as you cannot form a notion of this faculty,
conscience, without taking in judgment, direction,
superintendency. This is a constituent part of the
idea, that is, of the faculty itself; and to preside and
govern, from the very economy and constitution of
man, belongs to it. Had it strength as it has right,
had it power as it has manifest authority, it would
absolutely govern the world." " But allowing," he
says again,2 "that mankind hath the rule of right
within himself, yet it may be asked, ' What obligations
are we under to attend to and follow it ? ' I answer :
it has been proved that man by his nature is a law to
himself, without the particular distinct consideration of
the positive sanctions of that law; the rewards and
punishments which we feel, and those which from the
light of reason we have ground to believe, are annexed
to it. The question then carries its own answer along
with it. Your obligation to obey this law is its being
the law of your nature. That your conscience approves

1 Sermon II. * Sermon III.

§ 6.] THE MORAL STANDARD. 267

of and attests to such a course ot action, is itself alone
an obligation. Conscience does not only offer itself
to shew us the way we should walk in, but it likewise
carries its own authority with it, that it is our natural
guide."

If, however, we ask more definitely what is the
nature of the authority of conscience, it seems impos*.
sible to give any clear account of it without reference
to the idea of an end. Butler himself, in seeking to
explain the nature of its authority, compares it with
that which belongs to " reasonable self-love." " Sup-
pose a brute creature," he says, " by any bait to be
allured into a snare, by which he is destroyed. He
plainly followed the bent of his nature, leading him to
gratify his appetite : there is an entire correspondence
between his whole nature and such an action : such
action therefore is natural. But suppose a man, fore-
seeing the same danger of certain ruin, should rush
into it for the sake of a present gratification, he in this
instance would follow his strongest desire, as did the
brute creature : but there would be as manifest a dis-
proportion between the nature of man and such an
action, as between the meanest work of art ; which
disproportion arises, not from considering the action
singly in itself, or in its consequences, but from com-
parison of it with the nature of the agent. And since
such an action is utterly disproportionate to the nature
of man, it is in the strictest and most proper sense
unnatural ; this word expressing that disproportion.
. . . Thus, without particular consideration of con-
science, we may have a clear conception of the superior
nature of one inward principle to another ; and see that

268 ETHICS. [ BK. II., CH. VI.

there really is this natural superiority, quite distinct
from degrees of strength and prevalency." But it
seems clear that the authority which is claimed for
reasonable self-love in this instance rests on the idea
of an end. It would be unnatural for us simply to
follow our appetites and instincts, like brute beasts,
because we have definite ideas of ends that we pursue,
and know the means that may be expected to secure
them. If the authority of conscience is of this nature, it
is not the authority of a blind faculty, but the authority
of reason itself. This view is not definitely brought
out by Butler, but appears quite distinctly in Kant.

§ 7. THE AUTHORITY OF REASON. — Kant is the writer
who has most explicitly accepted reason as the only
ultimate authority in the moral life, and in this he has
been followed by the school of modern idealism. But
in reality the same authority was adopted, though in
a somewhat less explicit form, by nearly all the Greek
moralists, and especially by Socrates, Plato, Aristotle,
and the Stoics ; and, in more modern times, by the
Cartesians and by some of our own British writers
And, in recent times, there may almost be said to be
a consensus of opinion that, if any ultimate authority
is to be found for the moral life at all, it can only be
found in reason. Even Utilitarianism, as represented
by Sidgwick, Gizycki, and others, has come round to
this view. The only flourishing school at the present
time which does not accept this position is the school
of biological evolution ; and this is the kind of excep-
tion that proves the rule, since writers of this school
deny in general that any ultimate authority can be
found for the iroral life at all. According to them,

$ 8.] THE MORAL STANDARD. 269

morality has merely a de facto justification, and the
development of the species may transform and even
abolish it. Simmel, for instance, represents moral
principle simply as the will of the " compact majority."
It is the dominant tendency ot what "is," not an
" ought " or even a " must." A moral scepticism of
this kind seems to be the only real alternative to the
doctrine of the authority of reason.

§ 8. THE ABSOLUTENESS OF THE MORAL AUTHORITY. —
It is apt sometimes to seem as if the authority of the
moral standard becomes less absolute the more it is
refined and made strictly moral. A few written rules,
whether of a state or of some divine law-giver, seem
to carry a direct and indisputable authority, especially
if they are sanctioned by heavy penalties, such as the
prison or the gallows or hell fire. Hence writers who
are specially desirous of enforcing moral principles,
such as Carlyle, tend to throw them into the form of
divine commandments, and to emphasize the penalties
for their neglect. In comparison with such laws, a
simple injunction to do what is reasonable, because it
is reasonable, seems weak and ineffective. Even Kant's
" categorical imperative " carries no terrors with it ; for
the sting of conscience may be suppressed. And still
less does there seem to be any strong binding force in
such an idea of an end, as we have sought to put
forward in the present Manual. The realization of a
rational universe seems strangely remote; and, if we
fail to realize it, there seems no immediate prospect
that we shall be flogged or burnt or jeered at, or suffer
any serious detriment to mind or body or estate.
Where, then, is the authority of this standard ?

ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. vi.

But no one who truly realizes to himself what the
standard means, is likely to argue in this way. Some
illustrations from similar cases of development may
serve to show that the moral authority, in its highest
form, is stronger, not weaker, than it was in its more
primitive modes of presentment. A child v\ho is set
to draw simple lines under the guidance of a teacher,
or to learn the alphabet and elementary combinations
of letters, may appear to be under a strict authority,
in comparison with which the great artist or poet
enjoys unbounded licence. But is this really so ?
Has the word of the master anything like the con-
straining force on the child that the ideal of beauty
has on the artist or poet ? The one law, no doubt, is
simple and definite, and carries with it, perhaps, an
explicit reward or punishment. The other may be
hard to define, impossible to exhaust, and it may have
no reward but the joy of creation, no penalty but the
pain of failure. Yet surely it is on the great artist
that the sternest necessity is laid. Again, the duty of
a patriotic soldier may be simple and obvious : he has
but to do or die, as his officers may bid. The duty
of a patriotic statesman is far more complex. He has
to consider, amid the tangle of surrounding conditions,
what is likely in the end to be to the highest interest
of his country ; and often a clear answer is nowhere
to be found. Yet surely no statesman who is truly
patriotic would feel the obligation to be any less real
than that which is laid on the simplest soldier. Rather,
the magnitude of the issues at stake must render it
vastly greater. So we may say of conduct in general.
The more we advance in the development of the moral

$ 8.] THE MORAL STANDARD. 27 1

life, the less possible does it become to point to any
single rule that seems to carry its own authority with
it, to any law that stands above us and says categori-
cally, You must do this. What we find is, more and
more, only the general principle that says, You ought
to do what you find to be best. And what is best may
vary very much in its external form, and even in its
inner nature, with changing conditions. But this does
not in any way destroy the absoluteness of the moral
standard. It still remains as true as ever that we
are bound to choose what is right " in the scorn of
consequence," though it may be more difficult for us to
say at any given point what precisely is right. The
authority, indeed, must come home to us with a far
more absolute power, when we recognise that it is our
own law, than when we regard it as an alien force.

This much, however, is true: that, as moral principles
cease to be laws of a state or of a divine lawgiver or
of a definite voice of conscience within us, it becomes
all the more important to have a clear view of the
concrete content of the moral life. A few generalities
will no longer suffice for our guidance. This is, indeed,
what we find with reference to the advance of all the
more distinctively human sciences. In Economics, for
instance, scientific treatment began with the formu-
lation of a few simple " laws," and it was only by
degrees that it came to be recognised that what is
really wanted is a concrete study of the facts of the
economic system. In the case of Ethics, the science
was to a large extent established on the right lines at
a comparatively early point in its development by
Aristotle; but, both before and after his time, there

ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. vi.

have been constant efforts to introduce an unreal
simplification by appealing to some rigid abstract
standard. The significance of the work of Hegel and
of the recent school of development has lain largely
in bringing us back again to the more concrete point
of view of Aristotle. In the following Book some
attempt will be made to show the value of this point
of view in enabling us to deal with some of the more
important problems of the moral life. Before we
proceed, however, to the consideration of the moral life
in the concrete, it seems desirable to raise the general
question of the bearing of ethical theory on practice.
The exact sense in which it is possible to apply the
moral standard varies a good deal with different theories
of its nature; and accordingly it seems desirable at
this point to devote a chapter to the discussion of this
subject.

§ I.] THEORY AND PRACTICE. 273

CHAPTER VII.

THE BEARING OF THEORY ON PRACTICE.

§ 1. DIFFERENT VIEWS. — As I have already indicated,
there are different views with regard to the nature and
extent of the bearing of ethical theory on the practical
life of mankind. According to some, the aim of Ethics
is practical -throughout. According to others, it is a
purely theoretical study, with just as little direct bear-
ing on practical life as astronomy or chemistry or
metaphysics. Others, again, steer a middle course,
and, while holding that its aim is not directly practical,
yet believe that it has important practical bearings,
inasmuch as it makes clear to us the ideal involved in
life. As examples of the directly practical treatment of
Ethics, we may refer to most of the earlier thinkers up
to Plato, to the Stoics and Epicureans, to the Mediaeval
Casuists, to Bentham and most of the modern Utilita-
rians, and on the whole to Mr. Herbert Spencer. This
view corresponds also to what is probably the popular
conception of the subject. Most men expect that an
ethical teacher will tell them what they ought to do ;
and the common phrase " the Ethics of — " ( Gambling,
Competition, Controversy, &c. ) is generally understood
to mean a statement of the right attitude to be adopted
with reference to certain departments of action. The
more purely theoretical view is to some extent repre-
sented by the effort of Spinoza to treat morals after the

274 ETHICS. [BK. ir., en. vn.

manner of Geometry. It seems also to be the view
taken, though in somewhat different senses, by various
recent writers, among whom may be mentioned Dr.
Simmel, and perhaps Mr. F. H. Bradley and Mr. B.
Bosanquet, x and one or two others. The middle course,
however, has been adopted by most of the great writers
on the subject, from Aristotle downwards ; i. e. these
writers have treated the subject theoretically, but at
the same time have clearly indicated its bearings upon
the concrete moral life.

Now, the view which we ought to take on this point
depends largely on the general theory of Ethics which
we adopt. Some consideration of the way in which
the nature of our theory affects its bearing on practice
may, consequently, be here in place.

§ 2. RELATION OF DIFFERENT VIEWS TO THE VARIOUS
ETHICAL THEORIES. — From the point of view of the
Moral Sense School the bearing of ethical theory upon

1 Simmel's views are to be found especially in his Einleitung in die
Moralwissenschaft, voL i., p. iii, and vol. iL, pp. 408, 409, &c. Mr.
Bradley's most forcible statements on this point are to be found in
his Ethical Studies, pp. 174-5, an<^ >n his Principles ofLogic,pp. 247-8.
For some criticisms on the statements there given, I may refer to
the International Journal of Ethics, vol. iii., No. 4, pp. 507 sqq. ; and
to the paper by Mr. Hastings Rashdall on " The Limits of Casuistry "
in the same Journal, vol. iv., No. 4, pp. 459 sqq. Cf. also ibid., voL
iv., No. 3, pp. 160-173, &c. It is probable, however, that Mr. Bradley'a
statements are intended only as an emphatic protest against the op-
posite extreme of those who think that ethical science should tell
us directly what we ought in particular to do. At any rate, there is
ground for thinking that Mr. Bradley no longer holds to the extreme
position indicated in the passages to which I have referred, and in
several others throughout the Ethical Studies. From several indi-
cations in the writings of Mr. Bosanquet, however, it would appear
that he adheres to the view expressed by Mr. Bradley ; but I am not
»ware that be has ever given any clear statement of his position.

§ 2.] THEORY AND PRACTICE. 275

practical life would be exceedingly slight. For, ac-
cording to this view, Ethics is on substantially the
same footing as Esthetics. Now it will be generally
allowed that aesthetic theory * has very little direct bear-
ing upon the cultivation of taste or the production of
works of art. Of course a bad theory does sometimes
corrupt the taste of a generation, and a good theory
may help to set it right. But the influence of aesthetic
theory in this way is probably not much greater than
that of particular views on astronomy or biology might
be. All knowledge affects practice, but not all know-
ledge guides it ; and on the whole aesthetic theory does
not guide taste or artistic production. Similarly, if
morality were simply dependent on a kind of intuitive
taste, the theory which expounded the nature of this
taste would not have much effect on practical life, ex-
cept in a comparatively indirect way. In like manner,
it is true of most intuitional theories of morals that, if
they are accepted, the bearing of Ethics on practical
life must be of the slightest description. If we know
what is right by an instinctive perception, or by any
other kind of direct insight, the theoretical considera-
tion of this insight can bring nothing to light which is
not already involved in the practice of mankind. A
rational theory, like that of Kant, on the other hand,

1 Here, and elsewhere, I understand aesthetic theory to be con-
cerned with the study of the Beautiful (whither found in Nature or
In Art). Some writers regard Esthetics rather as the theory of
artistic production. In so far as there is any such theory, it would
more nearly resemble Ethics. But I think it is better to regard
^Esthetics as concerned with the apprehension of the Beautiful
rather than with its creation. On the other hand, the moral life is,
from the nature of this case, necessarily treated as a creative
activity.

Etk. iy

276 ETHICS. [BK. IL, CH. VH.

would seem to leave more stope for practical applica-
tion ; for, though the rational principles recognised by
such a theory are implicit in the ordinary conscious-
ness of mankind, yet the making of them explicit would
bring them into greater clearness, and so might be ex-
pected to have a considerable influence upon practice.
It is the Utilitarian theory, however, which lends itself
most directly to practical application. According to
this view there is a definite end (the greatest happiness
of the greatest number) to be aimed at in life; and
human beings cannot be assumed to have this end in
view in their ordinary actions, except in a very vague
and blundering fashion. Hence it would be the aim of
ethical theory, from this point of view, to bring the end
to light and to consider the means best adapted for its
attainment This would apply also to any view (such
as that of Socrates), according to which there is some
ascertainable end (some summum bonum), to which
human life ought to be directed, whether this end be
described as Happiness or in any other way. Finally,
if we adopt the view of development, we are naturally
led to take up an intermediate position with reference
to the applicability of ethical theory to practice. Of
course if any one were to take the view that the process
of development is inevitable and not open to criticism,
there would be no scope for the application of theory
to practice from this point of view, any more than
from the point of view of pure Intuitionism. If there
are absolute laws, either of the nature of intuitive com-
mands or of inevitable natural forces, by which the
nature of the moral life is determined, the science of
Ethics can only stand by and admire them. Now
there are some evolutionists who appear to take this

§ 3-] THEORY AND PRACTICE.

riew. But, in general, the view taken by those who
adopt the theory of development is that the develop-
ment, at least in its higher phases, is capable of re-
flective guidance, and, in fact, can only take place by
means of reflection. Hence, while thinkers of this
school would be chary of any attempt to deal with life
by a reference to some abstract end, taken up without
regard to the process of its development, they would
yet be ready to study this process of development with
a view to ascertain how far it is adequate to the ideal
that is involved in it ; and this reflective criticism might
be expected to have a considerable influence on prac-
tical life.

These general statements, however, are only roughly
true ; and we must now try to explain them some-
what more accurately in relation to the most im-
portant theories.

§ 3. THE INTUITIONIST VIEW. — According to the In-
tuitionist view, we apprehend immediately that cer-
tain lines of action are right and others wrong. On
the most stringent interpretation this means that there
can never be any real doubt as to the best course to
pursue. "An erring conscience is a chimera." The
study of moral principles cannot, therefore, lead us to
any truth which was not known before ; and scien-
tific Ethics is simply an intellectual luxury. This
stringent view, however, has seldom been taken by
Intuitionists. They have generally believed that
Conscience can be to some extent educated. They
have also sometimes held that even intuitive moral
principles may come into collision, and that reflection
is required in dealing with such cases of conflict.
Casuistry is not unknown among Intuitionists.

278 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. vii.

Again, I have pointed out that, according to the
view of the more rational Intuitionists ' (i. e. those
represented by the line of thought extending from
Cudworth to Kant), the function of Ethics would
naturally be regarded as more directly practical ;
since the principle of morals is, from this point of
view, one that is capable of reflective analysis. It
should be observed, however, that Kant himself did
not regard Ethics as being practical in this sense.
For, though Kant held that the Categorical Imperative
is capable of reflective analysis, yet he also held that
it is so simple and obvious in its application, that it
is used by all rational beings, without the need of re-
flective analysis. In fact, it was Kant who put for-
ward the dictum that " an erring conscience is a
chimera." In accordance with this view, Kant also
held that there are no real cases of moral conflict,
and that, consequently, . casuistry is an absurdity.
The laws of duty are absolute, and admit of no ex-
ceptions. Kant, indeed, is, from this point of view,
quite the most stringent of all Intuitionists. In
general, however, it is true that those who accept a
rational principle as their standard acknowledge the
importance of reflective analysis from a practical point
of view.

§ 4. THE UTILITARIAN VIEW. — From the Utilitarian
point of view, the moral life is conceived as directed
towards a definite end — viz. the attainment of pleasure,
and, more definitely, of the greatest possible pleasure
of all sentient creatures. So far, then, as this end
can be precisely determined, and the means to its
attainment definitely ascertained, it would be possi-

1 II they are to be called Intuitionists. See above, chap, iii, § xa

§ 4-] THEORY AND PRACTICE. 279

ble to calculate what course of action is the best under
any assignable conditions. The task of Ethics would
thus become a quite directly practical one. But, even
from the Utilitarian standpoint, this view is subject to
considerable qualification. Even the Utilitarians hardly
conceive that it falls within the province of Ethics to
invent a morality for mankind. It would be unfair,
at any rate, to attribute so crude a misconception to
any of the leading exponents of the ideas of the
school. J. S. Mill, in particular, has expressly guard-
ed against it, by the statement in which he com-
pares the results of the moral experience of mankind
to the Nautical Almanack which is used in navi-
gation. He explains that, all through the course of
human life, men have been testing the consequences
of various lines of action, and the results of this
experience are summed up in the common sense of
mankind. The ethical philosopher, as well as the
"plain man," finds his Almanack already calculated,
and only requires to use it. Mill conceives, however,
that these calculations have been somewhat roughly
made, and have not been carried, so to speak, to
many places of Decimals. The ethical philosopher
will endeavour gradually to revise and extend them.
Dropping metaphor, we may say that there is a large
body of moral truths which, from the Utilitarian point
of view, may be accepted as embodying the best ex-
perience of the race ; but, since the race has not been
consciously guided by Utilitarian considerations, it
has not always summed up its results quite accurately
in the moral precepts that have come to be recognised
as binding. The finer distinctions have been blurred,
and the more remote consequences ignored, Henca

280 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. vn.

reflection on the moral end may enable us to intro-
duce considerable corrections into the judgment of
common-sense morality. *

§5. THE EVOLUTIONIST VIEW. — When thus qualified,
the Utilitarian view on this point is not substantially
different from that commonly adopted by the Evolu-
tionists— at least by those who take a definitely
teleological view of the process of development
From this point of view, as from that of Utilitarianism,
there is a definite end in view, though it may be an
end that is a good deal more difficult to formulate.
The greater complexity of the end, however, tends to
introduce greater uncertainty with respect to the best
means to its attainment ; while, at the same time,
the idea of development brings with it a greater con-
fidence in the fruits of past experience, as embodied
in the traditions and intuitions of the race. The

lCf. Fowler and Wilson's Principles of Morals, Part I., pp. 118-19.
" What is most of all important to the practical moralist is, that his-
tory will familiarise him with the idea of development or evolution,
shewing him that institutions or habits are not accidental in their
origin, or mere devices of the legislator ; that they have grown up
for the most part by virtue of tendencies in human nature modified
and directed by external circumstances, and that these tendencies
should be understood by all who seek to direct them. This con-
sideration will teach us the precaution necessary in dealing with
prevalent ideas and customs, and prevent us from making attempts
to modify them without due preparation. On the other hand, by
studying the circumstances in which moral ideas or rules had their
origin, we shall be better able to see whether they are suitable to
the present condition of mankind, or whether the necessity for
them has ceased. History, in short, enables us to understand and
appreciate the present ; it enables us to some extent to anticipate
the future, and the knowledge which it supplies is an indispensable
condition of all wise attempts at moral and social improvement.''
It is thus that the careful Utilitarian recognises the necessity of tha
•tody of the actual course of concrete moral development

§ 5.] THEORY AND PRACTICE. 28 1

Evolutionist is, consequently, as a rule, less prone
than the Utilitarian is to imagine that it is possible
by reflection to introduce definite improvements into
the morality of common sense. Mr. Herbert Spencer
has perhaps shown himself more ready than most to
suggest practical conclusions ; but this is not so
much because he thinks it possible to improve upon
the results of experience as because he thinks that the
experience of the race has resulted in the establish-
ment of certain quite definite intuitions as to natural
rights, &c., though the perversity of the human race
leads it very frequently to neglect these intuitive
truths. But Mr. Spencer's views on this point do not
seem to me to be quite consistent.

There are, however, as we have seen, other writers
of the Evolutionist school who do not hold that it is
possible to formulate any definite end to which the
process of development may be regarded as tending.
According to these writers, there is a gradual process
of Evolution, and various forms of moral action and
moral judgment arise in the course of it ; but it is not
possible to give any clear account of its ultimate goal.
It must be taken simply as we find it; and the forms
of action and of moral judgment must be taken along
with the rest. The study of Ethics, from this point of
view, is simply a part of the wider study of Psychology
and Sociology, and hence is simply a study and in-
terpretation of facts. This is the view, in particular,
of Dr. Simmel, who ridicules the attempts of what he
calls the Monistic Moralists to give an account of any
single principle by which the moral life is guided. It
is merely a struggle of opposing forces, and the result-
ing moral system expresses nothing but the tendencies

282 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. vii.

of the "compact majority." But this is not so much
a theory of Ethics as a theory of its impossibility. In
so far, however, as such a view is taken, ethical theory
would have no practical application, just as it has none
according to the purely Intuitionist view. When we
enter the region of absolute Law as the foundation of
morals — whether it be that of God, of Conscience, of
Reason, or of a blind struggle — we are beyond the
possibility of regulative principles based on an ideal.

§ 6. THE IDEALISTIC VIEW. — How does the matter
stand, finally, from the point of view of the more
idealistic theory of development ? From this stand-
point the process of development is conceived in a
more distinctly teleological fashion than it is from the
standpoint of biological evolution ; but on the other
hand the end in view is more complex and more diffi-
cult to define. The unfolding of the capabilities of
mankind, the realisation of the rational Universe —
phrases such as these, though they have a quite defi-.
nite and intelligible meaning, hardly serve to furnish
us with a clear-cut end to the attainment of which
definite means may be adopted. If such an end were
not one that is naturally and inevitably adopted by
mankind, it would be hopeless to seek to impose it
upon them. Besides, as the ideal, from this point of
view, is not thought of as an external end, but as the
unfolding of the essential nature of mankind, we may
naturally expect to find it unfolding itself throughout
the whole course of human history. If this view is
correct, the ideal would be found in human life by the
psychologist and the sociologist, as well as by the
student of Ethics ; the difference being that the former
are not specially concerned with it, and find it only as

§ 6.] THEORY AND PRACTICE. 283

one f*ct among others, while the student of Ethics
makes it his special business to examine it. From the
point of view of idealism, therefore, more than from
most others, it must be clearly recognised that it is not
the business of Ethics to invent a new morality for the
world. If it were not true that "morality is the nature
of things," no amount of reflection could ever make it
so. At the same time, this ought not to be under-
stood as meaning that the student of Ethics accepts
the world as he finds it. Like the poet, he

" Looks at all things as they are
But through a kind of glory "

He looks at the world in the light of the ideal which is
developing through it. Taking the world as it stands
at any particular time, we do not find that it is a
homogeneous whole. It is a struggling, developing
process, in which, as the Persians put it, there is a
continual conflict between Ormuzd and Ahriman, Light
and Darkness. The student of Ethics, from the point
of view of Idealism, is not an indifferent spectator of
this struggle. He looks for the evidence of the triumph
of Light. In what direction this triumph will come,
he will hardly undertake to prophesy ; but, in his
study of life and history, of the contest between the
Family and the State, Individualism and Socialism,
Law and Freedom, the ideals of the Hebrews and of
the Greeks, he is interested to watch not simply the
direction in which at any time things are moving, in
the swaying to and fro of opposing forces, but rather
in trying to bring out the significance of the movement,
i.e. its bearing upon the gradual unfolding of the ideal
which it involves. To study it in this way is at the
same time to criticise it

284 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. vii.

There are thus two sides in the idealistic view of
Ethics. On the one hand, it looks to the experience
of mankind ; on the other hand, it looks to the ideal.
Without the former it would be empty ; without the
latter it would be blind. And on the whole all the
writers who have dealt with the subject from this point
of view have kept their eyes upon both aspects. But
some writers have tended to lay more emphasis on the
one side than on the other. The typical instances of
the two methods are Plato and Aristotle. Plato seems,
at least *o the superficial view, to be perpetually con-
structing ideal Republics and ideal types of life, with
but little reference to the concrete facts of human
development.1 Aristotle, on the other hand, seems —
again to the superficial view — to throw aside the ideal
as not 7T/>axT(5v xa} zTTjTov toOptoKu), and to concentrate his
attention upon the virtues and institutions of the Greek
State, as he found it beside him. Hegel, in more
modern times, has seemed to lend himself to both
forms of misunderstanding. Some have regarded him
as a father of revolutionists,2 who created a world out
of his inner consciousness, without regard to fact and
history ; others have scoffed at him as an upholder of
the status quo, who simply accepted the world as he
found it. J But wisdom is justified of all her children ;

1 That Plato was not a mere dreamer of dreams, but a true inter-
preter of the moral life of his time, is well brought out by Hegel in
his History of Philosophy and Philosophy of Right,

a The Socialists and Nihilists used to be fond of claiming Hegel as
their founder. They seem to have abandoned this view now.

* Fries said of Hegel that his political views were grown " not in
the garden of science, but on the dunghill of servility." In some-
what the same way Goethe was called the Friend of the powers
that be (Freund des Bcstehenden), The confusion, in the case of

§ 7-] THEORY AND PRACTICE. 28$

and the opposition between these different aspects of
truth is wholly superficial. The ethical idealist takes
the world as he finds it ; but he takes it to bring out
its significance, and so to criticise it. He brings an
ideal to bear upon it, but the ideal is one that is in-
volved in the facts themselves. The seeming opposi-
tion is a real identity ; and Aristotle is not the enemy
of Plato, but his interpreter.

§ 7. SUMMARY OF RESULTS. — On the whole, then, we
see that there are three views of the way in which
Ethics bears on practical life : —

(1) There is the view that it has essentially no
bearing upon it at all. This is the view of the more
extreme Intuitionists, whether perceptional or rational ;
of those evolutionists who believe that no end can be
discovered in the process of development ; and perhaps
also of a few idealists.

(2) There is the view that Ethics is directly practical.
This is the view chiefly of the Utilitarians, but partly
also of all those who think that some definite end can
be formulated for mankind, which is not involved in
the process of human development itself.

(3) There is the view that Ethics has for its primary
function to bring out the significance of the moral life
in relation to the ideal that is involved in it, and that
this process is at the same time a criticism of it. The
third of these views is of course the one that is here

Hegel, arises mainly from not appreciating his distinction between
the Actual (Wirklich) and the Existent He held that the Actual is
Rational, but he meant by the Actual, not what is at any time found
existing, but the underlying spirit by which the movement of history
is carried on. It is the business of Ethics to bring this clearly to
liffal

286 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. vn.

adopted ; and, in the light of what has now been saiw,
the remarks at the beginning of this treatise on the
essentially normative character of ethical science may
perhaps become more intelligible.

§ 8. COMPARISON BETWEEN ETHICS AND LOGIC. — Perhaps
a comparison between Ethics and Logic, from this
point of view, may help in some degree to make my
meaning clearer. The essential similarity between
these two sciences has been already indicated. Now,
it is possible to take different views of Logic, in its
bearing upon the work of the particular science, just
as it is possible to take different views of Ethics, in its
bearing upon practical life. It may be held that it is
the business of Inductive Logic to lay down the rules
to be observed by the particular sciences in the inves-
tigation of nature. This is on the whole the view
suggested by Mill, just as on the whole the corre-
sponding view of Ethics is suggested by him. Or
again, such a Logic as that of Hegel, in which the, ideas,
of Quantity, Substance, Cause, &c., are dealt with in
their relationship to one another, may be supposed to
be (and has been supposed to be) an effort to deduce
these ideas £ priori, without any reference to the way
in which they emerge in our experience. Such views
of Logic would be on a par with the view of Ethics
according to which it is its business to invent a system
of morality. But most logicians would now admit
that the methods of the sciences have to be first dis-
covered by the sciences themselves, and that the ideas
used by them (Quantity, Substance, Cause, &c. ), could
never be known by us if they did not inevitably
emerge in the course of our experience. So also it
seems to be true that the content of the moral life it

§ 8.] THEORY AND PRACTICE. 287

developed hi the course of human experience, and does
not wait for the science of Ethics to invent it.

But then, it may be asked, does Logic simply accept
the methods of the sciences as it finds them, and simply
arrange the ideas of which the sciences make use ?
This view also seems to be incorrect. Logic seeks to
bring out the significance of those methods and ideas,
and to test their validity. In this way it at once
justifies them within their proper sphere, and brings
out their limitations. It does not invent ideas and
methods for the sciences, but it certainly criticises those
that it finds, in the light of the ideas of truth and con-
sistency which it finds in them. So with Ethics. It
does not invent the Family and the State, or the ideas
of Love and Truth, or the laws about Life and Pro-
perty. Still less does it seek to overturn these ideas
and institutions. It finds them in the concrete world
with which it deals ; and it seeks to understand them
in the light of the ideal of human development, to
which they have reference. It thus at once shows
their significance, and indicates their limitations. For
the "plain man "such an institution as the Family or
Private Property is apt to seem an eternal and inviolable
fact in the moral life ; and, if he is taught to doubt
about this, by being shown that they have had a
history, and have not always existed in the form in
which they now appear, he is apt to become confused,
and to think that the significance of those elements in
human life has been destroyed. The student of Ethics
should be able to see the significance and value of such
institutions, while at the same time he is able to put
them in their proper place as elements in a whole. It

288 ETHICS. [BK. n., CH. vn.

13 in this form of critical insight that the study of Ethics
has practical value.

§ 9. THE TREATMENT OF APPLIED ETHICS. — In the
light of those observations, we are now able to proceed
to the treatment of Applied Ethics. Hitherto we have
been concerned with the pure theory, t. e. with the
consideration of the nature of the standard or ideal.
Now, a treatise on Ethics frequently contains nothing
more than the discussion of this point ; and, if our
view of the nature of the standard had been some-
what different from what it is, this might possibly have
sufficed for our purpose. If we had adopted an in-
tuitional view, there could have been hardly any
Applied Ethics to deal with. If we had adopted a
Utilitarian view, the applications would have consisted
in working out the Calculus in various directions ; and
however difficult (if not impossible) this might be, the
general principle of it at least would have been so
obvious, that we might fairly have been dispensed from
the working of it out. But for any one who adopts the
point of view of development a treatment of Ethics
which made no attempt to interpret the concrete pro-
cess of development in the light of the ideal principle
involved, would be little short of an absurdity. Hence,
this part of the subject has generally been a prominent
one with those writers who adopt the point of view
of Development. It is so, for instance, with Aristotle,
in whose Nicomachean Ethics the concrete life of the
citizen is sketched with considerable fulness, and who
seeks to complete the subject by a consideration of the
State and Education in his treatise on Politics. It is
so also with Hegel, whose chief work on Ethics (the

§9-] THEORY AND PRACTICE. 289

Philosophy of Right) is almost entirely concerned with
the concrete moral life.

In dealing with this concrete aspect of the subject,
the student must guard against two possible miscon-
ceptions, which have perhaps already been sufficiently
indicated, but which it may be well to repeat and em-
phasize once more.

(i) It must not for a moment be imagined that the
concrete elements of the moral life are to be extracted
by some sort of alchemy, out of the general principle.
The task of Ethics would indeed be a hard one if it had
to invent the moral life as well as to interpret it. But
happily there were some good men in the world before
there were books on Ethics ; and even now that many
books have been written, Heaven help the hapless
mortal who gets his ideas of the moral life from them !
We can learn what the moral life is by living it, and
there is no other way. It is only after it has been lived
that the science of Ethics can step in, and explain what
it means. No doubt in thus explaining it, it is at the
same time criticising it ; and a moral life that has been
subjected to criticism (like a book that has been sub-
jected to criticism) is not quite the same thing as it was
before. But the student must altogether clear his mind
of any sort of notion that may linger in it, that in the
chapters which follow a brand-new moral life is to be
unfolded before his wondering eyes. Even a treatise
on medical science does not teach us to breathe with
our ears. We learn to breathe before we study physi-
ology or hygienics, and to live before we study Ethics ;
and, on the whole, after we have studied them, breathe
and live very much as we did before. We learn such

things by action and experience. If a man is "a fool
Eth. X9

290 ETHICS. [BK. ii., CH. vii.

or a physician at forty," it is certain that he is a muff or
a moralist at a still more tender age ; and the reflec-
tive analysis of life can only teach him to do a little
more carefully and exactly (it may be, only a little more
pedantically) what in the main he did before.

(2) On the other hand, the student must equally
guard against the opposite misconception, that in study-
ing the content of the moral life we regard it simply
from the point of view of Sociology. To the student
of Sociology the immoral life is on the whole as inter-
esting as the moral life (Simmel says ' it is more so), and
degeneration is as interesting as development. For us,
on the other hand, life is interesting only in the light
of its ideal. We do not care for what it is, but for what
it signifies. Hence also our method of treatment is
different. We do not aim at a statement of the course
through which the moral life has passed in the che-
quered career of its history, but rather at an account
of its most significant aspects. In a complete treat-
ment of it, we might perhaps be led to arrange it, after
the manner of Hegel, in the order of its dialectical
development. But in an introductory account like the
present a somewhat less systematic arrangement may
suffice.

At any rate, we have now had enough of these pre-
liminary observations and warnings. Let us plunge,
as best we can, into our account of the concrete moral
life.

i See International Journal of Ethics, VoL III., no. 4. So also in
physiology and psychology, pathological states are often more
enlightening than those that are normal

§ 1.] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 291

BOOK III.
THE MORAL LIFE.

CHAPTER L

THE SOCIAL UNITY.

§ 1. THE SOCIAL SELF. — We have seen that the true
self is the rational self. We must now try to under-
stand what this means. And, first of all, we have to
add that the true self is the social self. Up to this point
we have spoken of the individual almost as if he might
bean isolated and independent unit. But every individ-
ual belongs to a social system. An isolated individual
is even inconceivable. Aristotle said truly that such a
being must be "either a beast or a god."1 Such a
being could have no ideal self. He must either have
realized his ideal like a god, or have no ideal to realize
like a beast. For our ideal self finds its embodiment
in the life of a society, and it is only in this way that
it is kept before us. Not only so, but even the realiza-
tion of our ideal seems to demand a society. For
to have a perfectly rational self would involve that our
universe should have a perfectly rational content
Now the only possible universe with a rational content
seems to be a universe of rational beings. Hence we

1 Politics, I. ii. 14 : " He who is unable tr live in society, or who haa
no need because he is sufficient for himself, must be either a beast

292 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. t

must go even beyond the saying of Aristotle, and say
that even a God must be social. Even a God must
have a rational universe in relation to Himself, and
must consequently create, or, in Hegelian phrase,
go out of Himself into a world of rational beings.
But this is perhaps too abstruse a subject to be more
than hinted at here. It is sufficient for our purpose to
say that it is in relation to our fellow-men that we find
our ideal life. "Where two or three are gathered to-
gether, there am I in the midst of them."1 The " I "
or ideal self is not realized in any one individual, but
finds its realization rather in the relations of persons to
one another. It embodies itself in literature and art,
in the laws of a state, in the counsels of perfection
which societies gradually form for themselves.

§ 2. SOCIETY A UNITY. — Society, therefore, must be re-
garded as a unity — in fact, as we shall see shortly, as
an organic unity. The parts of it are necessary to each
other, as the parts of an animal organism are ; and it
is in all the parts in relation to one another, rather than
in any one of them singly, that the true life is to be
found. " We are members one of another. " The ideal
life of one requires others to complement it, and it is
by mutual help that the whole develops towards per-
fection. This we shall see more fully in the sequel*

1 1 do not mean to imply that this saying was originally intended
to bear the sense here ascribed to it But I think it has frequently
been used by religious men to express that consciousness of unity,
and of elevation into a higher universe, which arises when a number
of men gather together in a common spirit and with a common aim
for the advancement of their moral lives. Clifford's "tribal self"
contains a similar idea. (See above p. 115.)

3 See sections n and 12 below. The present section is intend*}
only as a preliminary statement.

§§ 3» 4-] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 293

§ 3. EGOISM AND ALTRUISM. — This fact leads us to in-
troduce a certain modification into the view of the
moral life that has been presented up to the present
point. We have spoken of the great end of the moral
life as self-realization. But since an individual is a
member of a social unity, his supreme end will be not
simply the perfecting of his own life, but also of the
society to which he belongs. To a great extent the
one end will indeed coincide with the other. Yet there
appears, at least primd fade, to be a certain possibility
of conflict. Now when we seek simply our own in-
dividual ends, this attitude is called Egoism ; while
the term Altruism is used to denote devotion to the
ends of others. It is of great importance to consider
the precise relation of these two attitudes to one
another.

§ 4. MR. SPENCER'S CONCILIATION. — A good deal of
attention has been given to this subject by Mr. Herbert
Spencer,1 and he has endeavoured to show how a con-
ciliation may be effected between the two attitudes.
He points out that either of them, if carried to an ex-
treme, is self-destructive. If every one were to seek
only his own ends, this would be a bad way of secur-
ing the ends even of any one individual. For each
one stands frequently in need of help. On the other
hand, if every one were to devote himself entirely to
the good of others, this would be fatal to the good of
others. For if each one neglected himself, he would
deteriorate in his ability to help others. This point is
worked out in a very interesting way by Mr. Spencer,

* Data of Ethics, chaps, xl and xiv. Cf. Stephen's Science of Ethics,
chap, vi, Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 70-1, and .\i airhead's,
Elements oj Ethics, pp. 164-5

294 ETHICS. [BK. IIL, CH. i.

and h» eomes to the conclusion that what we should
aim at is neither pure Egoism nor pure Altruism, but a
compromise between them. He thinks also that the
more completely society becomes developed, the more
will the two ends tend to become identical

§ 5. SELF-REALIZATION THROUGH SELF-SACRIFICE. — The
truth seems to be, however, that there is even less
opposition between Egoism and Altruism than that
which Mr. Spencer recognizes. We can realize the true
self only by realizing social ends. In order to do this
we must negate the merely individual self, which, as
we have indicated, is not the true self. We must real-
ize ourselves by sacrificing ourselves.1 The more fully
we so realize ourselves, the more do we reach a uni-
versal point of view — £ e. a point of view from which
our own private good is no more to us than the good
of any one else. No doubt it must always be neces-
sary for us to take more thought for our own individual
development than for that of any one else ; because
each one best understands his own individual needs,
and has the best means of working out his own nature
to its perfection. But when this is done from the point
of view of the whole, it :s no longer properly to be de-
scribed as Egoism. It is self-realization, but it is self-
realization for the sake of the whole. In such self-
realization the mere wishes and whims of the private
self have been sacrificed, and we seek to develop our-
selves in the same spirit and for the same ends as those
in which and for which we seek to develop others.
When we live in such a spirit as this, the opposition
between Egoism and Altruism ceases. We seek neither

i CJ. Caird's He&l, pp. 2ICHU&

§§ 6, /.] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 29$

our own good simply nor the good of others simply,
but the good both of ourselves and of others as mem-
bers of a whole. Looking at the matter, therefore,
from this point of view, it might be better to describe
the ultimate end as the realization of a rational uni-
verse, rather than as self-realization.

§ 6. ETHICS A PART OF POLITICS. — We must recognize,
In short, that man is, as Aristotle expressed it, "a po-
litical animal," ' and that Ethics cannot be satisfacto-
rily treated except as a part of Politics — i. e. as a part
of the study of Society. Our duties and our virtues
are at every point dependent on our relations to one
another. This fact was more clearly recognized by
some of the ancient Greek thinkers than it has been
by many in modern times — for, in modern times, partly
on account of the influence of Christianity,* we have
come to think more of the independence of the indi-
vidual It may be well, therefore, to glance for a
moment at the way in which Ethics was regarded by
Plato and Aristotle.

§ 7. PLATO'S VIEW OF ETHICS. — Plato was so strongly
Impressed with the social nature of man, and with
the necessity of studying his life in relation to society,
that, in his study of Ethics, instead of inquiring into
the characteristics of a virtuous life in an individual,
he endeavoured first to determine the characteristics
of a good state. Having found what these are, he
considered that it would be perfectly easy to infer what
are the characteristics of a good man. Accordingly,
the great ethical treatise of Plato is the Republic, in

1-noAm-riwtfor" (Politics, I. il Q).

i Partly also, no doubt, because our wider international relation-
ships have made it impossible for us to regard any one social system
ma a complete and exclusive unity in itsell

296 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. i.

which he gives a sketch of an ideal state. It seemed
to him — in accordance with a classification that was
current among the Greeks — that there were four great
virtues required for the existence of an ideal state, viz.
wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice ; and he
thought that by observing exactly the significance of
these virtues in the ideal state, he was able to see also
what their exact significance must be in the life of the
individual.1

§ 8. ARISTOTLE'S VIEW OF ETHICS. — Aristotle was not
less convinced than Plato of the essentially social
nature of man. He began his great treatise on Ethics
— perhaps the greatest that has ever been written —
with a statement to the effect that Ethics is a part of
Politics ; a and the greater part of his treatise is occupied
with an investigation of the virtues that are required
in a good citizen of a state such as he found in Greece,
and especially in Athens. He did indeed think that
there was a kind of life, what he called the contem-
plative or speculative life (what we might call the life
of science, or the life of the student), which was essen-
tially higher than the life of political activity ; but he

1 For a fuller account of Plato'3 Ethics, see Sidgwick's History of
Ethics, pp. 35-51. Plato's Republic is a book of such interest and
importance that every student ought to find some opportunity of
reading it It has been admirably translated both by Jowettand by
Davies and Vaughan, In connection with this, Dr. Bosanquet's
Companion to Plato's Republic should by all means be used

* In the wide sense in which the term Politics was used by the
Greeks. Perhaps in modern times we should rather say that Ethics
Is a part of Social Philosophy. I have discussed this point in my
Introduction to Social Philosophy, p. 48. On the relation between
Ethics and Politics the student may profitably consult Sidgwick's
Methods of Ethics, Book I., chap. U. See also M airhead's Element*
of Ethics, Book I., chap, iji, § 14,

§§ 9» I0-] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 297

considered that even this higher life must be built up
on a basis of civic virtue. l

§ 9. COSMOPOLITISM. — The best Ethics of the Greeks,
then, was based on the conception of the State, as the
sphere within which the life of the individual is to be
realized. It was only after the best days of the Greek
state were over, when everything was beginning to be
crushed under the iron heel of Rome,* that the Stoics
began to speak of a nohrda. TOO xofffioo, and to think of
the virtuous man (or "the wise man," as they called
him) as one who is bound by no particular social ties,
but lives an independent life of his own. Even the
Stoics, however, recognized that the good man is a
citizen ; but they said that he ought to be "a citizen
of the world," not of any particular community. In
this way his social relations were made so vague that
it almost seemed as if they might be altogether ignored.
There was a great elevation in much of the teaching
of the Stoics ; but its want of any definite recognition
of social relationships made it cold and hard, and some-
what destitute of content. And often it was inflated
with a certain false pride in the independence of the
individual.

§ 10. CHRISTIAN ETHICS. — Christianity may be said to
have gone to some extent in the same direction as
Stoicism. 3 It also was essentially cosmopolitan, and
it also tended to insist on the independent life of the
individual.'* Each one must "work out his own

l See Sidgwiclfs History of Ethics, pp. 51-70.

8 See Caird's Hegel, pp. 204-207, Zeller's Stoics, Epicureans, and
Sceptics, pp. 15-16, and Wallace's Epicureanism, chap, i
« Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 114-117.
• Christianity insisted on the dignity of man as man more strongly

298 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. L

salvation," and must even forsake father and mother,
and all other social relationships, in order to follow
after the ideal life. Christianity represented the ideal
life also as an imitation of a divine personality. Still,
this was only one aspect of Christianity. It was no
less emphatic in its insistence on the doctrine that we
are "members one of another," and that in order to
attain perfection we must recognise our essential unity
both with each other and with God. The fact, how-
ever, that Christianity had to make its way in an
adverse world rendered it necessary at first to insist
somewhat strongly on the need of isolation. Its fol-
lowers had to recognize that they were "not of the
world," in order that they might keep their ideals pure.
But after Christianity had to a great extent conquered
the world, the other side — the social side — began to
come out ; and it is perhaps on that side now that its
significance is greatest Whether we look, therefore,
to ancient or to modern systems of morals, it is not
difficult to see that the recognition of the essentially
social nature of man plays a prominent part in all that
is best in them. This being the case, it will be well
now to abandon the view of the mere individual life
as that which is to be perfected, and to consider rather
what is involved in the perfection of society.

§ 11. THE SOCIAL UNIVERSE. — We must, however, first
bring this point of view into relation to what has been
already said with respect to the universes in which
men habitually live. The life of every man, except an
absolute madman, constitutes a more or less con-

than even Stoicism had done. Stoicism proclaimed the dignity only
of the wise man or philosopher ; whereas Christianity was preached
to "publicans and sinners."

§ II.] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 299

sistent whole. His actions fall within a more w less
ordered scheme or plan. This whole, this plan, this
totality of ends which a man pursues, we have agreed
to describe as the universe within which he lives.
Now this universe is always of a social character.
Even the most original and even the most misanthropic
of men cannot escape from the influence of the social
environment by which they are formed. They inevi-
tably imbibe something of what has been called "the
ethos of their people," the moral point of view adopted
by the race or nation or body of men among whom,
or under the influence of whom, their lives are spent.
This moral atmosphere in which they pass their lives
supplies the main part of that universe within which
their desires find scope. So much is this the case that
a man always, except when in some abnormal state of
mind, thinks of himself, not as an isolated personality,
but as a member of some body. This fact is em-
phasized even by a writer in some respects so indi-
vidualistic as Mill.1 "The social state," he says,3
"is at once so natural, so necessary, and so habitual
to man, that, except in some unusual circumstances or
by an effort of voluntary abstraction he never con-
ceives himself otherwise than as a member of a body ;
and this association is riveted more and more, as man-
kind are further removed from the state of savage
independence. Any condition, therefore, which is es-
sential to a state of society, becomes more and more an

* This element In Mill's teaching is due, as he partly acknowledges
two pages later, to the study of Comte. Cf. his Autobiography, chap.
fv. Mill seems never to have made any serious effort to reconcile
the elements which he derived from Comte with the general tenor
of his philosophy. * Utilitarianism, chap. iiL, pp. 46-7

3oo ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. i.

inseparable part of every person's conception of the
state of things which he is born into, and which is the
destiny of a human being. " For this reason, when we
consider any large society of human beings, bound
together by a common language, a common law, a
common religion, a common interest, we may say in
a broad sense that they all live habitually within the
same universe. They will all be distinguished no
doubt by individual peculiarities ; some of them will
be more and some less affected by the common ties ;
and even from year to year and from day to day the
universe of each will be liable to considerable varia-
tions. Still, speaking broadly, what the Germans call
the Sillen, t. e. the moral habitudes of a man's time
and place, tend to overshadow the peculiarities of his
individual nature, and to have a strong determining
influence on his view of life and on his conception of
his own vocation. The necessity of making himself
intelligible to those around him, the immense advan-
tage of understanding them, and the need of constantly
co-operating with them, would of themselves be suf-
ficient to bring about a certain homogeneity among
the members of a community. And when we add to
this the influences of heredity and education, the force
is overwhelming.

§ 12. SOCIETY AN ORGANISM. — These considerations
may partly enable us to understand an idea which has
become prevalent in recent times among writers of
very diverse schools — the idea, namely, that a society
of human beings is, as we have already indicated, to
be regarded as an organic unity. The meaning of
this is, broadly speaking, that just as we recognize a
common life animating all the members of which a

§ 12.] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 301

living body is composed, so we must acknowledge a
similar unity among the members of a human society.
This idea has sometimes been presented in the form of
an analogy ; i. e. an attempt is made to draw parallels
between the structures of human societies and the
constitutions of animal or vegetable bodies.1 Such
analogies are no doubt occasionally suggestive ; but
on the whole they supply more scope for ingenuity
than for insight. The essential point seems to be that
a human personality is never an isolated phenomenon.
It is even inconceivable apart from certain relations to
other personalities. The positive content of a man's
moral life depends on these relationships : apart from
them it would stagnate and die, very much as a limb
dies when it is cut off from its organic connection with
the body of which it forms a part. The whole of a
man's moral life, all its purposes, all its meaning and
value, receive their tone and colour from the ideals,
the institutions, the moral habits, among which his
life develops. This being so, it is important, in deal-
ing with the moral life, not merely to consider the life
of an individual man, but to have regard to the unity
within which the main part of his life falls.1 That, in

1 This has been done, for instance, by Mr. Herbert Spencer in his
Principles of Sociology, vol. i., part ii. ; and, in a still more elaborate
form, by a German writer, Schaffle, in his Bau und Leben dcs sodalen
Kb'rpers. Mr. Leslie Stephen (Science of Ethics, p. 126) thinks it pre-
ferable to speak of " social tissue " rather than of a " social organism,*
because there is no one abiding unity in which individuals are
combined, as the parts are combined in an animal organism.

2 On the organic nature of society, the student may be referred to
Bradley's Ethical Studies, pp. 145-158, Bosanquet's Philosophical
Theory of the Staff, especially chapters vii. and viii., and Muirhead's
Elements of Ethics, pp. 165-172. I have expressed my own view on
this subject at greater length in my hilrjduction to Social Philosophyt

302 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. L

spite of this unity, the individual has yet in a sense a
private life of his own is a point that we shall have to
consider at a later stage.

§ 13. WHY is THE SOCIAL UNIVERSE TO BE PREFERRED ? —
Now the question naturally presents itself at this point
— Why should the social universe be preferred to the
universe of the individual consciousness ? The answer,
of course, from the point of view that we have now
reached, is that the individual self is in its nature in-
complete, and requires a larger whole for its realization.
Such a larger whole might no doubt conceivably be
found in something beyond and abovehuman society ;
and, if we were inventing a new morality, we might
have to look about for such a larger universe. But
if we accept the point of view of development, we
must accept the only medium within which any actual
process of moral development can be found. If it is
true that the individual has no reality apart from the
social whole, and that it is within that whole that his
development takes place, the devotion to that whole
has all the binding force which belongs to devotion^ to
the Ideal Self. We cannot separate ourselves from the
necessary medium of our evolution, and seek to per-
fect ourselves in vacua. The further discussion of this
question, however, would lead us into a metaphysical
investigation of the nature of the self, its relation to
the social whole within which it develops, and to the
universe in general. Such a discussion would be
necessary for the complete establishment of the validity
of the moral ideal. But it lies beyond the province of

chap. iii. The student of the present handbook will probably under-
stand this conception better after reading some of the following
chapters.

§ 14.] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 3°3

a work which does not profess to enter into meta-
physics. We can only hint a little further, in our con-
cluding chapter, at the nature of the problem- involved.
In the meantime, we must content ourselves with the
effort to bring out the general significance of the social
universe in its bearings on the moral life.

§ 14. RELATION OF CONSCIENCE TO THE SOCIAL UNITY.
The importance of the social environment in the forma
tion of what is commonly known as Conscience, has
been noticed by a number of recent writers. This is
emphasized, for instance, by Mill * in his treatment of
the moral sanctions.* Without endorsing all that has
been said on this subject by him and others, it may at
least be convenient to sum up at this point what has
to be said on the nature of Conscience, and to indicate
its relations to our social universe.

It has been pointed out already that there is a certain
ambiguity — indeed a twofold ambiguity — in the use of
the term " Conscience."3 It is sometimes used to ex-
press the fundamental principles on which the moral
judgment rests : at other times it expresses the principles
adopted by a particular individual : at other times it

1 Utilitarianism, chap. iiL Cf. also Bradley's Ethical Studies, p. 180
Stephen's Science of Ethics, chap. viiL, Clifford's Lectures and Essays
(" On the Scientific Basis of Ethics-"), and Dr. Starcke's article on
* The Conscience " in the International Journal of Ethics, voL il
No. 3 (April, 1892), pp. 342-37Z Hegel, in. his Rechtsphilosophie,
was, I think, the first writer who clearly brought out the social bear-
ing of Conscience. Much of what Hegel says on this point will be
found reproduced, in an excellent form, in Dewey's Outlines of Ethics
pp. 182-190,

8 On the meaning of the moral sanctions, see the Note at the end of
chap. vi.

• See above, Book I, chap. VI. Cf. also Hegel's Philosophy a)
Right, §§ 136-139.

304 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. I.

means "a particular kind of pleasure and pain felt in
perceiving our own conformity or non-conformity to
principle." f The last seems to me to be the most con-
venient acceptation of the term,* except that I should
prefer to say simply that it is a feeling of pain accom-
panying and resulting from our non-conformity to
principle, s This sense of the term is evidently closely
connected with the second sense ; for the principles in
connection with which an individual feels pain are of
course the principles recognized by him. Nevertheless,
the first sense also is not entirely excluded : for even if
an individual is not clearly conscious of the deeper
principles of reason on which the final moral judgment
depends, he will yet often feel a vague uneasiness
when he goes against them. It is difficult to believe,
for instance, that St. Paul's conscience was entirely
at rest in the midst of his persecuting zeal, even if he
did think that he was ' ' doing God service. " However,
in general no doubt the pain of Conscience accom-
panies only the violation of clearly recognized duty.

1 Starcke, loc. cit, p. 348.

* Chiefly because it gives the most definite meaning. When wo
go beyond this, we land ourselves in almost hopeless ambiguities.

• The element of mystery so often thought to attach to Conscience
is, I think, largely due to the fact that it is often not accompanied by .
any direct perception of " conformity or non-conformity to principle."
A man has often simply an uneasy feeling of having gone wrong,
without being able to say precisely what principle he has violated.
Further, I am doubtful whether it is correct to speak of a pleasure of
Conscience. Conformity to moral principle is the normal state ; and
this may be regarded as the neutral point Any violation of princi-
ple, on the other hand, brings pain. The performance of duty
leaves a man still in the position of an "unprofitable servant*
44 Spiritual pride," of course, is accompanied by a certain pleasure •,
but should this be described as a pleasure of Conscience ? I think
Carlyle was right on this point t "To say that we have a clear con*

§ I4-] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 305

Now we have seen that the principles of duty which
an individual recognizes are largely determined by the
social universe which he inhabits. Hence his con-
science also must be largely determined by this.'
A man's conscience, we may say broadly, attaches
itself to that system of things which he regards as
highest. There is, indeed, a certain feeling of pain,
analogous to that of Conscience, in connection with
every universe in which a man lives, whether he
regards it as the highest or not. Thus, there is a feel-
ing of pain or shame a accompanying the violation of
rules of etiquette or good taste, or even accompanying
the consciousness of any physical defect or awkward-
science is to utter a solecism ; had we never sinned, we should
have had no conscience." See his Essay on "Characteristics."
Of course, there is a certain gratification accompanying the fulfil-
ment of unaccustomed duties. If a man gets drunk only twice in
the course of the week, instead of three times as usual, or if he tells
the truth when there was a strong temptation to lie, he may feel
pleased in reviewing his action. But there does not appear to be the
same spontaneity and immediacy in this feeling as there is in the
case of the corresponding pain ; nor is its character so purely moral
It is more akin to the pleasure of solving a difficult problem. I sus-
pect that, just as there is no pleasure of the teeth, corresponding to
toothache ; so there is, strictly speaking, no pleasure of the con-
science, corresponding to its characteristic pain.

1 Hence Clifford's idea of a " tribal self "—a sell which belongs to
a man's tribe or society, and to which his mere individual self is
subordinate. Clifford says, as we have seen, that a man's conscience
is " the voice of his tribal self." The pain of his conscience is equiv-
alent to his saying to himself, " In the name of my tribe, I bate my-
self for this treason which I have done." See above, Book I,
chap. V., and cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 157-9.

* The Greek word «u««*, usually translated M shame," seems to b«
very nearly equivalent to what we understand by Conscience, at
^ast in one of its aspects. Cf. Stephen's Science of Ethics, p. 33^
and Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. il, pp. 265-61

Eth. so

3°6 ETHICS. LBK. III., CH. L

ness, even if we are aware, not only that the universe
within which these things lie is not of supreme impor-
tance, but even that it does not lie within the power
of our will to avoid such deficiencies. Such a feeling
might be called a ^wasz'-Conscience. ' On reflection we
perceive either that we are not responsible for such
shortcomings, or that they are not of serious moral
importance ; but the feeling at the moment is scarcely
distinguishable from that of Conscience proper. Some-
times such a feeling may even conflict with Conscience.
Thus, the performance of duty may involve a violation
of etiquette ; so that, in whichever way we act, we are
bound to have the pain either of Conscience or of quasi-
Conscience. Again, Conscience sometimes attaches
itself to a universe which has been transcended.
When we have recently passed from one universe to
another, Conscience will generally be found to have
lagged a little behind, and to attach itself to the older
universe rather than to the newer one. "Feeling," as
Mr. Muirhead says, * "is the conservative element in
human life." It does not attach itself to a new

1 An excellent illustration of this is given by Mr. Muirhead (Ele~
ments of Ethics, p. 77) in an extract from Prof. Royce's Religious
Aspect of Philosophy (pp. 53-4) : " You ride, using another man's
season ticket, or you tell a white lie, or speak an unkind word, and
conscience, if a little used to such things, never winces. But you
bow to the wrong man in the street, or you mispronounce a word,
or you tip over a glass of water, and then you agonize about your
shortcoming all day long ; yes, from time to time for weeks. Such
an impartial judge is the feeling of what you ought to have done.'
For similar illustrations, see Stephen's Science of Ethics, p. 323, and
Spencer's Principles oj Ethics, p. 337.

a Elements of Ethics, p. 80. Cf. the saying of Mr. Jacobs, quoted
by Miss Wedgwood (The Moral Ideal, p. 233), "The thoughts of one
generation form the feelings of its successor."

§ I4-] THE SOCIAL UNITY. 30/

universe, until we have thoroughly lived into it and
made ourselves at home in it ; nor does it sever itself
from an old universe, until we have thoroughly broken
off our connection with it. Hence a man will often
feel a pain of Conscience, or guasi-Conscience, in doing
an action which his reason has taught him to regard as
perfectly allowable ' or even as a positive duty ; while,
on the other hand, he will often be able to violate
a recently discovered obligation without feeling any
pain.2 In general, however, the pains of Conscience
attend any inconsistency with the principles which we
recognize as highest ; and these, in general, are the
principles recognized as binding within the social
universe in which we habitually live.3

With these remarks, we may pass on to the more
detailed consideration of social ethics — i. e. to the con-
sideration of the moral order within which the life of

1 " The contradiction between reason and feeling which some of
us will recollect, when first we permitted ourselves to take a row or
attend a concert on Sunday, is a good example from contemporary
life " (Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 80).

2 Hence, partly, the frequency of "back-sliding" in converts to
new principles. Conscience does not respond to their shortcom-
ings with sufficient readiness. It may be noted here also that it is
often possible to stifle Conscience by transferring ourselves from
one universe to another. Thus, a man may perform, under the in-
fluence of fanatical zeal, acts of cruelty from which, in his normal
state, he would shrink in horror. He stifles Conscience by escaping
from the universe in which such acts are condemned into one in
which they are rather approved. A good illustration of this is
given by Macaulay in his account of the state of mind of the Master
of Stair in sanctioning the massacre of Glencoe (History of England,
chap, xviii.).

' For general discussion of the subject of Conscience, see Porter's
Elements of Moral Science, Part I., chap, xvi., Dewey's Outlines of
Ethics, pp. 182-206, and Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 73-84 and
208-242

308 ETHICS. [BK. m., CH. i.

the individual is spent, and of the relation of the indi-
vidual life to that moral order. Of course this can be
done, in such a work as this, only in the most sketchy
fashion. But some remarks on the ethical significance
of the recognized moral institutions, duties and virtues,
may be found helpful

$ I.] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 309

CHAPTER IL

MORAL INSTITUTIONS.

§ 1. THE SOCIAL IMPERATIVE. — We have seen to some
extent what the nature of the " ought" is. It is, as
we may say, the law imposed by our ideal self upon
our actual self. Since, however, the ideal self is the
rational self, and since the rational self is not realized
in isolation, but in a society of human beings, it
follows that this "ought" is imposed on societies as
well as on individuals. As Mr. Herbert Spencer says,1
"we must consider the ideal man as existing in the
ideal social state"; and in considering such an ideal
we pass a criticism not only on existing men, but on
existing social states. Not only can we say that an
individual ought 'to act in such and such a way, but we
can also say that a society ought to have such and such
a constitution.* In so far as an individual acts as he
ought to act, we say that his conduct is right, and that
he is a good, upright, or moral man. In so far as a
society is constituted as it ought to be, we say that it is
a well-ordered society, and that its constitution is just
In each case we compare actually existing men or
states with the ideal of a rational man and a rationally

1 Data of Ethics, chap. xvL, § 106.

*It may be asked, Cn whom is this "ought" imposed? The
answer is, on the society as a whole, and more particularly on its
politicians and other " active citizens."

310 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IL

constituted state. The latter of these we must now
briefly consider.1

§2. JUSTICE. — "Blessed," it is said, "are they that
hunger and thirst after justice. " * But perhaps it is more
easy to hunger and thirst after it than to define pre-
cisely what it means. Here, at any rate, we can only
indicate its nature in the vaguest and most general
way. For a fuller treatment reference must be made
to works on Politics.

A just arrangement of society may be briefly defined
as one in which the ideal life of all its members is
promoted as efficiently as possible. The constitution
of a society is, therefore, unjust when large classes in
it are so enslaved by others as to be unable to develop
their own lives. It is unjust, for instance, when there
is any class in it so poor, or so hard-worked, or so
dependent on others, as to be unable to cultivate their
faculties and make progress towards the perfection of

1 A complete discussion of this subject belongs rather to Politics
or Social Philosophy than to Ethics. But it seems necessary to
consider it here, in so far as it can be dealt with from a purely
ethical point of view. Some of the points dealt with here are some-
what more fully discussed in my Introduction to Social Philosophy,
chaps, v. and vL English writers on Ethics have, as a rule, not given
much attention to the subjects referred to in this chapter. Reference
may, however, be made to Stephen's Science of Ethics, chap. Hi.,
Porter's Elements of Moral Science, Part II., chaps, xiil— xvl, Rick-
aby's Moral Philosophy, and Clark Murray's Introduction to Ethics,
Book II., Part II., chap. i. For fuller treatment the student must
consult such works as those of Hoffding and Paulsen. Some of the
points are also referred to by Prof. Gizycki, whose work has been
adapted for the use of English readers by Dr. Stanton Coit Hegel's
Philosophic dcs Rechts must, however, still be regarded as the model
for the treatment of this whole subject It has recently beer, trans-
lated into English by Professor Dyde.

2 The Greek word S<.K<U<XTUVT\, translated " righteousness," maj
equally well be rendered by "justice."

§3-] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. $11

their nature.1 It is unjust when the idle are protected
and set in power, and the laborious are crushed down
and degraded.

To free society from such arrangements as these has
been one of the chief efforts, perhaps the chief effort, of
the wise and good in all ages ; and there are certainly
few things to which a student of Applied Ethics should
give more attention than the methods by which this
has been and may still be done. The subject is, how-
ever, much too complicated for such an elementary
treatise as this, or indeed for any treatise ; and all that
we can here do is to indicate some of the main points
that have to be attended to in constructing a just order
of society.*

§ 3. LAW AND PUBLIC OPINION. — The first thing to be
observed is that a just arrangement of society can be
only to a certain extent enforced. The saying has
often been quoted —

" How small of all that human hearts endure
That part which kings or laws can cause or core ! "

And it is partly true, if it be taken to apply simply to
that which can be directly and immediately accom-
plished by positive laws. Laws are inefficient when a

1 In a just social state, every human being must be treated as an
absolute end. It follows from this, however, that no one can be
treated as the absolute end: otherwise every one else would be
treated only as a means with reference to this one. Hence every
one must be treated at once as means and as end.

* The accounts of Justice given by Plato and Aristotle (Republic
and Ethics) have never been surpassed. For more modern discus-
sions, the student may be referred to Mill's Utilitarianism, chap, v.,
Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book III., chap, v., and Principles oj
Political Economy, Book III., chaps. vi.and viL.and Stephen's Science
»f Ethics, chap, v., §§ 35-39, See the Note at the end of this chapter.

312 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. II.

people is by nature lawless ; and when a people has
become orderly or wise, laws may often be allowed to
sink into abeyance. The conditions of life are con-
tinually changing, and positive laws which were
beneficial at one time begin gradually to have a perni-
cious effect. It is, consequently, in many departments
of life of far more importance to try to develop good
habits of action and of opinion in a people than to
furnish it with hard and fast positive enactments.1
Nevertheless, the sphere of positive law is a great one.
Public opinion grows very slowly, and there are always
considerable bodies in a community who are unaffected
by it, unless it takes the form of definite laws, with
punishments attached. Sometimes, after such laws
have fulfilled their purpose, it becomes desirable to
repeal them. St. Paul said of the Jewish law that
it was "a schoolmaster to lead men to Christ"; mean-
ing that as soon as men grasped the true meaning of
the moral ideal they could dispense with the narrow
injunctions of the law, which, nevertheless, were
necessary as a preparation. So it is with nearly all
laws. They are too rigid and formal for human beings,
as soon as they attain to true freedom ; but they are
necessary at first as a check upon licentiousness.
What men do at first from fear, they learn by and by
to do from habit, and afterwards from conscious will.
Law comes first, then habit, then virtue.'

i This seems to express the element of truth in much of what is
said by Mr. H. Spencer in his famous, but extremely one-sided book,
The Man versus the State. Some aspects of the same point are
brought out, in a more guarded way, in Aspects of the Social Problem,
edited by Dr. Bosanquet

* Mr.Muirhead quotes (Elements of Ethics, p. 93, note), a story about
Connop ThirlwalL " who on one occasion became involved in a

§4-] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 313

§ 4. RIGHTS AND OBLIGATIONS. — The forces of law and
of public opinion are mainly concerned with the estab-
lishment of men's rights and obligations. These terms
are strictly correlative. Every right brings an obliga-
tion with it ; and that not merely in the obvious sense
that when one man has a right other men are under an
obligation to respect it, but also in the more subtle
sense that when a man has a right he is thereby laid
under an obligation to employ it for the general good.
This fact is concealed from many men's minds through
a certain confusion between legal and moral obliga-
tion. It is generally convenient to enforce the ob-
servance of rights by positive laws ; whereas it is
not generally convenient to enforce the corresponding
obligation. Hence it comes to be thought that there is
no obligation at all. For instance, it is convenient to pro-
tect property ; whereas it would be very troublesome
and dangerous to try to compel men to use their pro-
perty wisely — and indeed any such attempt, beyond
certain narrow limits, is almost bound to defeat its own
ends. Hence it comes to be said that a man " may
do what he likes with his own." Legally, he may;
but morally, he is under the obligation to use his own
for the general good, just as strictly as if it were an-
other's. A man's rights, in fact, are nothing more than
those things which, for the sake of the general good, it
is convenient that he should be allowed to possess.

discussion with the late Dr. Christopher Wordsworth, Bishop of
Lincoln, when the latter was residing at Trinity College, about the
retention of enforced attendance at chapel. ' It is a choice,' said the
Bishop, between compulsory religion and no religion at all' 'The
distinction," replied Thirlwall, ' is too subtle for my mental grasp.
The same might be said of compulsory morality • it is eqoivalc*

ETHICS. [BK. IIL, en. IL

And since it is for the sake of the general good that he
possesses them, he is bound to use them for that end.
By himself, a man has no right to anything whatever.
He is a part of a social whole ; and he has a right only
to that which it is for the good of the whole that he
should have. Let us consider very briefly the nature
of some of the more important of these rights.

§ 5. THE RIGHTS OF MAN. (a) Life.— The first of
human rights is the right to live. This right follows at
once from the fact that the moral end is a personal one
— a form of self-realization. If the end which men
sought were some impersonal object, life might reason-
ably be sacrificed to that. And, indeed, as the self to
be realized is the social self, the individual will some-
times be justified in sacrificing his life for the sake of
his society. But such cases are exceptional. As a
rule, the human good requires the continuance of life
for its realization. Hence it is important that the
sacredness of life should be recognized. In some prim-
itive forms of society even this fundamental right is
not acknowledged. Children are frequently exposed,
and captives in war are put to death without hesita-
tion. And even in partly civilized communities the
sacredness of life is sometimes very lightly treated —
e. g. where the practice of duelling is permitted. In-
deed if the value of life were fully appreciated, there
can be little doubt that even war would soon be abo-
lished among civilized nations. At present, however,

to no morality at all." This is of course true ; yet compulsory
morality may form an education towards true morality. This would
also have been at least a partial answer to Thirlwall. Cf. Hoff-
ding's Outlines of Psychology, p. 76. Mr. Muirhead notices the quali-
fication at a later stage, pp. 179-1801

§5-] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 315

it remains a true maxim, St vis pacem para bellum.
Again, it must be observed that the right of life cannot
be said to be really secured to all the citizens of a com-
munity unless the means of obtaining a livelihood are
secured. The right to live thus seems to involve the
right to labour. '

The right of life, like all rights, brings an obligation
with it — viz. the obligation of treating life, both one's
own and that of others, as a sacred thing. He who
violates this obligation — e. g. by murder — forfeits
the right of life, and may legitimately be deprived
of it

(ft) Freedom. — The next right is that of freedom.
The necessity of this rests mainly on the fact that the
moral ideal has to be realized by the individual will.
Hence the individual, in order to realize his supreme
end, must be free to exercise his will. The recognition
of this right usually comes much later than that of life.*
Slavery existed long after the stage at which prisoners

1 This point was emphasized by Louis Blanc and some other
socialistic writers. The question how far, and by what means, such
a right is to be secured, must be left to writers on Politics and Eco-
nomics, who again must probably hand it over in the end to the prac-
tical good sense of mankind.

* Hegel remarked (Philosophy of History, Introduction) that the
Oriental nations recognized only that one is free— t. e. the Despot :
the Greeks, on the other hand, recognized that some are free — viz.
the Greek citizens themselves — while Barbarians were thought to
be naturally fitted for slavery : while it has been reserved for modern
times, under the influence of Christianity, to demand that all shall
be free. This demand has been especially prominent since the time
of the Reformation. Sometimes it Is even pushed to an extreme —
e. g. by Rousseau and by the Economists of the laissezfaire school.
For extreme views in recent times, see A Plea for Liberty and Spen-
cer's The Man versus the State ; and for a criticism of these view%
tee Ritchie's Principles of State Interference.

316 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. IL

of war were put to death ; and even now, after the
abolition of slavery, the conditions of contract with
regard to labour and to property are often of such a
kind as seriously to interfere with men's liberty in the
conduct of their lives. Of course freedom in any ab-
solute sense is not possible, and ought not to be aimed
at. It can never be permissible in any well-ordered
community that its members should do as they please.
The right which it is desirable to secure is the right of
having the free development of one's life as little inter-
fered with as is possible, consistently with the main-
tenance of social order.

The right of freedom brings with it the obligation of
using one's freedom for the attainment of rational ends.
Milton rightly said of liberty, " who love that must
first be wise and good."1 It is only on this assump-
tion that liberty can be granted in a well-ordered state.
Hence the slowness in the acquisition of freedom is
not without justification. Freedom is not a com-
modity that can be bought or given : it must be
earned.

(c) Property. — The right of property may almost be
regarded as part of the right of freedom. Nearly all
the ends at which a man can aim require instruments ;
and if a man has not the right to use these instru-
ments, his liberty of pursuing the ends is practically
rendered void. Since, however, instruments — espe-
cially such instruments as the soil of a country — are
limited in amount, it becomes a difficult question to

1 Cf. also what Milton says on this point in his Tenure of Kings and
Magistrates, § i : **Non3 can love freedom heartily, but good men:
the rest love not freedom, but licence ; which never hath mere scope
or more indulgence than under tyrants."

§ 5.] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 317

decide how the use of them is to be apportioned among
the members of a community. If their use is reserved
for a. few, the great majority of the citizens are to a
certain extent deprived of their liberty. The discus-
sion of this question, however, must be left to writers
on Politics. From a purely ethical point of view, we
can only insist on the importance of the right of pro-
perty, as a means of securing the possibility of a free
development of life.

The right of property involves the obligation to use
it wisely for the general good. In communities where
the fulfilment of this obligation cannot in the main be
relied on, the right of property cannot be granted. In
primitive communities there is practically no such
right. Everything is possessed in common. It is only
as men become civilized and educated that they begin
to be capable of being entrusted with property ; and
even then it is usually necessary that the right should
be carefully guarded against misuse. * Some writers
(e. g. Plato) have thought that in an ideal state there
ought to be a community of goods, and no right of
private property. » But this appears to be a mistake,

1 Strictly speaking, from a purely ethical point of view, it may b«
Baid that a man has no right to any kind of property except that
which he has made an essential part of his own being. Hence a
German writer, G. Simmel, says pointedly, " Ich habe wirklich nur
das was ich bin * (" Strictly speaking I possess nothing but what I
am ") (Einleitung in die Moralwisscnschaft, p. 172). But of course it
would be impossible to observe this principle in practical politics.
This does not, however, make it any the less important to take
account of it

« See his Republic, Books IV. and V. The precise extent to which
Plato intended to carry out the principle of community is not
altogether clear. For a recent advocacy of communism, see If orris's
Ntwtfivm Now tor*.

3 1 8 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. n.

Aristotle was probably right in thinking ' rather that in
an ideal state every one should have the free use of the
necessary instruments,* but should be taught to use
them for the common good.

(d) Contract. — Another important right is the right to
the fulfilment of contracts. If one man engages to
render certain services to another, the second has the
right to receive these services. In primitive societies
there is scarcely any such thing as contract. The rela-
tions of men to one another are fixed almost from their
birth, and are altered only by force.3 Hence it has
been said* that societies develop "from status to con-
tract"

The right of contract involves the obligation to enter
into no contracts except those that can be reasonably
fulfilled. A man is not at liberty, for instance, to con-
tract himself into slavery, s Nor is anyone entitled,
even if he were able, to enter into such a contract as
that of Faust with Mephistopheles. Hence the right
of contract, like that of property, is possible only in a

i Politics, II., v.

* Whether land, and other forms of property that are not capable
of being indefinitely multiplied, can be dealt with on the same prin-
ciple, is a much more difficult question.

8 On the other hand, in modern times, contract has become so
common a method of entering into relationship, that some writers
have been tempted to think that all relationships are founded on
such engagements. The State, for instance, was said to rest on a
"social contract" Hobbes and Rousseau were the chief upholders
of this view. An eloquent attack was made on it by Burke in his
Reflections on the Revolution in France. See Muirhead's Elements oj
Ethics, p. 177, note. There is a good criticism in Hume's Essays
(" Of the Original Contract "). * Maine's Ancient Law, chap. v.

' Hence the fallacy of Carlyle's view, that slavery consists simply
in hiring a man's services for life. See his Latter-Day Pamphlets. A
man has no right to contract away his own freedom.

§6.] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 319

highly-developed community, and even then requires
considerable safeguards. •

(e) Education. — The last right which it seems neces-
sary to notice here, is the right of education. In this
case the right and obligation are so closely united that
it is scarcely possible to distinguish them. Every one,
we may say, has both tne right and the obligation of
being educated according to his capacity ; since educa-
tion is necessary for the realization of the rational self.
This is a right which has been but tarcuiy recognized
even in some highly-civilized countries ; and even now
in many of them the highest kinds of education are
practically Inaccessible to the mass of the people. But
it is clear that in a well-ordered state every one ought
to have the means of developing his faculties to the
best advantage.

§ 6. ULTIMATE MEANING OF RIGHTS AND OBLIGATIONS. —
A little reflection may convince us that the ultimate
significance of rights and obligations is simply this.
We have a right to the means that are necessary for
the development of our lives in the direction that is
best for the highest good of the community of which
we are members ; and we are under the obligation to
use the means in the best way for the attainment of
this end."

1 Men who are in a disadvantageous position (owing to poverty,
lor instance) are apt to be induced to form contracts on unfair con.
Ji tions. It is desirable that they should be. as far as possible, guarded
against this

* Of course I refer here to rights anc» obligations in the ethical
sense. To what extent, and by what means, these rights and obliga-
tions are to be acknowledged and enforced in actual states, are
questions for the political philosopher. On these subjects reference
may be made to Sidgwick's Elements oj Politics, especially chaps, iii,
—vi, and chap. x.

320 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. n.

§ 7. SOCIAL INSTITUTIONS. — There are various ways
in which men group themselves together in a society ;
and the relations in which they are thus brought to
one another are often of so much ethical significance
that it is desirable to notic. briefly some of the more
important of them,

(a) TTie Family. — The faOlily is based on natural
affection. Its chief objects are to provide adequate
protection and care for the helplessness of childhood,
and at the Same time to provide an adequate sphere
for the highest forms of friendship and love. It is
thought that as a rule the former object can be better
secured by the affection of the parents than it could be
by any state arrangements ; * and that the latter object
is best fulfilled within a narrow circle.2 The control
of parents, however, requires to be in many ways
limited. Thus it seems necessary to enforce the proper
education of children, and to prevent them from being
employed in unsuitable work at too early an age.
The relation of husband and wife in the family is pro-
perly one of equality; but where this n not secured
by mutual affection, it seems impossible for any state
regulations to prevent the subordination of one to the
Other, without an intolerable interference with indi-

* Plato, however, thought otherwise. See his Republic, Book V.

• Among the Greeks, in the classical age, the highest forms of
friendship were practically always between men. The low position
Of women prevented them from sharing in the higher life of the
citizen. Greek views of the family life are almost entirely vitiated
by this fact ; just as their vie >' f industrial life are vitiated by their
Acceptance of slavery and by t eirc ntempt for all forms of manual
labour except agriculture. On the Family, see Hegel's Philosophy
of Right; also Rickabys Moral Philosophy, Part II., chap, vi, and
Devas's Studies of Family Life. Aristotle's treatment of the subject
IB ttw fint two Book* of the Politics is still highly suggestive,

§7-] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 321

vidual liberty. This is, therefore, a matter on which
it is important to develop a strong public opinion. A
good deal, however, can be done by law in removing
disabilities which stand in the way of the recognition
of perfect equality. '

(b) The Workshop. — Industrial relations are strongly
contrasted with those of the family. They are not
based on mutual affection but on contract ; and they
are not relations of equality but of subordination. No
doubt, in the family also there is the subordination of
children to their parents ; but this is the subordination
of the undeveloped to the developed, of the helpless to
their natural protectors ; whereas in the industrial life
the subordination which exists is not with a view
to the protection or development of those who are
subordinated, but simply with a view to external ends.
In these circumstances it is important to make such re-
gulations as will secure fairness of contract, and prevent
subordination from becoming slavery. It has some-
times been made a matter of regret that, as civilization
advances, the relations of men in industrial life depart
more and more from the type of the family. Formerly
the relation between master and apprentice was almost

1 Mr. Leslie Stephen has objected (Science of Ethics, chap, Hi, §§
36-39) to the common practice of classing the family along with
other forms of social organization, on the ground that it rests on
physiological necessities, and that it is rather a basis than a result
of political unity. For a student of sociology or politics this con-
tention would, I think, have some force. The ethical significance of
the family, however, does not appear to me to be affected by it
Besides, the existence of the family, in any developed sense of the
term, seems to require some kind of legal or gwasi-legal sanctions,
enforcing acknowledged rights of marriage, whether in the form of
polyandry, polygamy, or monogamy. It thus presupposes social
organization, and varies with the growth of that organization.
Eth n

322 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. ii

of a paternal character ; whereas now, as Carlyle used
to say, f there is nothing but the "cash nexus." But
it is doubtful whether this ought to be made a matter
for regret. A paternal relationship easily passes into
tyranny when there is no basis of natural affection. It
is probably best that business relationships should be
made a matter of pure contract This may to some
slight extent interfere with the development of relations
of mutual kindness and loyalty ; but there can be little
doubt that to a much greater extent it helps to prevent
injustice. The feelings of kindness are more likely to
arise in men as neighbours and fellow-citizens than as
masters and servants ; 2 and the practical offices of help
can probably be better undertaken by society as a
whole than by particular employers.

At the same time it cannot be doubted that anything
that can be done to make the relation of subordination
less harsh is in the highest degree desirable. For this
reason all forms of co-operation that are practicable
ought to be earnestly promoted. The question, What
kinds of industry ought to be encouraged or discour-
aged ? is also largely an ethical question ; though the
methods by which industries may advantageously be
promoted or impeded, must be left to be discussed by
economists and political philosophers. Under modern
conditions of industrial life, industries are promoted or
retarded chiefly3 by changes in the demand for the
objects produced by them ; and these again are brought

1 See his Past and Present; and cf. below, pp. 346, 4KX

•At least in the former relationship they are more likely to

become widely diffused : perhaps when they do arise in the latter

relationship, they are apt to be more intense.
• Setting aside changes in natural conditions, and changes pro-

§ 7-] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 323

about mainly by changes in men's tastes, fashions,
and habits of life. Now in so far as the objects brought
into demand by such changes are necessary for the
preservation or maintenance or advancement of human
life, and in so far as the industries by which they are
produced are not injurious to human life, there can be
no question about their moral justification. The ethical
question, therefore, arises chiefly with regard to the
use of what are called luxuries, and to the use of
objects which can be produced only by means of
dangerous or deleterious processes. And the question
which thus arises can be answered only by balancing
the advantages which such objects bring towards the
advancement of the supreme end of life against the loss
occasioned by their injurious effects. *

(c) The Civic Community. — If men's business relations
are to be purely a matter of contract, it is necessary
that the community as a whole should undertake those
more paternal functions which cannot conveniently
be left to the care of individuals. Thk is partly the
business of the central government; b i to a great
extent it can be more conveniently man ged by each
district for itself. The care which has to be exercised
over the citizens consists in such matters as the pro-
vision of sanitary arrangements (including baths, and

duced by new discoveries and inventions, with which Ethics is
only very indirectly concerned (since the question, how far men
should be allowed to make and utilize new discoveries can scarcely
at the present time be regarded as a practical one).

1 There have been several interesting discussions of Luxury in re-
cent times. See, for instance, Bosanquet's Civilization of Christen'
dom, MacCunn's Ethics of Citizenship, L. Stephen's Social flights and
Duties, Smart's Studies in Economics, and the article by iVofessoc
Sidgwick in the International Journal of Ethics^ VoL V. no. i

324 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. n,

the like), the means of education (including well-
furnished public libraries), the enforcement of pre-
cautions against accidents, the prevention of adultera-
tion of foods and other forms of deception, and the
securing of the means of livelihood to those who are
incapacitated for labour. The discussion of the details
of such provisions, and of the question whether they
can be best managed by a central authority or by local
administrations, must be left to writers on Politics.

(d) The Church, — The paternal care of the citizens,
however, cannot be fully provided by any form of civic
machinery. There must always be a certain hardness
in all such machinery, which must be managed on
a basis of law and not of affection. Hence it is
necessary that it should be supplemented by more per-
sonal relations among the citizens. A centre for such
personal relationships is furnished by the Church,
whose function it is to secure the carrying out of the
highest moral ideal in human relationships. It is
greatly to be regretted that differences of religious
opinion prevent the Church from being so efficient
in this way as it might otherwise be. There can be
little doubt that in the Middle Ages, under the sway of
Catholicism, its work was more efficiently done — if it
Is in reality possible to compare the action of institu-
tions under very different conditions of social life.
Perhaps it may be found necessary to supplement the
work of the Churches by unsectarian ethical institutions.
But the discussion of this question would not be suitable
for an elementary text-book ; * and indeed it could

\ It is, however, discussed at considerable length by Prof. Gizydd
in hia Introduction to the Study oj Ethics (Dr. Colt's adaptation), chap
fc

MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 32$

scarcely be satisfactorily answered without introducing
considerations that are not of a purely ethical char-
acter. The same remark applies to the discussion of
the important question of the right relation of the
Churches to the State.

(e) The State. — The State is the supreme controller
of all social relationships. It makes laws and sees that
they are enforced. It also carries on various kinds of
work that cannot conveniently be left to private en-
terprise. It undertakes, for instance, the provision of
the means of national defence, the conveyance of
letters, and in some countries the conducting of rail-
ways. The extent to which it is desirable that such
work should be undertaken by the State, cannot be
discussed in an ethical treatise. But it is important to
insist that any one who seeks to answer this question,
must answer it by a consideration of the degree to
which such action tends to promote the highest life of
the citizens of the State.

(/) Friendship. These are some of the leading
forms of social unity, but the relationships between
human beings, through which the moral life is devel-
oped, are not exhausted by these. Such a relationship
as that of individual friendship has also to be noted.
This was a form of unity to which the ancient Greek
writers on Ethics gave special attention, and, in par-
ticular, it rose into the highest degree of prominence in
the speculations of the Epicureans, with whom it may
almost be said to have taken the place of the State. In
modern times the expansion of man's social universe
through books, travel, &c. , may have somewhat dimin-
ished the significance of these closer personal ties ; but
it still remains true that in a friend a man may find ao

ETHICS. [3K. III., CH. IL

alter ego through whom the universe of his personality is
enlarged in a more perfect way than is possible by any
other form of relationship, especially in cases of ideal
friendship like that of Tennyson and Hallam, when it
can be said, "He was rich where I was poor." This
also, however, is a form of relationship to which we
can do nothing more than allude. *

§ 8. SOCIAI- PROGRESS.— -All the institutions to which
reference has now been made, are continually under-
going changes, which are rendered necessary by the
progressive civilization of mankind. In carrying out
such changes it is important to see that they are not
made with a view to merely temporary advantages,
and that the advantages which they secure are not
bought with any loss of human efficiency. The ulti-
mate standard by which all progress must be tested is
the realization of the rational self. Material and social
progress is valuable only in so far as it is a means
to this. The nature of this progress will be somewhat
more fully considered in a succeeding chapter.

§ 9. INDIVIDUALISM AND SOCIALISM. — In recent times
discussions with regard to social progress have ap-
peared chiefly in the form of the question, whether we
ought to move in an individualistic or in a socialistic
direction. Individualists think that it is chiefly impor-
tant to secure, as far as possible, the freedom of action
of the individual citizens. Socialists, on the other
hand, think that what is chiefly desirable is to regulate
the actions of individuals so as to secure the good of
all. It does not appear, however, that there is any

i The discussion of Friendship in Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics
Is perhaps still the best that we have. See also MacCunns Ethics
9j Citizenship, IL

§ 9-] MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 327

real opposition between the principles of Individualism
and of Socialism. ' The good of all can certainly not
be secured if the nature of each is cramped and under-
fed; nor can freedom be allowed to each except on the
assumption that that freedom will on the whole be used
for the good of all. The question that ought to be
asked is — In what directions is it desirable to give men
more freedom, and in what directions is it desirable
that their actions should be more controlled? It is a
question of detail, and it must be answered differently
at different stages of human development. Perhaps at
the present time it is chiefly in the socialistic direction
that advance is demanded. But the reason is simply
that in recent generations the individualistic side has
been too strongly insisted on. This again is mainly
due to the fact that in recent times the main social
advance has consisted in the emancipation of highly-
skilled labour from cumbersome restraints. The pro-
blem of the next age is rather that of providing a truly
human life for those who are less skilled and capable,
and who are consequently less able to look after their
own interests. The former advance could be made by
individualistic methods : the latter seems to demand a
certain degree of Socialism. a But here again we can
do no more than indicate, quite generally and roughly,
the nature of the problem involved.

1 From the point of view of Ethics, we may say that both Indi-
vidualism and Socialism supply us with economic commandments.
The commandment of Individualism is— Thou shalt not pauperize ;
or Every one must be allowed to work out his own salvation. The
commandment of Socialism is— Thou shalt not exploit, or No one
must be used as a mere means to any one else's salvation.

•This subject is treated with considerable ful ness by Prof. Paulsen
In his System dcr Ethik, voL ii. Book IV. iii., 3. On the general sub-

328 ETHICS. [BK. m., CH. n.

Jecl of Socialism as a question of practical politics, the student ma;
consult Sidgwick's Principles of Political Economy, Book III., chaps.
U — vii, and Elements of Politics, chap. x. See also his Methods oj
Ethics, Book III., chap. v. Reference may also be made to Mon-
tague's Limits of Individual Liberty, Ritchie's Principles of State Inter-
ference, Schaffle's Quintessence of Socialism, Conner's Socialist State,
Kirkup's Inquiry into Socialism, Rae's Contemporary Socialism,
Graham's Socialism New and Old, Rickaby's Moral Philosophy, Gil-
man's Socialism and the American Spirit, McKechnie's The State and
the Individual, Donisthorpe's Individualism, &c. A singularly
searching examination of the ideas underlying Individualism and
Socialism has lately appeared in Mr. Bosanquet's Civilization of
Christendom. The recent discussions in the International Journal
oj Ethics, Vols. VI. and VII. are also valuable.

MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 329

NOTE ON JUSTICE.

Anything like a complete discussion of the difficult conception of
Justice would evidently be quite beyond the scope of such a text,
book as this. But a few remarks seem to be called for.

Much confusion has arisen in the treatment of this subject from a
failure to observe an ambiguity in the term which was well known
even to Plato and Aristotle, but which some modern writers seem to
have forgotten. The term "Justice* is used in two distinct senses.
We speak of a "just man,* and we speak of a " just law" or a "just
government" Just, in the former sense, means almost the same as
morally good : it means morally good in respect to the fulfilment of
social obligations. Justice, then, in this sense is equivalent to all
virtue in its social aspect1 On the other hand, when we speak of a
just law or a just government, we mean one that is fair or impartial '
in dealing with those to whom it applies or over whom it rules.8 This
ambiguity in the use of the term is partly concealed by the fact that
we sometimes speak of a man as being just in the same sense as that
in which the term is applied to a law or government— viz. in those
cases in which a man occupies a position of authority (as a judge, a
king, or even a parent), so as to be a representative of law or govern-
ment Hence many writers have failed to perceive that there are
two senses in which the term is used. The confusion between these
two senses vitiates, for example, nearly all that is said about Justice
in the fifth chapter of Mill's Utilitarianism. The influence of the same
ambiguity seems, moreover, to be not without effect even on some

1 See Aristotle's Ethics, Book V., chap. L Sometimes, however,
when we speak of a " just man " we mean merely one who fulfils
those obligations that are enforced by positive law. Cf. below,
chap, iil, § iz But I do not think that this use of the term is
common, or to be commended.

a Ibid., chap, ii

* Justice is derived from the Latin jus, law. This again is cognate
with jussum, meaning what is ordered. A just man means one who
obeys orders, i. e. the moral orders or laws. A just law or govern-
ment on the other hand, means one that possesses the qualities that
belong to, or ought to belong to, a law (jus) — viz. in particular, the
quality of fairness or impartiality.

33O ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. n.

more recent writers. Dr. Sidgwick carefully distinguishes * between
the two senses of Justice now referred to, and states that he intends
to confine himself to the second. Nevertheless, one of his illustra
tions appears to refer to Justice rather in the first sense. He remarks *
that we cannot say, " in treating of the private conduct of individuals,
that all arbitrary inequality is recognized as unjust : it would not be
commonly thought unjust in a rich bachelor with no near relatives
to leave the bulk of his property in providing pensions exclusively
for indigent red-haired men, however unreasonable and capricious
the choice might appear." When it is said that this is not unjust,
does not this mean simply that it is not contrary to any recognized
moral obligation ? And is not the term, therefore, used in its first
sense ? If a law, or a government, or even a parent in dealing
with his children, were to exhibit any similar caprice to that here
supposed by Dr. Sidgwick, would not this be at once regarded as
unjust ? In such a case, we should be using the term in its second
sense. The person supposed by Dr. Sidgwick is not said to be un-
just, apparently simply for the reason that he is not in a position in
which Justice, in this sense, can be predicated of him at all. A man
cannot, in this sense, be either just or unjust, unless he represents
some form of law or government

But there is a still further ambiguity in the use of the term. And
this also was pointed out by Aristotle.8 In speaking of Justice in the
sense of fairness, we may be referring either to the apportionment
of goods or to the apportionment of evils. Now evil can be fairly
apportioned only to those who have done evil — i. e. as punishment
Justice, then, may be either distributive or corrective. But some-
times the term is used emphatically in the latter sense as if this were
its exclusive use. To " do justice * is frequently understood as mean-
ing simply to award punishment Thus, there is an ambiguity be-
tween the broader sense of the term, including distributive and cor-
rective Justice, and the narrower sense in which it is confined to the
latter. Mill seems to have been misled by this ambiguity also.
Thus, when he says that " the two essential ingredients in the senti-
ment of Justice are, the desire to punish a person who has done
harm, and the knowledge or belief that there is some definite in-
dividual or individuals to whom harm has been done," he seems to

> Methods of Ethics, p. 264-

* Ibid., p, 268-9, note.

• Op. tit, Book V., chap. ii.

MORAL INSTITUTIONS. 331

be referring exclusively to corrective Justice, without being aware
that he is dealing only with a part of the subject

As far as I can judge, Aristotle's treatment of the whole subject of
Justice is still the best that we have. Dr. Sidgwick's treatment,
however, to which reference has just been made, has of course the
advantage of being more fully adapted to modern conditions of
knowledge and practice.

33* ETHICS. IBK. in., CH. ni.

CHAPTER IIL

THE DUTIES.

§ 1. NATURE OF MORAL LAWS. — The Jews, by whom
the moral consciousness of the modern world has been
perhaps mainly determined,1 summed up their view of
duty in the form of ten commandments. And we find
in other nations also a certain more or less explicit
recognition of definite rules to which a good man must
adhere — rules which say expressly, Do this, Abstain
from that.1 Now, in the moral "ought, "as we have
so far considered it, there are no such explicit com-

1 It is hard to say whether the Jews or the Greeks have had most
influence on us in this respect See Hatch's Hibbert Lectures ; and
cf., for a vigorous but very paradoxical view of the same subject,
Duhring's Ersatz der Religion.

* The Greeks had no definite code of moral rules. Their earliest
moral wisdom was expressed rather in brief proverbial sayings, such
as fi>)8ii' AY<XV (" nothing to excess *). Among the Greeks, however, as
among all early peoples, the laws of the State furnished a basis for
moral obligation, just as a child's first ideas of duty are derived from
the commands of its parents. The dawning of the consciousness that
there is a deeper basis of moral obligation than State laws is illus-
trated in the A ntigone of Sophocles. It was largely because the early
Greeks had no clear distinction between the moral law and the laws
of the State that the criticisms of the Sophists (and to some extent of
Socrates) were felt to be subversive of morality. See Zeller's Pre-
Socratic Philosophy, vol. il, p. 404, and Socrates and the Socratic Schools,
pp. 219—221. It is noteworthy also that the absoluteness of the Jew-
ish Law showed signs of breaking down, as soon as the Jews had
lost their national independence. Cf. above, Book I., chap. V.

§ I.] THE DUTIES. 333

mands contained. There is only the general command
to realize the rational self. We must now consider
what is the place of particular rules within this general
commandment

What has been said in the last chapter may help
us to do this. For we have seen there that there are
certain definite, though at the same time somewhat
elastic and modifiable, rights that come to be gradually
recognized in human societies ; and these definite
rights bring definite obligations along with them. Such
obligations may be expressed in the form of command-
ments.

It is not merely, however, in connection with these
recognized rights that such obligations arise. Obliga-
tions arise in connection with all the institutions of
social life, and in connection with all the relationships
into which men are brought to one another. No doubt
there is a certain right corresponding to all such obli-
gations, just as there is an obligation corresponding
to every right. * But sometimes it is the right that is
obvious, and the obligation seems to follow it, whereas
in other cases it is the obligation that is more easily
recognized. In the preceding chapter we have con-
sidered some of the more prominent rights and institu-

1 Rights are also for the most part connected with definite institu-
tions, or forms of social organization. Hence duties alto tend to
cluster round them. Thus, Mr. Alexander says (Moral Order and
Progress, p. 253) that " Duties are the conduct ... by which institu-
tions are maintained ": "the duty of recording a vote . . . gives effect
to the institution of parliamentary franchise." It seems an exagger-
ation, however, to say that all duties are related to institutions in this
way. The duty of regard for life, for instance, seems to be inde-
pendent of any special institutions— unless we are to describe life
iUolf a» an " institution," which would be somewhat paradoxical

334 ETHICS. £BK. in., CH. 111.

tions that have grown up in social life. In this chapter
we are to consider the more prominent obligations that
have come to be recognized among men, as presenting
themselves in the form of commandments, and to try
to bring out the precise ethical significance of these
elements in the moral consciousness. In the one case,
as in the other, it would probably be useless to attempt
to give an exhaustive classification.

§ 2. RESPECT FOR LIFE. — The first commandment is
the commandment to respect life, corresponding directly
to the right of life. This commandment is expressed
in the form, Thou shall not kill ; and its meaning is
so obvious that it requires little comment. We must
merely observe that the commandment which bids us
have respect for life enjoins much more than the mere
passive abstinence from the destruction of another's
physical existence. It involves also the care of our
own, and the avoidance of anything likely to injure
either our own or another's physical well-being. How
much this implies, we are only gradually learning.
Mr. Herbert Spencer has done admirable service in
emphasizing this side of moral law.1

§ 3. RESPECT FOR FREEDOM. — The second command-
ment corresponds to the right of Freedom. It forbids
any interference with the development of another man's
life, except in so far as such interference may be re-
quired to help on that development itself. It may be
expressed in the form, Treat every human being as a
person, never as a mere thing. In this form, it may

1 See especially his Data of Ethics, chap. xL, and The Principle*-
of Ethics, Part III. Cf. also Clark Murray's Introduction to Ethics,
Book IL, Part II., chap, il, and Adieus Moral Instruction lo Children
Lecture XIL

§4-] THE DUTIES. 335

be regarded as forbidding slavery, despotism, exploita-
tion, prostitution, and every other form ®f the use of
another as a mere means to one's own ends. This
commandment and the preceding one are closely con-
nected together. They might, in fact, be regarded as
one ; for the destruction of the life of another is simply
an extreme form of interference with his free develop-
ment. There is also a third commandment which is
closely connected with these two, and which we may
notice next.

§ 4. RESPECT FOR CHARACTER. — This may be stated as
the commandment to respect character. It is the posi-
tive of which the two preceding are the negative. It
not merely forbids us to injure our neighbour or to do
anything that will interfere with his free development,
but also positively bids us observe, as far as we can,
what will further him. It was of this commandment
that St. Paul was thinking when he said, "All things
are lawful for me, but all things are not expedient'1
By the ordinary negative law he was permitted to do
anything that did not positively injure another ; but he
was conscious that, in addition to this, he ought to
abstain from anything that would tend to prevent the
furtherance of another in his development. To partake
of certain meats would not interfere either with the
life or with the freedom of any one ; but, having re-
gard to the stage of development at which they stand,
we may be aware that it would be injurious to them.
Of course, we might regard this principle as simply an
extension of the negative principle of respect for free-
dom. But perhaps it is better to regard it as positive ;
for when we thus have regard for the stage of develop-
ment at which any one stands, we shall be led not

ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. III.

merely to abstain from that which will injure him, but
also to do that which will help him. The simplest way
of summing up this commandment is perhaps to say,
in Hegel's1 language, "Be a person, and respect others
as persons."

§ 5. RESPECT FOR PROPERTY. — The next commandment
is, Thou shalt not steal. This is simply acarryingout
of the preceding. It forbids any appropriation of the
instruments of another's well-being, whether they be
material things that belong to him, or such goods as
time, reputation, and the like. This commandment is,
as I say, involved in the preceding. For the develop-
ment of a man's personality involves the use of instru-
ments ; and the right of an individual to appropriate
these involves the obligation on the part of all others
of leaving his possession of them inviolate. The com-
mandment to respect property ought, however, to be
regarded as involving something more than the mere
condemnation of theft. It involves regard for our own
property as well as that of others. It condemns, there-
fore, any neglect or abuse of the instruments which an
individual has appropriated. It may also be regarded
as condemning all forms of idleness that imply living
on the work of others, and so appropriating what be-
longs to them.

§ 6. RESPECT FOR SOCIAL ORDER. — To avoid unneces-
sary details, we may next consider what is rather a
group of commandments than a single rule — viz. those
commandments that are connected with respect for
social institutions and the various forms of social order.
Such respect is pretty nearly equivalent to what the

^•Philosophic dcsRechts. §36

f 7.] THE DUTIES. 337

Greeks used to call al8a>s, shame or reverence. • This
feeling forbids us to interfere unnecessarily with any
established institution. It forbids, for instance, any
violation of the sanctities of the family ; it enjoins that
we should "honour the king" and all constituted au-
thorities ; * and the like. The authority of this group of
commandments rests on the importance of maintaining
the social system to which we belong. The soldier
feels himself in general bound to carry out the com-
mands of his superior, even if he knows very well that
"some one has blundered" ; and in the same way the
citizen feels bound in general to give his support to
the constituted authorities of his state, even if he sees
clearly that their laws are not altogether wise. Occa-
sionally also a pol/tician may feel himself bound to act
with his party, even if he does not approve of some
detail in its policy. Evidently this group of command-
ments might be split up into a number of separate
rules. But it is so easy to do this, that it is scarcely
worth while to attempt it here.

§ 7. RESPECT FOR TRUTH. — The next commandment
is, Thou shalt not lie. This rule has a double appli-
cation. On the one hand, it may be taken to mean
that we should conform our actions to our words—

1 It has already been remarked (p. 287, note 2) that «"««« is almost
equivalent to conscience. Since, however, the moral obligations of
the early Greeks were connected entirely with social laws and in-
stitutions, it was almost entirely with these that the feeling of aifcif
was associated.

3 I need hardly say that this rule is not to be understood as exclud-
ing the right of revolution. As we shall shortly see, none of these
rules is to be regarded as absolutely binding. Just as a Nelson may
look at the signals of his superior officer with his blind eye, so a far-
seeing social reformer may defy the laws of his state. But it is onlj
IB exceptional circumstances that such conduct is justifiable.
Etk ta

338 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. IIL

that, for instance, we should fulfil our promises, and
observe the contracts into which we have entered.
On the other hand, it may be taken to mean that we
should conform our words to our thoughts — i. e. that
we should say what we mean. Evidently, these two
interpretations are quite different. A man may make
a promise which he does not mean to keep. In that
case, he lies in the second sense. But it does not fol-
low that he will necessarily lie in the first sense. Foi;
having made the promise, he may keep it. Still, both
senses are concerned with respect for the utterance of
our thoughts — though the latter is concerned with care
in the utterance of them, the former with care in con-
forming our actions to that which has been uttered.
Lying, however, ought not to be understood as re-
ferring merely to language. We lie by our actions,
if we do things in such a way as to imply that we
intend to do something else, or that we have done
something else, which in fact we neither have done
nor intend to do. The commandment, then, Thou
shalt not lie, may be taken to mean that we must
always so speak and act as to express as clearly as
possible what we believe to be true, or what we intend
to perform; and that, having expressed our mean-
ing, we must as far as possible conform our actions
to it

§ 8. RESPECT FOR PROGRESS. — The last commandment
of which it seems necessary to take notice, is the com-
mandment— too often overlooked in moral codes — •
which bids us help on, as far as we can, the advance-
ment of the world. It may be expressed in this form,
Thou shalt labour, within thy particular province,
with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with all

§ 9-] THE DUTIES. 339

thy strength and with all thy mind. ' It is not without
reason that I express this commandment in the same
form as that in which the love of God has been en-
joined. It was wisely said, Laborare est orare, Work
is Worship. The love of God is perhaps most clearly
shown by faith in human progress; and faith in it
is shown most clearly by devotion to it.2 With
this great positive commandment, we may conclude
our list.

§9. CASUISTRY. — I have made no great effort to re-
duce these commandments to system. It might be a
good exercise for the student to work them out more
in detail, and show their relations to one another.
But it seems clear that no system of commandments
can ever be made quite satisfactory. There can be
but one supreme law — the law which bids us realize
the rational self or universe ; and if we make any sub-
ordinate rules absolute, they are sure to come into
conflict. Such a conflict of rules gives rise to casu-
istry. Casuistry consists in the effort to interpret the
precise meaning of the commandments, and to explain
which is to give way when a conflict arises. 3 It is
evident enough that conflicts must arise. If we
are always to respect life, we must sometimes appro-
priate property — e. g. the knife of a man about to
commit murder. If we are always to do our utmost

• This is Carlyle's commandment — " Know what thou canst work
at; and work at it, like a Hercules " (Past and Present,Book III.,
chap. xi.).

• " All true work is religion " (Carlyle, ibid., chap. xil).

• See Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, p. 88, Muirhead's Elements of Ethics
p. 69-70, Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, vol. iL, pp. 186—igo, and
p, 215, and Bradley s Ethical Sbidits, p. 142.

ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IIL

for freedom, we shall sometimes come into conflict
with order. So in other cases. We have already
quoted the emphatic utterance of Jacobi on this point ; •
and though it may be somewhat exaggerated, yet it
cannot be denied that there are occasions in which
we feel bound to break one or more of the command-
ments in obedience to a higher law. Now casuistry
seeks to draw out rules for breaking the rules — to
show the exact circumstances in which we are en-
titled to violate particular commandments. This effort
is chiefly associated historically with the teaching of
the Jesuits.* It was called "casuistry" because it
dealt with "cases of conscience." It fell into dis-
repute, and was severely attacked by Pascal. And on
the whole rightly. It is bad enough that we should
require particular rules of conduct at all, 3 but rules
for the breaking of rules would be quite intolerable.
They would become so complicated that it would be
impossible to follow them out ; and any such attempt
would almost inevitably lead in practice to a system by
which men might justify, to their own satisfaction, any
action whatever. * The way to escape from the limita-
tions of the commandments, is not to make other
commandments more minute and subtle, but rather to
fall back upon the great fundamental law, of which

i See above, pp. 198-9.

a See Sidgwick's History of Ethics, pp. 151—154.

* The expression of the moral law in the form of particular rules
belongs to an early stage in moral development It naturally comes
immediately after that stage in which morality is identified with the
laws of the State. Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, pp. 68—73.

* Hence Adam Smith says (Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VL,
sect. IV.) that "books of casuistry are generally as useless as they are
Commonly tiresome.*

§ 10.] THE DUTIES. 34!

the particular commandments are but fragmentary
aspects.

§ 10. THE SUPREME LAW. — What is that fundamental
law? It is, as we have already seen, the command-
ment that bids us realize the rational self. This
commandment is so broad, and is apt to seem so
vague, that it is certainly well that it should be sup-
plemented, for practical purposes, by more particular
rules of conduct. But when these rules come into
conflict, and when we feel ourselves in a difficulty with
regard to the course that we ought to pursue — when,
in short, a " case of conscience " arises — we must fall
back upon the supreme commandment, and ask our-
selves : Is the course that we think of pursuing the
one that is most conducive to the realization of the
rule of reason in the world ? No doubt this is a ques-
tion which it will often be difficult to answer. * But,

1 Sometimes it may be easier to answer in the form of feeling. The
commandments in which the Jewish Law was summed up — " Thou
shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, &c., and thy neighbour
as thyself "—express the right attitude of feeling, that of love for the
supreme reason and for all rational beings. In the form of feeling,
however, there is the disadvantage that the definite duties to be per-
formed are not suggested, whereas the command to pursue the ad-
vancement of the rational life suggests at once the means that must
be adopted for this end. At the same time, it is important to insist
that the right attitude of mind necessarily brings with it the right
form of feeling. To this point we have already referred (Book I.,
chap, iii , § 5, and Book II., chap, iii., § 13). We have seen that Kant
refused to regard love as a duty, interpreting the Christian injunction
as meaning merely that we should treat others as r/ we loved them.
But, as Adam Smith remarked (Theory of Moral Sentiments. Part
III., sect III., chap, iv.); this could scarcely be described as loving
our neighbour as ourselves ; since " we love ourselves surely for our
own sakes, and not merely because we are commanded to do so."
On the same point, Janet has well quoted (Theory of Morals, p. 354)
the emphatic utterance of St Paul, " Though I bestow all my goods

342 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. in.

in general, a man who keeps his conscience un-
clouded, and sets this question fairly before himself
will be able to keep himself practically clear from
errors, without resorting to casuistical distinctions. *

§ 11. CONVENTIONAL RULES. — Besides the command-
ments, or strict moral laws, we find in every com-
munity a number of subordinate rules of conduct, in-
ferior in authority, but often superior in the obedience
which they elicit. Such are, for instance, the rules of
courtesy, those rules that belong to the "Code of
Honour," the etiquette of particular trades and particu-
lar classes of society.* There is often a certain absurd-
ity in these rules ; and some of them are frequently
laughed at under the name of "Mrs. Grundy." Cer-
tainly a superstitious devotion to them, a devotion
which interferes with the fulfilment of more important
duties or with the development of independence of
character, is not to be commended. Yet sometimes
such rules are not without reason. Schiller tells us, in
a wise passage of his Wallenstein,* that we ought not
to despise the narrow conventional laws ; for they were
often invented as a safeguard against various forms of
wrong and injustice. Pectus sibi permissum is not less
to be distrusted than intellectus sibi per missus / and it is
often well that the impulses of a man's own heart
should be checked by certain generally understood con-
to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have
not charity, it profiteth me nothing."

i See, on this point, Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book IV
chap. ii.

* Sometimes referred to as " minor morals."

* Die Piccolomini, Act I., scene iv. —

" Lass uns die alten engen Ordnungen
Gering nicht achten 1 "

§ 12.] THE DUTIES. 343

mentions. * The law of respect for social order, at any
rate, will generally lead a man to follow the established
custom, when no more important principle is thereby
violated. Still, this is not a matter of supreme impor-
tance. A scrupulous adhesion to petty rules is no
doubt as foolish as a total neglect of them. Eccen-
tricity has its place in the moral life ; and there are
certainly many customs which are "more honoured in
the breach than the observance." Perhaps the ten-
dency at the present time — a result of our individual-
istic modes of thought — is to attach too little impor-
tance to general rules of life. The Chinese, however,
under the influence of Confucius, seem to have gone
to the other extreme.

§ 12. DUTIES OF PERFECT AND IMPERFECT OBLIGATION.—
The impossibility of drawing out any absolute code of
duties has led some writers to draw a distinction be-
tween that part of our obligations which can be defi-
nitely codified and that part which must be left com-
paratively vague. This distinction has taken various
forms. Sometimes those obligations which are capable
of precise definition are called duties ; while that part
of good conduct which cannot be so definitely formu-
lated is classed under the head of virtue — as if the vir-
tuous man were one who did more than his duty, more
than could reasonably be demanded of him." Again,

1 Indeed, such rules are often more useful in small matters than
in great ; just because the small matters interest us less. Cf. below,
§ 13, note.

* There can be no doubt that this is a common use of the term
" Virtue " in ordinary language. Perhaps it is even the original sense
of the word. It certainly seems to have been at first applied to those
qualities that appeared most eminent and praiseworthy. See Alex-
aader's Mor*l Order and Progress, p. 243 ; " The distinctive mark of

344 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. HI,

Mill ' classifies strict duties under the head of Justice ;
and adds that " there are other things, on the contrary,
which we wish that people should do, which we like
or admire them for doing, but yet admit that they are
not bound to do ; it is not a case of moral obligation. "
But surely we have a moral obligation to act in the best
way possible. Another distinction is that given by
Kant* between Duties of Perfect and Imperfect Obliga-
tion. According to this classification, Duties of Perfect
Obligation are those in which a definite demand is
made upon us, without any qualification — as, Thou
shall not kill, Thou shall not lie, Thou shall nol steal.
These are, for the most part, negative. On the other
hand, most of our positive obligations cannot be stated
in this absolute way. The duty of beneficence, for
instance, is relative to time, place, and circumstance.

virtue seems to lie in what is beyond duty : yet every such act must
depend on the peculiar circumstances under which it is done, of
which we leave the agent to be the judge, and we certainly think it
his duty to do what is best" Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p.
190, note. See also Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part
I., sect II., chap, iv., Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book III., chap.
ii, Rickaby*s Moral Philosophy, p. 70,

i Utilitarianism, chap. v. Some other writers have limited the
application of the term Justice to those actions which can be enforced
by national law. Thus Adam Smith says (Theory of Moral Senti-
ments, Part II., sect II., chap, i.) : "The man who barely abstains
from violating either the person, or the estate, or the reputation of
his neighbours, has surely very little positive merit He fulfils, how-
ever, all the rules of what is peculiarly called justice, and does every-
thing which his equals can with propriety force him to do, or which
they can punish him for not doing. We may often fulfil all the rules
of justice by sitting still and doing nothing." Cf. the Note at the
end of chap, x

* Metaphysic of Morals, section II. (Abbott's translation, p. 39)
Observe what is said in Mr. Abbott's note. Cf, also Caird'a Critical
Philosophy of Kant, vol. il, pp. 383-3.

§ 12.] THE DUTIES. 345

No man can be under an obligation to do good in all
sorts of ways, but only in some particular ways, which
he must in general discover for himself. Hence this
may be called an Imperfect Obligation, because it can-
not be definitely formulated.

Now it is no doubt true that there is a distinction of
this kind. There is, indeed, a threefold distinction be-
tween duties of different kinds. There are, in the first
place, those duties that can be definitely formulated,
and embodied in the laws of a State,1 with penalties
attached to their violation. In the second place, there
are those duties that cannot be put into the form of
national laws, or that it would be very inconvenient to
put into such a form, but which, nevertheless, every
good citizen may be expected to observe. In the third
place, there are duties which we may demand of some,
but not of others; or which different individuals can
only be expected to fulfil in varying degrees.* But the
distinction between these different classes of duties is
not a rigid one. The duties that can be made obliga-
tory by law vary from time to time, according to the
constitution of the State concerned, and the degree of
the civilization of its people. The same applies to those
duties that every good citizen may fairly be expected
to observe. Consequently, while at any given time
and place it might be possible to draw out a list of the

i This was the original meaning of Duties of Perfect Obligation.
Kant altered the use of the phrase. Some points in connection with
the relation between Ethics and Jurisprudence will be found well
brought out in Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part VI.,
sect IV.

a The fulfilment of these in an eminent degree might be said to
constitute Virtue, as distinguished from Duty, in the sense explained
above. But this is on the whole an inconvenient usage.

346 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. III.

Duties of Perfect Obligation, and to express them in a
code of Commandments, yet the tables of stone on
which these were engraved would require to be periodi-
cally broken up.' And many of the most important
duties for any particular individual would remain un-
formulated.

§ 13. MY STATION AND ITS DUTIES. — The determination
of a man's duties, therefore, must be left largely to his
individual insight Ethics can do little more than lay
down commandments with regard to his general atti-
tude in acting. In the details of his action, however,
a man is not left entirely without guidance. Human
beings do not drop from the clouds. Men are born
with particular aptitudes and in a particular environ-
ment ; and they generally find their sphere of activity
marked out for them, within pretty narrow limits.
They find themselves fixed in a particular station, help-
ing to carry forward a general system of life ; and their
chief duties are connected with the effective execution
of their work. Hence the force of Carlyle's great
principle, " Do the Duty that lies nearest thee."1 The

1 This of course is no sufficient reason for not formulating them as
well as we can. As Hegel says (Philosophy of Right, § 216), " The
universal law cannot be forever the ten commandments. Yet it
would be absurd to refuse to set up the law 'Thou shalt not kill ' on
the ground that a statute-book cannot be made complete. Every
statute-book can of course be better. It is patent to the most idle
reflection that the most excellent, noble, and beautiful can be con-
ceived of as still more excellent, noble, and beautiful A large old
tree branches more and more without becoming a new tree in the
process ; it would be folly, however, not to plant a new tree for the
reason that it was destined in time to have new branches."

8 Sartor Rccartus, Book II., chap. ix. : "The situation that has not
its Duty, its Ideal, was never yet occupied by man." See also the
admirable chapter by Mr. Bradley on " My Station and its Duties "

§ 1 3.] THE DUTIES. 347

prime duty of a workman of any kind is to do his work
well, to be a good workman. ' Of course he must first
have ascertained that his work is a valuable one, and
one that he is fitted to do well. Having thus found his
place in life, he will not as a rule have much difficulty
in ascertaining what are the commandments that apply
within that sphere. Hence the important point on the
whole is not to know what the rules of action are, but
rather the type of character that is to be developed in
us. A well-developed character, placed in a given sit-
uation, will soon discover rules for itself.3 Thus, we

(Ethical Studies, Essay V.). Cf. Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, Part II. :
"The moral endeavour of man takes the form not of isolated fancies
about right and wrong, not of attempts to frame a morality for him-
self, not of efforts to bring into being some praiseworthy ideal never
realized ; but the form of sustaining and furthering the moral world
of which he is a member.1' Thus we agree, after all, with the view
of Dr. Johnson, that a good action is one that " is driving on the
system of life." But for this view we now have a rational justifi-
cation.

lCf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 47: "An artisan or an
artist or a writer who does not ' do his best ' is not only an inferior
workman but a bad man." Mr. Muirhead quotes Carlyle's saying
about a bad joiner, that he "broke the whole decalogue with every
stroke of his hammer." See also Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, p. 112 :
"The good artisan 'has his heart in his work.' His self-respect makes
it necessary for him to respect his technical or artistic capacity ; and
to do the best by it that he can without scrimping or lowering."

* It may be worth while to note here that rules of conduct are, In
general, valuable for us in proportion as our interest in the concrete
matter concerned is small A man does not wa'nt rules for the per-
formance of anything which he has deeply at heart Thus, a serious
student has little need of rules for study. His own interest is a suf-
ficient guide. On the other hand, a man whose main work does not
lie in study, but who is able to devote a few hours to it now and then,
may find it advantageous to have definite rules for the perform-
ance of the uncongenial task. So it is in life generally. Christian,
ity abolished the external rules of Judaism, by enjoining upon us an

348 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. in.

are naturally led from the consideration of the com-
mandments to the consideration of the virtues.1

interest in life instead. Such an interest is the only safe final guide,
But so long as such an interest cannot be pre-supposed, particular
rules retain a certain relative value. Some very suggestive remarks
on this point will be found in Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Senti-
ments, Part III., sect IV. He there gives some interesting examples
of actions which are naturally done in obedience to rule, because our
interest in them is slight ; and of others which are naturally done
rather from an interest in the object to be attained.

1 Prof. Dewey says (Outlines of Ethics, p. 231) : " It is a common
remark that moral codes change from ' Do not ' to ' Do,' and from this
to ' Be.' A Mosaic code may attempt to regulate the specific acts of
life. Christianity says, ' Be ye perfect' The effort to exhaust the
various special right acts is futile. They are not the same for any
two men, and they change constantly with the same man. The ver
words which denote virtues come less and less to mean specific act?
and more the spirit in which conduct occurs." Cf. Muirhead'* El*
ments of Ethics, p.. 71, note.

THE DUTIES. 349

NOTE ON RULES OF CONDUCT.

I have no doubt that some readers will be a good deal disappointed
by the results of this chapter. Many of those who take up the
study of Ethics expect to find in it some cut-and-dried formulas for
the guidance of their daily lives. They expect the ethical philoso-
pher to explain to them, as I once heard it put, what they ought to
get up and do to-morrow morning. And no doubt it is true enough
in a sense that the ethical philosopher, if he is good for anything,
will explain this. He will explain to them the spirit in which they
ought to apply themselves to the particular situation before them
to-morrow morning. But most people, and especially most English
people, are not content with this. The cause of this discontent is no
doubt partly that most of us have become accustomed in our youth
to a code of Ten Commandments, generally accompanied by cer-
tain subordinate rules deduced from them. Partly, again, it is that
most of the English schools of Ethics have connected themselves
closely with Jurisprudence,1 and have thus given encouragement to
the notion that a set of moral laws might be devised similar to the
laws of a nation. Now I admit of course that it is possible to draw
out certain rules of conduct, founded on the general nature of human
life and the conditions under which it has to be carried on ; and it
is part of the task of the moral philosopher to explain the general
nature of these rules, and to show their place in the conduct of life.
This I have endeavoured to do. But to suppose that Ethics is called
upon to do more than this appears to me to be a most fatal error.
Happily life cannot yet be reduced to rule. A moral genius must
always, like Mirabeau, "swallow his formulas" and start afresh.
Pedantry will not carry one far in life,3 any more than in literature.

At the same time, while emphasizing this point, I have certainly
no wish to rush to the opposite extreme. There has been so strong
a tendency in former times to lay down an absolute " ought " in

1 The chaotic state of English law led men like Bentham to seek
for a rational basis of Jurisprudence in ethical principles. This ap-
plication of Ethics has reacted on the study of Ethics itself. On the
Continent the prevalence of Roman Law has perhaps made the
demand for a fresh ethical basis less urgent

* There are some good remarks on this point in Adlcr's Moral
Instruction of Children, pp. 19-33.

350 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. in.

Ethics, with a rigid scheme of obligations hanging from it, that now,
by a not unnatural reaction, we find a number of our ethical writers
treading very gingerly, hesitating to say that there is any such thing
as duty, apologizing for the use of the word " ought," and mildly
conceding that Ethics is of no practical value. This extreme appears
to me to be quite as pernicious as the other. It is the function of the
ethical philosopher to discover and define the supreme end of life.
This is what all the great ethical writers have done, from Plato and
Aristotle to Spinoza, Kant, Hegel, and Green. As soon as this end is
clearly seen, the duty of pursuing it becomes an absolute imperative,
from which there is no escape. And with this end in view, the
whole of our life falls into shape. Hence, as Aristotle puts it,* " from
a practical point of view it much concerns us to know this good ;
for then, like archers shooting at a definite mark, we shall be more
likely to attain what we want* Undoubtedly, in this sense, Ethics
is of the greatest practical value. Nor is its value in any way dimin-
ished by the fact that the moral genius, or even the man of ordi-
nary good sense, may act well without any knowledge of Ethics
The human end is involved in man's very existence. No one can
exist at all without being in some degree conscious of it The task
of the moral philosopher is only that of bringing it to clear con-
sciousness. Only that ! In the same way, the task of the poet is only
that of making clear to us the beauty that is everywhere around us.
The task of the metaphysician is only that of bringing out the mean-
ing and connection of the principles made use of in the sciences.
This " only " is a little out of place.

While we must insist, then, that it is not the task of Ethics to furnish
us with copy-book headings for the guidance of life, we must equally
insist that it is its task to furnish us with practical principles— to
bring the nature of the highest good to clear consciousness, and to
indicate the general nature of the means by which this good is
to be attained. It thus tells us, not indeed the particular rules by
which our lives are to be guided, but what is of infinitely greater
practical importance — the spirit in which our lives are to be lived.

I am well aware that all this will seem unsatisfactory to many
minds. The military spirit is deeply rooted in human nature. Men
are eager to catch the word of command, and are disappointed when
they are only told, as by Jesus, to " love one another," or, as by
Hegel, to " be persons," or, as in the vision of Dante, to " follow their
star." And, indeed, as I have already said, Ethics does supply some-

i Ethics, Lii. a.

THE DUTIES. 35 I

thing more than this. It does interpret for us the meaning and im-
portance of some more special rules. But assuredly neither Ethics
nor anything else will tell a man what in particular he is to do.
There would be an end of the whole significance of life if any such
information were to be had. All action that is of much consequence
has reference to concrete situations, which could not possibly be
exhausted by any abstracthnethods of analysis. It is the special busi-
ness of every human being to find out for himself what he is to do,
and to do it Ethics only instructs him where to look for it, and
helps him to see why it is worth while to find it and to do it Like
all sciences, it leaves its principles in the end to be applied by the
instructed good sense of mankind.1

1 It may perhaps appear that this point has been somewhat over-
emphasized ; but I think there is a real danger of misconception
here, and I have been anxious to guard against it On the general
question involved, it maybe well to refer, in addition to the authori-
ties already cited, to Mill's System of Logic, Book VI., chap. xiL,
Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, Book IV., chaps, iv. and v., Green's
Prolegomena to Ethics, Book IV., Hegel's Philosophy of Right, Intro-
duction, Bosanquet's Civilization of Christendom, p. idosqq., and the
article by Mr. Muirhead on " Abstract and Practical Ethics " in the
American Journal of Sociology for November, 18961

352 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IV

CHAPTER IV.

THE VIRTUES.

§ 1. RELATION OF THE VIRTUES TO THE COMMANDMENTS.
When we have ascertained what are the most important
commandments, we have at the same time discovered
to a considerable extent what are the most important
virtues. « The virtuous man will be on the whole the
man who has a steadfast habit of obeying the com-
mandments. There are, however, many virtuous hab-
its which do not correspond to any commandments
that can be definitely formulated.* Moreover, as the
virtues are concerned mainly with inner habits of mind,
whereas the commandments deal with overt acts,s the

1 Virtue (from Latin vir, a man or hero) meant originally man-
iiness or valour. The Greek open} (from the same root as Ares, the
god of war) and the German Tugend (connected with our English
word "doughty") have a somewhat similar origin. The term is
here employed to denote a good habit of character, as distinguished
from a Duty, which denotes rather some particular kind of action
that we ought to perform. Thus a man does his Duty ; but he pos-
sesses a Virtue, or is virtuous. Another sense in which the term
" Virtue * is used, has been already noticed above (chap, iii., § 12).

* Mr. Alexander (Moral Order and Progress, p. 253) definitely con-
nects the virtues, as well as the duties, with social institutions. In
both cases there seems to be some exaggeration in this. Cf. Muir-
head's Elements of Ethics, p. 188.

' The Jewish commandments, as interpreted in the Sermon on
the Mount, and by modern Christian thought, are of course concerned
with the heart as well as with outer acts. Also the summary of the
commandments in terms of love refers entirely to an inner habit of
mind. But when the commandments are thus summed up, they

§2.] THE VIRTUES. 353

lines of cleavage in dealing with the virtues are natu-
rally somewhat different from those that we find in
dealing with the commandments. Hence it seems
desirable to devote a separate chapter to the subject of
the virtues.

§ 2. VIRTUES RELATIVE TO STATES OF SOCIETY. — The
virtues which it is desirable for human beings to culti-
vate vary considerably with different times and places.
They are more variable even than the commandments * ;
because the latter confine themselves to those broad
principles of conduct which are applicable to nearly
all the conceivable conditions of life. At the same
time, even the virtues are less changeable than they
are apt at first sight to appear. The Greek virtue of
courage, confined almost entirely to valour in battle,
has but little correspondence to anything that is su-
premely important in modern life. Yet the temper of
mind which it indicates is one for which there is as
much demand now as ever.* And so it is also with
most of the other virtues. The precise conditions of
their exercise change ; but the habit of mind remains
intrinsically the same. Still, even the habit of mind
does undergo some alteration. The kind of fortitude
which is required for valour in battle is, even in its
most inward aspect, somewhat different from that

cease to be particular rules. Particular rules relate to particular
modes of action. Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 70. For a
discussion of the relation of Virtue to Duty, see Sidgwick's Methods
vf Ethics, Book III., chap. ii. The following chapters of the same
book contain interesting analyses of most of the particular virtues.
Cf. Rickaby's Moral Philosophy, Part I., chap. v.

* In that broad sense in which alone, as we have seen, universally
•ignificant commandments can be laid down.

* See Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, Book III., chap. v.

Eth. at

354 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. iv.

fortitude which sustains the modern man of science,
politician, scholar, or philanthropist Hence this side
of ethical study is one which each generation of writers
requires almost to reconsider for itself. However in-
structive the great work of Aristotle may still remain
on this point (and there is perhaps nothing more in-
structive in the whole range of ethical literature), it is
yet not quite directly applicable to the conditions of
modern life. In order to understand what are the most
important virtues for us to cultivate in modern times,
it is necessary to consider them in relation to the
structure and requirements of modern society.

§ 3. THE ETHOS OF A PEOPLE. — It is for this reason
that it is so important, from an ethical point of view,
to study carefully what the Germans call the Sitten »
(the moral habitudes of thought and action) of differ-
ent times and peoples. We have no English word
that quite expresses this idea ; but, instead of having
recourse to the German, we may use a Greek term, and
speak of the ethos of a people.* The ethos of a people
is partly constituted by definite rules or precepts. The
Ten Commandments formed a very important element
in the ethos of the Jews ; and they have continued,

1 The English word " Manners " used to have a meaning closely
approximating to this, but it has deteriorated. See International
Journal of Ethics, VoL VII., no. L

* Cj. Bradley's Ethical Studies, chap, v., especially p. igb, where
the following is quoted from Hegel : "The child, in his character of
the form of the possibility of a moral individual, is something sub-
jective or negative ; his growing to manhood is the ceasing to be of
this form, and his education is the discipline or the compulsion
thereof. The positive side and the essence is that he is suckled at
the breast of the universal Ethos" Similarly on p, 169.! "The wisest
men of antiquity have given judgment that wisdom and virtue con-
list in living agreeably to the Ethoe of one's people.*

§ 3«] THE VIRTUES. 355

with certain modifications and enlargements, to form
an important element in the ethos of modern European
peoples. The precepts contained in the Sermon on
the Mount have perhaps never been sufficiently appro-
priated by the world in general to be made definitely
into a part of the ethos of any people ; but they have
undoubtedly exercised a most profound influence on
the ethos of nearly all civilized nations. The ethos of
a people, then, is partly expressed in definite com-
mands and precepts. But partly also it consists in re-
cognized habits of action and standards of judgment
which have never been precisely formulated. Thus,
in England there is a general idea of the kind of con-
duct which is fitting in a " gentleman " ; and though it
might be difficult to reduce this standard to the form of
definite rules, yet it has undoubtedly exercised a great
influence in forming the ethos of our people.

The ethos of a people, then, we may say, constitutes
the atmosphere in which the best members of a race
habitually live ; or, in language that we have previously
employed, it constitutes the universe of their moral
activities. It is the morality of our world ; and on the
whole the man who conforms to the morality of that
world is a good man, and the man who violates it is a
bad man. Mr. Bradley has even said emphatically '

l Ethical Studies, p. i8a So also on p. 181 he says : " We should
consider whether the encouraging oneself in having opinions of
one's own, in the sense of thinking differently from the world on
moral subjects, be not. In any person other than a heaven-born
prophet, sheer self-conceit" There is, however, some paradox in
this. A man may be a moral reformer in a small way, without
being exactly a " heaven-born prophet" The suffering or witness-
tag of wrong in some particular form, for instance, often makes a
•urn sensitive to an evil to which most men are callous. Alao tba

356 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. IV.

that the man who seeks to have a higher morality than
that of his world is on the threshold of immorality.
But this is an exaggeration. For the ethos of a people
is not a stationary thing.1 It develops, like social life
generally ; and its development is brought about mainly
by the constant effort of the best members of a race
to reach a higher standard of life than that which they
find current around them. The xaX.oxdra.06? of the
Greeks might occasionally permit himself to do many
things, and to abstain from doing many things, which
would scarcely be thought becoming in a modern
"gentleman"; while the teachings of Christianity
hold up to us an ideal of life which has not yet been
fully embodied in the current morality of the world.
While, then, it is on the whole true that the ethos of
our people furnishes us with our moral standard, it
must yet be remembered that it is often desirable to
elevate that standard itself.*

disciples of the * heaven-born prophets " will for a time hold opinions
different from those of the world But what Mr. Bradley means is
simply, Try to be as good as your world first : after that you may
seek to make it better. His meaning is similar to that of Burke
(Reflections on the Revolution in France) : * We are afraid to put men
to Hve and trade each on his own private stock of reason ; because
we suspect that the stock in each man is small, and that the indi-
viduals would do better to avail themselves of the general bank and
capital of nations and of ages."

1 Sometimes, indeed, it is a highly artificial thing, brought into
being by the accidental circumstances of a particular time and place.
Thus Adam Smith remarks (Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part V,
sect II.) that "in the reign of Charles II. a degree of licentiousness
was deemed the characteristic of a liberal education. It was con-
nected, according to the notions of those times, with generosity,
•incerity, magnanimity, loyally, and proved that the person wha
•cted in this manner was a gentleman, and not a puritan."

• Cy. below, chap, vii

§4-] THE VIRTUES. 357

Now the virtues that are current among a people at
a given time are the expression in particular forms of
the ethos of that people ; and their significance can be
appreciated only in relation to the general life of the
times.

§ 4. VIRTUES RELATIVE TO THE SOCIAL FUNCTIONS. — Not
only, however, are the virtues relative to different
times and different social conditions : they are also
relative to the functions that different individuals have
to fulfil in society. Here again it is true that the
differences are not so great as one is apt to think
We are apt to say that a poor man cannot exercise the
virtue of liberality ; and that a man who is rich and
prosperous has little need for the virtue of patience.
This is to a large extent true ; yet the habit of mind
which with a rich man leads to liberality may equally
well be present, and is equally admirable, in one who
is poor. And the same applies to other qualities.
Still, it remains on the whole true that the virtues
which we respect and admire in a man are not quite
the same as those of a woman.; that those of the rich
are not quite the same as those of the poor ; those of
an old man not quite the same as those of a young
man ; those of a parent not quite the same as those of
a child ; those of a man in health not quite the same
as those of one who is sick ; those of a commercial
man not quite the same as those of a man of science ;
and so in other cases. In describing the virtues, there-
fore, we must either go somewhat minutely into the
consideration of different circumstances of life, and of
the qualities that are most desirable under these vary-
ing conditions ; or else we must confine ourselves to
statements that are very general and vague. The

358 ETHICS* [BK. III., CH. IV.

limits of space and the difficulties of the subject both
lead us to adopt the latter alternative.

§ 5. THE NATURE OF VIRTUE. — The virtues, as waa
admirably pointed out by Aristotle, are habits of deli-
berate choice. To be virtuous means to have a char-
acter so developed that we habitually choose to act in
the right way. Now as the right action nearly always
stands between two possible bad actions — one erring
by excess and the other by defect — Aristotle con-
sidered f that virtue consists essentially in a habit oj
choosing the mean. He well added, however, that ik
is the choice of the relative mean — f. e. of the particular
Intermediate course which is appropriate to the par-
ticular individual in question, and to the particular
circumstances in which he is placed. That mean
must be determined in each case by a consideration of
its conduciveness to the general development of social
life. To hit upon it rightly is often a problem for in-
dividual tact and insight ; but a study of the greatest
examples in human history is in many cases a valuable
aid in deciding on the most fitting conduct in a given
case.

§ 6. THE CARDINAL VIRTUES. — From the earlitst pe-
riods of ethical speculation, attempts have been made
to enumerate the various forms of virtues. The most
celebrated of these lists are those given by Plato and
Aristotle. The former seems to have been current
among Greek moralists even before the time of Plato.
It has at least the merit of simplicity, containing only
four cardinal* virtues — Wisdom (or Prudence), Courage

» Ethics, Book II., chaps, vi— ix. Cf. Sidgwick's History of Ethics,

P. &
• From cardo, a hinge. The Cardinal Virtues are suppotedto b«

§6.] THE VIRTUES. 359

(or Fortitude), Temperance (or Self-Restraint), and
Justice (or Righteousness). This classification, how-
ever, simple as it appears, was soon found to give risa
to considerable difficulties. It began to be perceived,
for instance, that in a certain sense the first of the
virtues includes all the others ; for every virtuous
activity consists in acting wisely in some particular
relationship. Again, Justice (or Righteousness) seems
to be made somewhat too comprehensive in its mean-
ing when it is used to include (as, on this acceptation,
it must) all the social virtues. Perceiving these and
other defects in the catalogue of the virtues, Aristotle
was led to a considerable expansion of the list.1 But
his expansion had so constant a reference to the virtues
that were expected of an Athenian citizen that its direct
interest for modern life is comparatively slight And
it would perhaps be somewhat futile to attempt to
draw up any similar catalogue specially adapted for

those on which the others hinge or depend Cj. the Cardinals in
the Roman Catholic Church.

1 It might be held, however, that Plato and Aristotle were in
reality engaged on distinct problems. Plato sought to give an ac-
count of the Cardinal Virtues — i. e. the general elements Involved
in all virtuous activities ; whereas Aristotle sought to give a list of
special virtues, exhibited not in all virtuous activities, but in parti-
cular kinds of virtuous activity. But this view seems to me to be
scarcely tenable. The distinction here referred to is clearly drawn
by Prof. Dewey in his Outlines of Ethics, p. 230. I am doubtful,
however, whether his interpretation of the term " cardinal virtue "
is sanctioned by the best usage. He means those general charac-
teristics of a virtuous attitude, such as purity of heart, disinterested-
ness, conscientiousness, and the like, which belong to the very
essence of virtue as such. The relation of such qualities of the
"Inner life" to the virtues proper is partly dealt with in the next
chapter. For the origin of the phrase "cardinal virtue, 'see Sidg-
wick's History of Ethics, p, 133. C/. Rickaby's Moral Philosophy, p. 84

36o ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. rv.

modern times, with their complicated problems and
varied relationships.1 Nevertheless, a few suggestions
towards such a catalogue may be found useful.

We may note, to begin with, the distinction which
is commonly drawn between self-regarding virtues
and those that are altruistic, or have reference to the
good of others. This distinction is apt to be mislead-
ing. The individual has no life of his own independ-
ent of his social relations ; and any virtue which has
reference to the good of the individual, must have
reference also to social well-being. This fact, how-
ever, need not prevent us from distinguishing between
the life of an individual and the wider world to which
it is related ; and some virtues may be said to bear
specially on the former, while others bear more par-
ticularly on the latter. It may be convenient to loot
at these two classes of virtues separately.

(a) Taking the four Platonic virtues as a convenient
starting-point, it is evident that courage and temper-
ance are the two that bear specially* on the life of the
individual. If we understand courage (or fortitude) in
the wide sense of resistance to the fear of pain, and
temperance in the equally wide sense of resistance
to the allurements of pleasure, these two virtues will
include all forms of opposition to temptation in the
individual life. Temptation appears either in the form
of some pain to be avoided or some pleasure to be

1 An interesting list has been drawn up, in the form of a table, by
Mr. Muirhead, in his Elements of Ethics, p. 201. Some suggestive
remarks on the particular virtues required in modern life will be
found in Adler's Moral Instruction of Children, Lectures XI. — XV

* Wisdom, as we shall see immediately, is also directly concerned
in the guidance of the individual life. But it applies equally to our
social relationships,

§ 6.] THE VIRTUES. 361

secured ; and he who is proof against these will lead a
steadfast life along the lines that he has chosen. It is
evident, however, that a man may be courageous and
temperate in the conduct of his life, and yet be living
foolishly. A wise choice of the line to be pursued is a
necessary preliminary. If we understand the Platonic
virtue of wisdom (or prudence) in this sense, we shall
have in a manner a complete list of the virtues required
for the conduct of the individual life. But it is evident
that each of these virtues must be understood in such
a sense as to comprehend under it a great variety of
qualities not always found together in the same indi-
vidual. Thus wisdom would require to be understood
as including care, foresight, prudence, and also a cer-
tain decisiveness of choice. Courage, again, would
include both valour and fortitude, /. e. both the active
courage which pursues its course in spite of the pro-
bability of pain, and the passive courage which bears
inevitable suffering without flinching. * But these are
not the same virtues, and are indeed perhaps not
often found together in any high degree. Again,
courage would have to be understood as including
perseverance ; and this seems a somewhat unnatural
extension of its meaning ; just as it is somewhat un-

1 Mrs. Bryant (Educational Ends, pp. 71-2) regards fortitude as a
higher virtue than the more active courage which goes to meet
danger ; because the former bears actual pain, the latter only the
fear of pain. This is so far true. Courage is a blinder virtue than
fortitude. The courageous man sets pain aside and forgets it
whereas the man who shows fortitude is one who endures an ac-
tually present pain which cannot be set aside. But on the other
hand courage is a more active and voluntary virtue than fortitude.
It not merely endures pain, but goes to meet it in the fulfilment of
a purpose. In this respect courage seems to be the higher virtue of
the two.

362 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. iv.

natural to include decision under wisdom. Perhaps
the qualities of decision, diligence, and perseverance
would come most naturally under a separate heading
by themselves. These qualities are concerned not so
much with the resistance to the solicitations of plea-
sure and pain, as with the resistance to the natural
inertia of human nature. The Christian virtues of
faith and hope are closely connected with valour and
fortitude, in so far as they supply the latter vir*ues
with an inner ground. A confident and cheerful view
of life seems to be presupposed in the highest forms of
courage.1 With reference to temperance, again, this
virtue would require to be understood as including
the resistance to all kinds of solicitation from pleasures,
whether sensual or intellectual, in so far as these tend
to interfere with the conduct of life along the lines that
have been chosen. Broadly speaking, then, we should
be led in this way to recognize four distinct classes ol
virtues as bearing directly on the conduct of the indi-
vidual life — wisdom in the choice of its general course,
decisiveness in pursuing it, courage and temperance in
resisting the solicitations of pain and pleasure.'

i Browning's portraiture of Hercules in Balaustion's Adventuri
well illustrates the qualities involved in the highest forms of active
courage.

3 Mr. Muirhead remarks (Elements of Ethics, p. 198-9) that the vir-
tues of courage and temperance involve one another. " In order to
be temperate a man must be courageous : in order to be able to
resist the allurements of pleasure he must be willing to endure the
pain that resistance involves. Similarly, in order to be courageous,
he must be temperate." But this is perhaps a needless subtlety.
The man who temperately abstains from a bottle of wine must no
doubt be courageous enough to face the difficulties and dangers in-
volved in going without it But does not this mean simply that
temperance is a kind of negative courage ? And does not the dis-
tinction between positive and negative still remain ?

§ 6.] THE VIRTUES. 363

(b) The virtues that relate to the individual's deal-
ings with his fellow-men are perhaps best summed up
under the head of justice. At the same time, this
term, as commonly understood, is much too narrow
to include all the virtues that arise in such relation-
ships. It must be understood, for instance, to include
not merely the fulfilment of contracts, and the perform-
ance of every duty required by the laws, express or
understood, of the community to which one belongs,
but also perfect honesty and fidelity in all one's rela-
tionships with others. Mr. Ruskin has taught us to
look for honesty even in modes of artistic expression ;
and this kind of honesty, as well as others,1 must be
included in our idea of justice, if that idea is to be
made to comprehend all the virtues connected with
our social obligations. Further, the Christian ideal of
life has taught us to expect something beyond the mere
satisfaction of obligations in our dealings with our
fellow-men ; and indeed more than this was expected
even by the moral consciousness of the Greeks. We
commonly say that generosity is expected as well as
justice ; and in Christian communities love also is re-
quired. In a sense, however, we may say that all this
ought to be included in our idea of justice.2 For it is
part of what is due from one individual to another that

1 Other instances of honesty, going beyond mere truthfulness,
might easily be given. Thus the student who " crams " for an ex-
animation may be said to be dishonest, because his knowledge is
not genuine. Again, what Mr. Bosanquet calls (History of ^Esthetic,
p. xiii) " the scholar's golden rule — never to quote from a book that
he has not read from cover to cover," is a good instance of the ex-
tension of the idea of honesty.

a Thus, generosity, as Mr. Muirhead says, " is only justice ade-
quately conceived " (Elements of Ethics, p. 200).

364 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. iv.

the latter should be treated not as a mere thing to which
certain specifiable obligations are owed, but as a person,
an absolute end, with infinite claims. It is true that as
a general rule such ideal relationships are only partly
attainable ; but the thoroughly just man will endeavour
to realize them as far as possible, and will be glad
when the external relationships of mere contract can
be transmuted into the relationships of friendship or
Christian love.1 Hence also such ideas as those of
courtesy, and even of a certain cheerfulness and good
humour in social intercourse ; such efforts as that of
being, as far as possible, all things to all men, of avoid-
ing all appearance of evil, of abstaining from that
which is lawful when it is not expedient, and in general
all the chivalries of the Christian gentleman, are not
foreign to the conception of justice. They are part of
what we owe to one another as persons and as abso-
lute ends.

We see, then, that, by giving a broad interpretation
to each of the terms used, we may accept the old
Greek classification of the virtues with but slight modi-
fications. The only positive addition that we have to
make is the recognition of a virtue of decisiveness and
perseverance. Perhaps it was natural that the Greeks
should omit this, partly because their plan of life was
more mapped out for them beforehand than it is with
us, and partly because with their simpler method of
life steady persistence in any particular line was less
essential. Perhaps also the light inconstancy of the

1 Here we are in agreement with Carlyle. Cf. above, chap, ii., § 7
We doubt only whether the abolition of contract would of itself
produce this desirable result Justice must on the whole precede
generosity.

§ 6.] THE VIRTUES. 365

Athenian character, its perennial youthfulness, made
the omission of this stern virtue easy. A Roman
would scarcely have forgotten the idea of disciplined
application ; ' an Englishman would not naturally omit
decision of character : a German would remember
Daurbarkeit* Besides this, however, it must not be
forgotten that we have been extending the meaning
of the four Greek virtues to senses which the Greeks
themselves would not have acknowledged.3 But such
an expansion of the conception of duty is inevitable as
the world advances.

Having made this classification, however, we may
at once add that any attempt to draw out such a
list, like an attempt to make a list of the command-
ments, is of very slight importance. There is essen-
tially but one virtue (what we may, if we like, call
practical wisdom*), just as there is essentially but one
commandment. The particular virtues, like the par-
ticular commandments, are only special forms in which

l The decisiveness of such a man as Caesar, for instance (cf. below,
chap, v., § n. note), seems to be a virtue which cannot be identified
either with wisdom, courage, or temperance.

a Persistence. Cf. also the peculiarly German virtue of Treue
(fidelity). These virtues were all somewhat foreign to the Athenian
character.

* This was habitually done by the early Christian moralists who
accepted the Platonic classification. See Sidgwick's History of Ethics,

P- 133-

4 It might be urged, of course, that there is a great difference be-
tween what Bacon calls " wisdom fora man's self " and that wisdom
which manifests itself in a just regard for others. But wisdom for
a man's self, in the sense of mere selfish prudence, is not virtue at
all Wise care of a man's own interests, in the sense in which that
is a virtue, is precisely the same quality as that which leads, when
extended, to a wise care of the interests of others. The only dif-
ference lies in the extension of our universe.

366 ETHICS. [BK. ni., CH. iv.

the right attitude of mind manifests itself. The effort
to make a last of these forms is almost frivolous. I
have thought it worth while to say so much as I have
done on the subject, only in order to make it clear
what such an effort would mean. Perhaps the best
way of regarding the virtues is to treat them as those
forms of character that are implied in the fulfilment of
the duties or commandments ; while those duties or
commandments, again, depend on the elements in-
volved in the social unity.

§ 7. EDUCATION OF CHARACTER. — Having ascertained
what are the types of character to which we wish to
approximate, we have next to inquire into the means
by which these types are to be developed. Here, how-
ever, it would be necessary to trespass on the province
of Psychology, and especially on that part of Psycho-
logy which is concerned with the theory of Education.
This subject is still in a somewhat undeveloped state ; *
and there are only one or two remarks that seem to
have any practical value for our present purpose. It is
scarcely necessary to refer to what every moralist has
noticed, the influence of example in the development
of character. "As iron sharpeneth steel, so a man
sharpeneth the countenance of his friend." But all the
forms of social relationship have a similar value. Per-
haps we may say generally that the important thing,

1 Reference, may, however, be made to Herbart's Science of Educa-
tion. Some good points will be found also in Guyau's Education
and Heredity, Fouillee's L'Enseignenient au Point de Vue National,
Mrs. Bryant's Educational Ends, Rosenkranz's Philosophy of Educa-
tion, and Dr. Adler*s Moral Instruction of Children. Herbart's chief
point is that the great work of education is to extend the " circle of
thought" By a " circle of thought " he means very nearly what baa
been described in this handbook as a "universe.*

§ 7.] THE VIRTUES. 367

from this point of view, is the influence that comes
from connecting oneself with some organization that
has a certain completeness in itself. Schiller said that
a man must either be a whole in himself or else join him-
self on to a whole. To this Mr. Bradley has added,1
"You cannot be a whole, unless you join a whole."
Complete development of character can be attained only
by devoting ourselves to some large end, in co-operation
with others. Such an attachment comes to different
men in different ways. Some find it in the pursuit of
science, others in particular practical interests, others in
the political life of the State, others in poetry or religion.
It matters little what the form may be ; but unless a
man has, in some form, a broad human interest which
lifts him out of himself, his life remains a fragment,
and the virtues have no soil to grow in. The first
requisite, then, for the development of the virtues, is
to unite ourselves with others in the pursuit of some
end or ideal. In the second place, we may observe
that a certain amount of ascetic discipline is sometimes
found valuable. As Aristotle put it,a when a man's
character has been twisted in one direction, it may be
straightened by bending it in the other. Also, even
apart from this, a certain check to the gratification of
our natural propensities helps to waken up the will : 3
it prevents us from living on by rote, and thus serves

1 Ethical Studies, p. 72. Mr. Bradley attributes the saying to Goetha
It is one of the Xenien, and was probably of joint authorship.

2 Ethics, II. ix. 5.

8 Cf. James's Principles of Psychology, voL L, p. 126. Prof. James
lays down the maxim : " Keep the faculty of effort alive in you by a
little gratuitous exercise every day." He adds, " Be systematically
ascetic or heroic in little unnecessary points ; do every day or two
•omething for no other reason than that you would rather not do it'

368 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. iv,

as a stimulus to the development of character ; so that,
like Rabbi Ben Ezra, we may

" welcome each rebuff
That turns earth's smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go."

It is best, however, when such a rebuff comes to us in
the ordinary course of nature. When it is consciously
administered, it is apt to involve too much attention
to our own inner development, which almost always
leads to the production of a morbid habit of mind.'
On the whole, it is generally better to escape from our
defects, not by thinking about them and trying to
elude them, but by fixing our attention on the opposite
excellences. Dr. Chalmers used to speak of "the ex-
pulsive power of a new affection"; 3 and it certainly
seems a more effectual method as a rule to expel our
evil propensities by developing good ones rather than
by seeking directly to crush the evil ones. At the same

I venture to doubt the wisdom of this. A man who is living with
serious ends in view will, I think, always find sufficient occasions
for ascetic discipline —

" Room to deny himself, a road
To bring him daily nearer God * —

without artificially seeking them out (except perhaps in the way in-
dicated by Aristotle). See the whole passage from James quoted in
Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 129, note. Cf. also Miss Gilliland's
Essay on " Pleasure and Pain in Education " in the International
Journal of Ethics, voL ii., No. 3 (April, 1892), pp. 303-4.

1 Cf. below, p. chap, v., § n.

* So also Mrs. Humphry Ward says in Robert Elsmcrc : " This,
Indeed, is the only way in which opinion is ever really altered— by
the substitution of one mental picture for another * ; and again :
* An idea cannot be killed from without — it can only be supplanted,
transformed, by another idea, and that, one of equal virtue and
magic," These quotations are due to Mr. Welton.

§ 8.] THE VIRTUES. 369

time, it must be allowed that it is seldom possible to
develop the moral life, like a flower, by a simple pro-
cess of steady growth. Usually a certain amount of
attention to the inner life is necessary; and often a
man has to pass through crises, such as used to be
called, in religious language, conversion or new birth,
in which the attention is turned inwards, and the man
is occupied, as it were, in feeling his own pulse and
fingering the motives of his conduct. This is an
attitude from which we ought to escape as rapidly
as possible ; but it is so characteristic a feature in the
development of the moral life that it seems worth while
to devote a separate chapter to the consideration of it
— the more so, as it will lead us to a further study of
what may be called the inner side of virtue. T

§ 8. THE MORAL SYLLOGISM. — Before we conclude this
chapter, it may be convenient to take note of a highly
significant conception of Aristotle, which seems here
in place. In the present and the two preceding
chapters we have briefly indicated the various forms

i With reference to moral education, it may be noted here that a
certain confusion is frequently fallen into between the culture of the
moral nature and the acquisition of knowledge about morals. The
former is all-important : the latter frequently leads to nothing more
than that form of spiritual pride which is vulgarly known as " prig-
gishness." In the former sense, all real education is moral education.
It is in this sense that Herbart says (Science of Education, p. 57),
" The one and the whole work of education may be summed up in
the concept— Morality. ' 7.n the latter sense, on the other hand, a moral
education would generally be a bad education, leading to nothing
but self-conscious introspection. C/. the important distinction be-
tween "moral ideas" and "ideas about morality" drawn by Mr.
Bosanquet in his article on "The Communication of Moral Ideas' in
the International Journal of Ethics vol. I., No. i (Oct 1890), p. 86
See also Miss Gilliland, loc. cit, pp. 294-5

Eth. M

ETHICS. LBK. III., CH. IV.

in which the moral atmosphere (if we may so call it)
affects the individual consciousness. The moral ideal
involved in social life presents itself to him in the three
forms of institutions to be maintained, duties to be
fulfilled, and a type of life to be realized. At different
stages of social development, and in different races of
mankind, it tends to present itself more distinctly in
one or other of these forms. Thus the Jews thought
chiefly of Commandments, the Greeks chiefly of
Virtues, and perhaps the Romans attached most im-
portance to the maintenance of social institutions.
But, in whatever form the moral life is conceived, the
good citizen may be said to derive from these general
conceptions of its nature the principles by which his
life is guided. It is then his business to apply these
principles in detail. This process was described by
Aristotle as the formation of a practical syllogism.
The major premiss consists of the general statement,
that a particular social institution is to be maintained,
that a particular commandment is to be obeyed, that
a particular type of life is to be realized. The minor
premiss consists in the apprehension that an action
of a particular kind would be one that fulfilled these
conditions. Then the conclusion would consist in the
carrying out of the action in question.

The power of thus apprehending the general prin-
ciple to be followed, and of bringing the particular
action under it, was called by Aristotle practical
wisdom (?>/><5vij<n?) ; and the man who possessed this
quality was called a ypovt^of (a wise or prudent man).
The excellence of the good citizen is of this nature ;
and, having reached this point, it may now be con-
yenient to give Aristotle's complete definition of Virtue

§ 8.] THE VIRTUES. 371

as it appears in the good citizen. Most of the points
in the definition have already come up in the course of
our exposition ; and it may be well now to have it
before us in its entirety. ' ' Virtue, " says Aristotle, ' " is
the habit of choosing the relative mean, as it is deter-
mined by reason, and as the man of practical wisdom
would determine it." This is apt to strike us at first
as defining in a circle ; but if we remember what is
meant by the man of practical wisdom — viz. the man
who has fully entered into the spirit of his moral
environment ; and if we remember further that the
spirit of his moral environment is the product of the
human ideal — t. e. of reason — as it has so far expressed
itself; we may be able to see that it is not really
defining in a circle, but the expression of a profound
truth. It furnishes us, however, only with an account
of the virtue of the good citizen ; and though this is an
important element in the life of the good man, it is not
quite the whole of it. Accordingly, Aristotle proceeds
from the consideration of the virtue of the yf)6vttj.<>s to
the consideration of that of the ffopds (the man of
speculative wisdom), which he declares to be higher.
This raises the general question how far the highest
life of the individual can be regarded as something to
be realised apart from the life of the community, or as
something that contains elements that are not adequately
expressed in his relations to the social unity to which
he belongs. It is this question that we have now to
consider.

1 Nicomachean Ethics, II., vi. , 15. 'Eon* ipa. ^ apcrij «fi« irpoatprruc^ '»*
ofio-a TTJ irpbs ^ias, upiyfjLtvji Aoyy <eai «K an a

372 ETHICS. [i K. III., CII. IV.

NOTE ON THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE VIRTUES.

Students who desire a more complete classification of the Virtues
than that which has been given in the foregoing chapter might find it
advantageous to study them genetically, i.e., to consider how they grow
up and come to be recognised in the development of human life. From
this point of view, it would probably be found that the earliest virtues
to be recognized are those of Courage and Loyalty, as being the most
important for the maintenance of the tribe. Courage at first means
Valour in battle, but gradually comes to include Fortitude, Hopeful-
ness, etc. In Aristotle's treatment of the virtue of Courage we see the
"beginnings of this process of expansion. Loyalty, in like manner,
means at first simple Fidelity to the tribal unity, but gradually comes
to include Perseverance and Enthusiasm in any work that may be
undertaken. As we go beyond the tribal consciousness, and pass to the
stage at which there is a more definite recognition of the individual
life, the virtues of Temperance and Prudence make their appearance,
and these also become by degrees more and more comprehensive. The
growth of the individual consciousness leads to the establishment of
personal relations between individuals ; and with these the virtues of
Fairness (Justice) and Friendliness soon acquire importance. The
deepening of the individual consciousness leads to the recognition of
the virtue of Reverence in its various forms of Self-Respect and
Respect for others. Finally, Wisdom comes to be seen as the Virtue
that underlies all others. From this point of view, then, the Cardinal
Virtues would be Courage, Loyalty, Temperance, Prudence, Fairness,
Friendliness, Reverence, and Wisdom. But from different points of
view different results might be reached. What is important is not
to have a classification of the virtues, but to understand the general
significance of Virtue as the habit of acting in a suitable way in
situations of a particular kind, and then to have a fairly complete view
of the kinds of situation that arise in communities at different stages of
development. Such a list of virtues as that given by Aristotle in the
Nicomachean Ethics cannot be regarded as much more than a collec-
tion of specimens of some of the most important types to be found
in his own age and country. The attempt to be exhaustive on such
a subject would be apt to lead to a result more voluminous than
luminous. On the other hand, if one tries to give simply a general
classification of the different directions in which the moral life becomes

§ 8.] THE VIRTUES. 3/3

specialised, such as is generally understood by a list of Cardinal Virtues,
it is almost impossible to devise any principle of division that is really
satisfactory. In Plato's fourfold list it is pretty clear that Wisdom is
on a different footing from the other three, being rather the underlying
principle of all than one of the special applications of it ; while again
Temperance and Justice cannot be very clearly distinguished from one
another. The common division of Virtues into the self-regarding and
the other-regarding is similarly unsatisfactory ; and so is Aristotle's
distinction of moral and intellectual virtues. On the whole, the genetic
order of study seems the most satisfactory.

374 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. V.

CHAPTER V.

THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE.

§ 1. THE HIGHER INDIVIDUALISM. — While it is true that
the life of the individual is relative throughout to the
social unity to which he belongs, it is none the less
true that it is in the personality of individuals that the
social unity is realized. Consequently, though it is an
error to think of an individual as having a life of his own
independent of society, it is not an error to think of the
individual life (realized within a social unity) as an
absolute and supreme end in itself. Hence the efforts
of such a man as Goethe after the highest culture of his
individual nature are not to be classed (as shallow
critics have sometimes classed them) with the strivings
of egoism. The development of such a personality is
at once a good in itself and a benefit to the whole of
humanity. Nor is this less true, though the benefit is
smaller, in the case of less comprehensive and signifi-
cant personalities. What Mr. Ruskin calls "the manu-
facture of souls " ' is the greatest of all industries. This
is a kind of work, however, in which men are apt to be
unsuccessful in proportion as they consciously set
themselves to it. Crescit occulto velut arbor oevo, is in
some measure true of most great characters. Even
Goethe seems to have been somewhat injured by his

1 C/. Walt Whitman's question, " Do they turn out men down your
way ?" quoted by Dr. Adler in his Moral Instruction of Children,

§ 2.] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 37$

too deliberate self-culture. "The unconscious," says
Carlyle, "is alone complete" ; the reason being that a
perfect character is one that is objective, that loses itself
in the world with which it deals, one that knows much
and loves much, not one that is much occupied in the
contemplation of itself.1 Still, this objective point of
view is capable of being cultivated, and the cultivation
of it involves a certain amount of self-study. Some
points in c'onnection with this may now be noted.

§ 2. CONVERSION. — The religious experience known as
conversion seems to be a normal fact in our moral
development. Recurring to the mode of expression
which we have so frequently made use of, we may
say that this phenomenon occurs when a man is made
aware of a higher universe than that within which he
is living, and at the same time becomes conscious that
that higher universe is one within which he ought to
live. Such an experience occurs in its intensest form
only when the higher universe that is presented to us
is recognized as the highest of all — i. e. it occurs mainly
in the religious life. But even apart from this, there is
frequently a crisis in the moral life, in which we pass
from some lower universe to a higher. The moment,
for instance, at which a man decides to devote himself
to poetry, or art, or science, or philosophy, or the time

i There is, in fact, what we may call a Paradox of Duty, analogous
to the Paradox of Pleasure referred to above (Book I., chap, il, § 7).
Just as, in order to get pleasure, a man must interest himself rather in
particular objects than in his own personal feelings ; so, in order to
act rightly, a man must interest himself in some object that is to be
accomplished rather than in his own attitude in accomplishing it
Even the wealth of our inner life depends rather on the width of
our objective interests than on the intensity of our self-contempla-
tiou.

3/6 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. v.

at which he hears of the death of a friend, or loses or
gains a fortune, or goes to college, or falls in love, will
often be such a period. Life takes on a new aspect;
and the mind turns in criticism upon the life that is
past. In the case of the religious life, there is often a
violent reaction against the past, a condemnation of
its acts and even of its ideals, repentance and remorse.
In less extreme cases there is only a certain shame for
the low level of our former existence, accompanied
frequently by contempt for those who remain at it,
together with a fixed determination to follow higher
things in the future. At such times a man is intensely
conscious of himself. He perhaps keeps a diary to
record his inner feelings. He withdraws probably in
some degree from general intercourse with the world,
and becomes somewhat cynical in his estimate of it.1
He thinks he has discovered a new world which no one
has ever explored before him. It is at such times
especially that the inner life becomes prominent.

§3. CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. — Apart, however, from any
such special periods as this, one who is careful about
his moral conduct frequently finds himself called upon
to reflect upon his inner life, in the way of inquiry
whether his conduct conforms to his highest ideals.
Carlyle has commended* times of action in contrast
with times of reflection ; but in the practical moral life
it is impossible to keep the two long asunder. After
action we must reflect upon our activities and criticise
them, with a view to improving upon them in the
future. Now in so far as we merely consider our
overt acts, this involves no entrance into the inner

1 See Carlyle's Sartor Resartus, for instance.
1 Especially in his Essay on " Characteristics."

§ 3-] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 377

life. But a man who is careful about his conduct will
generally reflect not merely upon his actual conduct,
but upon the motives by which he was led to it.1 The
habit of reflecting upon them has been called by Green
conscientiousness.2 It is doubtful whether this is a
quite correct use of that term. 3 Conscientiousness
seems properly to mean simply extreme care with
regard to our external conduct. But, for lack of a
better word, we may employ the term here in Green's
sense. "A man may ask himself," Green says, "Was
I, in doing so and so, acting as a good man should,
with a pure heart, with a will set on the objects on
which it should be set ? — or again, Shall I, in doing so
and so, be acting as a good man should, goodness
being understood in the same sense ? " This question
is somewhat different from the question whether one's
action has in itself been right. It is rather the question
whether I, in doing an action in itself right, * was occu-
pying aright attitude, or whether I did it from a wrong
motive, s If a man is much occupied with such a

i As a rule, we do not do this. Although, as already remarked
(above, p. 135), the moral judgment is passed on a. person doing, not
on a thing done, yet the interest of the agent is normally centred in
\ thing to be done, not in himself as doing it Cf. also p. 355, note.

a Prolegomena to Ethics, pp. 260-271, and 323-327.

« See Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, p. 202.

4 /. e. right as an overt act A man, in acting, is primarily interested
in the question, whether he is bringing about a desirable result In
judging his action, as we have already remarked (above, p. 135), we
take account of the motive by which he is led to bring about this
result But the man himself, in acting, does not normally think of
this. He simply sees the thing to be done and does it

8 I suspect that when men inquire into their motives in this way,
they are frequently using the term " motive " in the more inaccurate
sense formerly referred to (above, p. 62). They are thinking of the
feelings that accompany their actions rather than of the ends that

378 ETHICS. [BK. m., CH. v.

question as this, it is generally a sign either of a
morbid state of mind or of the fact that one has not
found his true vocation in life ; for when a man has
found his work and is doing it, he has little time left
for such inquiries.1 Moreover, if a man's mind is
honest and clear, he can generally answer the question
at once, without any elaborate investigation. Conse-
quently, when a man enters upon such inquiries, they
have seldom reference to any single action that he
has performed, but rather to his general attitude in
life.

§4. SELF-EXAMINATION. — Such self-examination is
often a direct result of a new awakening to a sense of
the moral imperative such as we have already described
as conversion ; but it may be carried on by men
periodically, without any such reawakening. A man
may ask himself whether his life is being lived on that
level which answers to his ideal of what life should be.
In asking this, he will generally mean partly to ask
whether his actions, viewed as external facts, are
exactly such as they ought to be — whether he has
actually accomplished what was required of him in the
given situation ; and this is a question with regard to
overt fact. But frequently he will mean more than

induce them to perform these actions. But even in the stricter ac-
ceptation of the term, the inquiry into the purity of our motives is
not irrelevant See below, p. 359, note I, and p. 368, note i.

1 C/. Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, p. 201. That very wise man,
Goethe, has a remark on this, as on most other things. Referring
to a boy who could not console himself after he had committed
a trifling fault, " I was sorry to observe this," said Goethe, " for it
shows a too tender conscience, which values so highly its own
moral self that it will excuse nothing in it Such a conscience makes
hypochondriacal men, if it is not balanced by great activity." (Con*
versations with Eckermann.)

§4-] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE.

this. He will frequently wish to ascertain whether the
general principles of his conduct are right, whether he
habitually acts in the best spirit as well as in the best
manner — whether, for instance, he is perfectly disin-
terested in his conduct. No doubt such an inquiry, as
well as an inquiry into the spirit in which particular
actions have been done, is often an evidence of a
morbid habit of mind. A man's interests ought for the
most part to be concentrated in the objects which he
is seeking to accomplish rather than in his own inner
state.* And even if one wishes to vie\v his acts with
reference to the spirit in which they are done, it will
generally be best to do this by studying some ideal
type of the moral life, and endeavouring to follow in
his path, rather than by a direct contemplation of one's
own impulses and motives. The latter course has
nearly always a tendency to parr.lyze action and pro-
mote egoism. Still, there are times when the study of
one's own motives in particular actions is beneficial,
and also times at which it is desirable to take a survey

1 It is in such inquiries that we become aware of what may be
called the inner side of the virtues. The qualities involved in this
inner side of virtue — purity of heart and the like — seem to be what
Prof. Dewey understands by the " Cardinal Virtues." See above, p.
341, note i. It is probably true, as Green insists, that the inner and
outer side of virtuous action are in the long run exactly proportioned
to one another. " There is no real reason to doubt," says Green
(Prolegomena to Ethics, Book IV., chap, i., § 295), " that the good or
evil in the motive of an action is exactly measured by the good or
evil in its consequences, as rightly estimated." But he admits that
this correspondence would be fully apparent only to omniscience.
For us, a certain act may be evidently the right one in a given situa-
tion (e. g. the killing of a tyrant, the passing of an Act of Parliament,
the relief of a destitute widow, etc.), even if we do not know what
motive has led to its being done.

> CJ. above, p. 355, noU.

380 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. v,

of one's general attitude in life. This is a part of self-
knowledge ; and though, as Carlyle says, the motto
Know thyself \s an impossible one to carry out with
any completeness, yet it is important to make a cer-
tain approximation to the carrying of it out. One
reason of this is, that it is not always possible in our
actions to go fully into the reasons of what we do. We
often require to let ourselves go, relying on the intui-
tions that have been acquired in the course of our lives.
On such occasions it is important that we should know
how far we can trust ourselves to go. For this pur-
pose it is necessary to have an insight into the nature
of our "besetting sins," and these cannot always be
discovered from our overt acts. There are few, how-
ever, who carry this kind of self-knowledge very far.
"The heart is deceitful," and even those who observe
it most carefully are apt to miss some secret chambers.
The advice of an intimate friend will often help one
more than self-observation ; and even self-observation
is generally more successful in the form of a study of
our acts and habits than in that of a study of our secret
motives.

§ 5. THE STUDY OF THE IDEAL. — I have already re-
marked that it is usually a more profitable way of
developing the inner life rather to fix our attention on
some external type than to attend to our own motives.
Such types have frequently been selected and set up
for the imitation of whole nations and peoples — e. g.
Buddha, Jesus, Socrates, and the various Roman Ca-
tholic saints. And, on a smaller scale, we have in-
numerable biographies of heroes held up as examples
not only of right action, but of a right attitude of mind
and heart Novelists also and poets have created for

§6.] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 381

us imaginary types to serve the same end.1 Indeed,
this may be said to be the end of all poetry, in so far
as poetry has an end at all. It is a " criticism of life,"
inasmuch as it presents to us higher ideals of what
life might be and ought to be — and that chiefly on its
inner side.2

§ 6. THE MONASTIC LIFE. — The importance of the
study of the inner life, whether by direct self-exam-
ination, or by the contemplation of ideal patterns,
has at certain times been so keenly felt that men have
set themselves apart, like the Eastern mystics or the
monastic orders of Catholic Christianity, for the express
purpose of making this their study. We must regard
this, in general, as an undesirable form of the Division
of Labour. It had a certain justification in lawless
times, when most men were so much occupied with
violent action that they had no time for reflection. In
such times men who led a contemplative life had the
task of acting as the inner life for the whole commu-
nity to which they belonged. And perhaps in some
Oriental countries the nature of the climate renders it
difficult to carry on the active and the contemplative
life together. 3 The existence of a monastic order has
in fact somewhat the same justification as the setting
apart of a special day for religious worship. But just
as, when the Sabbath is too rigidly divided from the
rest of the week, it tends to become a mere ceremonial

1 On the moral and aesthetic significance of " types," the student
may be referred to Stephen's Science of Ethics, pp. 74-76. Reference
may also be made to Bacon's De Augmentis, Book VII., chap, iil

8 Cf. the famous passage in Goethe's Wilhelm Meister, Book II.,
chap, il, ending, " Who but the poet was it that first formed gods
for us ; that exalted us to them, and brought them down to ML'

• See Marshall's Principles of Economics, p. iz

382 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. v.

observance, with little reference to actual practice, so
when the priestly or monastic order is too rigidly
divided from the rest of the community, the inner life
comes to be regarded as their special province, with
which the rest of mankind have no concern.1 This
has a pernicious effect on general morals, and ulti-
mately on the morals of the monastic order itself. No
order of men can confine their attention exclusively
to the inner side of life ; and the pretence of doing so
turns rapidly into cant and hypocrisy. Just as it is
desirable that secular interests should not be entirely
forgotten on Sunday, nor the religious spirit throughout
the remainder of the week, so it is desirable as a gen-
eral rule that "all the Lord's people should be pro-
phets," or at any rate that prophets should retain
sufficient contact with the world to enable men of the
world to catch something of the spirit of the prophets.
§ 7. BEAUTIFUL SOULS. — Apart, however, from the
existence of any special order for the cultivation of
the inner life, we occasionally find individuals who

1 Cf. the amusing account, in Milton's Areopagitica, § 55, of the
man whose religion has become " a dividual movable * : " A wealthy
man . . . finds religion to be a traffic so entangled, and of so
many piddling accounts, that ... he cannot skill to keep a
stock going upon that trade. . . What does he therefore, but
resolves to give over toiling, and to find himself out some factor, to
whose care and credit he may commit the whole managing of his
religious affairs ; some divine of note and estimation that must be.
To him he adheres, resigns the whole warehouse of his religion,
with all the locks and keys, into his custody ; and indeed makes
the very person of that man his religion. . . . His religion comes
home at night, prays, is liberally supped, and sumptuously laid to
•leep ; rises, is saluted, and after the malmsey, or some well-spiced
bruage ... his religion walks abroad at eight, and leaves hi
kind entertainer in the shop trading all day without bis religion."

§ 8.] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 383

set themselves apart for this purpose. It has been
customary to describe these as "beautiful souls"
(schone Seelen) ; and Goethe has given a striking
account of one in his Wilhelm Meister.* They are
usually people who have been prevented in some way
from taking part in the active affairs of life. The lives
of such individuals have often a singular charm, and
the good effects of their influence are sometimes felt
over a wide circle ; but this is especially the case when
they do not entirely withdraw themselves from contact
with active life. If they do this, their contemplation
is apt to become emptied of all real content ; their fine
feelings turn into hysterical dreaming ; and it is well if
they do not end in madness.

§ 8. ASCETICISM. — The development of the study of
the inner life is generally accompanied by a contempt
for pleasure. This sometimes goes so far, as in the
case of the Indian mystics and the Medieval monks,
as to lead to the positive infliction of torture. The
ostensible reason for this is frequently the idea that
torture is pleasing to the gods ; but the fundamental
v'eason seems to lie in the desire of suppressing the
flesh and its lusts. This is of course in some degree
an essential of the moral life in any form ; but asceti-
cism seems to commit the error of turning the means
into an end. It is important to repress our lower
desires, in order that we may be able to devote our-
selves, without let or impediment, to the highest ends of
life. But the ascetic regards the suppression of desire
as the end in itself. And the effort thus to suppress all

1 Carlyle erroneously translated schSne Seele " fair Saint* For
some very suggestive remarks on the attitude of the "beautiful
soul," see Caird's Hegpl, pp. 28-31.

384 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. V.

natural desire frequently defeats its own aim. It con-
centrates attention on the objects of desire, and in a
sense makes a man the slave of his desires as truly as
in the case of him who yields to them. The best way
to free ourselves from our lower desires is, as we have
already indicated, « to interest ourselves in something
better. It is only into a mind swept and garnished
that the devils can enter : when it is well furnished
and occupied they can find no room.

§ 9. THE CONTEMPLATIVE LIFE. — The study of the
inner life is, in truth, but a part of the general life of
speculation as distinguished from action. The distinc-
tion between the active and the contemplative life has
impressed men in all ages ; and different thinkers have
attached importance to the one or the other. Aristotle
placed the contemplative life (meaning by that the
pursuit of scientific and philosophic truth) above the
practical life in which the ordinary social virtues are
exercised.* It is essentially the same point of view *
that we find among many Eastern mystics and Medi-
aeval saints, and, in more modern times, in such men
as Wordsworth, who withdraw from the struggle of
ordinary labours and find a higher life and a serener
wisdom in the contemplation of nature. Wordsworth
•ays of nature that,

" She has a world of ready wealth

The mind and heart to bless,
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness * ;

1 See above, p. 350.

* Ethics, Book X., chaps, vil and viiL

* Except (a very important qualification) that Aristotle regarded
the active life of social duty as an indispensable preparation for tha
higher life of thought Moreover, even the life of thought he re*

§9-] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 385

and the same thought finds utterance, in more homely
fashion, from Walt Whitman, when he says, " I loal
and invite my soul." Ruskin also has sung the praises
of rest and contemplation, and William Morris has
found his earthly paradise in "a century of rest," in
which the turmoil of modern civilization shall have
been appeased, and men shall find a more worthy
existence in a closer walk with nature. Similar ideas
dominate Emerson and Thoreau. All these seem to
think that the contemplative life is essentially higher
than the active, and that this higher life is to be reached
simply by withdrawing from the life of action. On
the other hand, Carlyle preached a gospel of labour,
and was fond of quoting the words of Sophocles that
"the end of man is an action and not a thought," or
the exclamation of \rnauld — "Rest 1 Shall I not have
all eternity to rest in ? " This view fits in well also
with the robust philosophy of Browning, who cannot
even accept the orthodox view of the rest of eternity,
but conceives of it as the most fitting address to his
departing spirit —

" ' Thrive and strive ' cry, ' Speed ! Fight on, fare ever, there
as here!'"

The truth seems to be that an ordinary healthy hu-
man existence requires boths ides. Thereare energetic
natures, like Csesar or Napoleon, that seem able to
go on with a perpetual activity, scarcely requiring
rest or reflection. But the activity of such men is not
usually the wisest or the most beneficial. There are
others whose special mission it seems to be to with-
draw from the world of action and bring messages to

garded as essentially a higher form of activity, to which the life of
the good citizen leads up.

Eth. as

386 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. V,

mankind from the inner world of feeling and reflection.
But the wisdom of such men is apt to be deficient in
the depth of universal applicability which a wider con-
tact with life can give. The Words worths and Emer-
sons are not equal to the Shakespeares and Goethes. For
the majority of men, at any rate, times of action natu-
rally alternate with times of reflection, times of creation
with times of re-creation. In retirement we criticise
the acts of life ; in life we criticise the ideas of retire-
ment Action and reflection are the gymnastic and
music of moral culture.'

§ 10. RELATION OF THE INNER TO THE OUTER LIFE.—
Looking at it in a more speculative light, we may
express the relation of the inner to the outer life in
this way. The life of unreflective action takes place
entirely within the universe with which we have iden-
tified ourselves. In the contemplative life we bring
ourselves into relation with the broader universe,
whether revealed in the form of the moral ideal within
us, some ideal exemplar without us, the beauty and
suggestiveness of nature, the discovery of scientific
law, or in any other shape. Now, since the life of al]

1 Q£ Goethe's famous lines —

" Es bildet ein Talent sich In der Stille,
Sich ein Character in dem Strom der Welt"
(" A genius forms itself in solitude ;
A character, in struggling with the world")

" Music" and " Gymnastic* were the names of the two elements in
Greek education — " Music," of course, including what used to be
called " polite literature " and a good deal more. Plato points out in
his Republic (Book III.) that both these elements are required for
the development of character. See Nettleship's admirable essay
on "The Theory of Education in Plato's Republic* (Hellenica, pp

§ 10.] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 387

of us involves progress, or, at the very lowest, re-
adjustment to new conditions, it is impossible that it
should be carried on successfully without a periodic
reference to the principles on which it is based. Like
chronometers, we can go on for a time by the mere
impulse of our moral springs, but if we are to be kept
in permanent order we must readjust ourselves by the
stars. On the other hand, it would be a poor chro-
nometer which was perpetually being set, and never
could be let go. A life of pure reflection would never
acquire any positive content. It would have principles,
but no facts to apply them to ; yet it is by contact with
such facts that the principles themselves grow. It is
experience that tests them, and that sends us back
again to improve them. "Best men are moulded out
of faults " ; for it is our errors of conduct that reveal
to us the defects of our principles, and show us where
they need improvement.*

There are, then, these two sides in every healthy
moral life. It is a mistake, on the one hand, to sup-
pose that all the worth of our life lies in its outer acts.
This is not even the only part of us that affects those
with whom we come in contact. "Men imagine,"
says Emerson, " that they communicate their virtue or
vice only by overt actions, and do not see that virtue
or vice emit a breath every moment." Of course, this
means in reality that the virtuous man acts a little dif-
ferently from the vicious man even where the external
act appears to be the same. The beauty of the inner
.ife, in Aristotle's phrase, "shines through." Hence
the importance of having the heart right On the other

1 Hence the element of truth in the popular view about the
sowing wild oats.* See below, p. 381.

388 ETHICS. [BK. m., CH. v.

hand, it is a mistake to suppose that we should be
perpetually fingering our inner motives. If we do this^
we shall always find that they are somewhat wrong.
The impulse of the moment can never quite rise to the
dignity of the eternal ideal ; and the more we watch
it, the less likely is it so to rise. If we make sure that
our overt action is thoroughly right, the right motive
will soon become habitual to us ; * and it is a man's
habitual motives that are important, not the motives
that may happen to enter into a particular act.

§ 11. THE VIRTUOUS MAN AND THE WORLD. — If our
life is to be one both of action and reflection, it must
also in a sense be one that is both in the world and
rsotofit A life of activity cannot be one of entire
withdrawal from the world and its ways ; yet the man
who guides himself by reflection will not simply be
carried along by its currents. The man who is simply
reflective and not active is sometimes characterized as

1 It might be thought, from what has been already said in chap, iil,
that, if we are resolutely setting ourselves to do good actions, the
motive of them must necessarily be good. But this is only partly
true. If a statesman devotes himself persistently to the passing
of beneficial laws, this must be because he takes the benefit of his
country as part of his motive. But he may also be influenced by the
desire of personal fame, or even by that of spiting a rival A man
can seldom be quite sure that some such lower motives do not form
part of his inducement to the performance of an action which he
clearly sees to be in itself desirable. But the best practical coursf,
is evidently that of habituating ourselves to the performance of
actions which we perceive to be desirable. By doing this, we ac-
custom ourselves to the point of view of the "universe " within which
the actions are good. We forget the lower universe of personal
ambition, or of personal spite ; and, by forgetting it, we gradually
cease to live in it We lose ourselves in the pure interest in our ob-
jective end ; and this is the highest motive — i. e. on the assumption
that our objective end is really a desirable one, forming ?n element
to human progress.

§ II.] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE. 389

"over-conscientious."1 Sometimes this reproach is
merely an indication of prejudice on the part of "men
of the world"; but often it is a mark of a real want
of decision of character, like that of Hamlet, or a
want of appreciation of the limits within which our
moral life has to be lived.3 It is a man of this type
who is sometimes said to be " so good that he is good
for nothing" ("si buon che val niente"). On the
other hand, the commoner defect is that of living
entirely within the universe of the society in which
we find ourselves, and following a multitude to do
evil. The good man adapts himself to his environ-
ment, but tries at the same time to make his environ-
ment better. He does not simply try to keep himself
"unspotted of the world," but also to clear the world
of spot. Such a man will in a sense be "not of the
world." He will live in the light of principles which
are not fully embodied in the modes of action around
him. But he will not withdraw into himself, and
abstain from taking part in the activities of his world.
This attitude of the virtuous man is strikingly de-
picted by Wordsworth in his sonnet to Milton,3 in

1 See Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, p. 323, and Dewey's Outlines
of Ethics, p. 201.

a Froude says of Julius Caesar (Cccsar, p. 339), " His habit was to
take facts as they were, and when satisfied that his object was just,
to go the readiest way to it" A very conscientious man can seldom
bring himself to do this, and hence lacks " force of will." Cf above,
pp. 82-3. Descartes was so much afraid of the indecision due to a
reflective habit, that he thought it necessary to make it a special
practical rule for himself, never to hesitate when once he had come
to the conclusion that a particular line of conduct was on the whole
the best See his Discourse on Method, Part III. (Veitch's translation,

P- 25).
•C/. also Milton's own emphatic declaration in the Arcopagitica t

390 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. v.

which he expresses both his aloofness and his readi-
ness to serve.

"Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart ;

And yet thy heart

The lowliest duties on herself did lay."

§ 12. THE MORAL REFORMER. — This twofold attitude is
perhaps best seen in the case of great moral reformers.
Every good man, no doubt, is a moral reformer on
a small scale ; but occasionally in the history of a
nation there arises a man who holds up new ideals of
the moral life, and induces men in some degree to
adopt them, thus advancing the general moral ideas
of mankind. Types of such reformers are Buddha,
Socrates, and Jesus. These are generally men who
have a profound appreciation of the moral life of their
peoples, and who by reflection upon it are led to
transcend its limitations. There was no better
Athenian citizen than Socrates, none more attached
to his native state, none more ardent in the perform-
ance of civic duties, few more thoroughly at home
in its customs and traditions.1 IJut he was more than
this. He had his hours of reflective abstraction, in
which he went beneath the moral traditions of his
nation and examined the fundamental principles on
which they rested. This reflective examination en-
abled him to transcend .the limitations of Greek mo-
rality, and to prepare the way for deeper conceptions

'' I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and
unbreathed, that never sallies out and seeks her adversary, but slinks
out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, not
without dust and heat" See also Bacon's DeAugmentis, Book VII,
chap. i.
1 See Zeller's Socrates and the Socratic School, Part II., chap v.

§ 12.] THE INDIVIDUAL LIFE.

of duty. Similarly, Jesus was no ascetic or recluse.
He "came eating and drinking," and was familiar
with the ideas and habits of his people, even of those
that were regarded as outcast and degraded. But he
had also his times of retirement, temptations in the
wilderness, and withdrawal to mountains. This com-
bination of active participation and reflective with-
drawal enabled him to sum up the morality of his
nation, and by summing it up to s"et it upon a deeper
basis, which fitted it to become the morality of the
modern civilized world. So it is with most great moral
reformers. They hold, in a sense, the mirror up to
their times and peoples. They show them clearly
what is already stirring dimly within their own con-
sciences. They often seem to proclaim something
entirely new and contrary to the whole spirit of the
age ; and consequently they often become martyrs
to their convictions, as both Socrates and Jesus did.
And no doubt they often do, like Moses, bring down
a new law from heaven. But the new law was nearly
always contained implicitly in the current morality of
their time. They only interpreted that morality more
carefully and strictly, freed it from self-contradictions,
and pressed it back to the fundamental principles on
which it rested. * When they do more than this, their
work is seldom entirely beneficial. It is too much
in the air, and has too little reference to the actual
condition of things, to have much practical effect.
Perhaps we may venture to blame our own great
moral reformers of recent times, Carlyle and Ruskin,
and, still more, Tolstoi, that they have made too little

* See Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, pp. 323 — 330, Muirhead's Ele-
ments of Ethics, pp. 253-4, an^ Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 189-901

392 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. V.

effort to understand what is best in the spirit of their
times, and that their censures, consequently, are too
much like the voice of one crying in the wilderness,
an external accusation instead of an internal criticism.
But even this would be only partly true. Carlyle and
Ruskin are on the whole no exception to the general
nature of moral reformers. Much of what is best in
the spirit of the age finds in them its best expression,
and their criticisms are to a very large extent organic
to the thing criticised. They are to a certain extent
the criticism of the age upon itself, its condemnation
by its own principles, strictly interpreted ; and this is
perhaps the only kind of criticism that is permanently
beneficial

§ I.] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 393

CHAPTER VL

MORAL PATHOLOGY.

§ 1. MORAL EVIL. — So far we have been mainly occu-
pied with the consideration of the moral life in its posi-
tive aspect as a development towards goodness and
perfection of character and social activity. We must
now dwell for a little on its more shady aspects. Man's
life is not a simple struggle towards virtue and holi-
ness : it is quite as often a lapsing into vice and sin.
This aspect we have on the whole neglected ; and we
must now give a little consideration to it.

Each man's moral life may, as we have seen, be
regarded as a universe in itself. This universe may be
a broad one or a narrow one. In the case of the
majority of men it is sufficiently narrow to exclude
many human interests. This narrowness is a source
of conflict. It causes the individual good to appear
to be in opposition to the general good of humanity.
There is a sense in which no one ever seeks anything
except what he regards as good. Quidquid petitur
petitur sub specie boni. Evil is not sought as evil, but
as a good under particular circumstances.1 But

1 Many of the acts that we regard as vices were at one time scarcely
vices at all. They are the virtues of a lower stage of civilization, a
lower universe which has been superseded, but in which some men
still linger. Thus, Prof. Alexander says (Moral Order and Progress

394 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. VL

the good sought is only the good of the universe con-
cerned at the particular moment. This need not even
be what the individual himself, taking a survey of his
life, would regard as good for him : still less is it
necessarily identical with or conformable to the general
good. It may be the good of a very narrow universe
— the universe of a man who is making no serious
•efforts to reach that rational point of view in which
alone, as we have seen, true freedom is to be found ;
one who, remaining in servitude to his passions and
•animal propensities, prefers "bondage with ease to
strenuous liberty." Indeed, there are even cases in
which opposition to the general good becomes almost
an end in itself; in which an individual is inclined to
say, like Milton's Satan, "Evil, be thou my good."
Social duty presents itself as a continual menace to a
man who has not learned to identify the good of society
with his own ; and he is thus tempted to take up arms

p. 307) : " Murder and lying and theft are a damnosa hcreditas left
us from a time when they were legitimate institutions : when it was
honourable to kill all but members of the clan, or to lie without
scruple to gain an end, and when there was promiscuity of property."
Cf. Dewey's Outlines of Ethics, pp. 215-16. In this connection, Ben-
tham refers to a passage in Homer where " Menelaus, courteously
addressing a stranger, seeks to learn his occupation, and asks him
what his business may be, whether by chance it is that of a pirate
or what other." In Aristotle's Politics (I., viii. 7, 8.) pirates are men-
tioned along with fishermen, hunters, etc., as classes of workers who
maintain themselves without retail trade. In Sparta, again, it was
not thought dishonourable to steal, though it was thought dishonour-
able to be found out Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, p. 210. Per-
haps some forms of action which are popularly approved at the pre-
sent day will seem equally surprising in future generations Indeed,
it would seem that even the pirate or filibuster has not ceased to be
honoured in certain quarters among ourselves. And we can hardly
even say laudatur et alget.

§ I.] MORAL PATHOLOGY. . 395

against it. f He cannot simply set it aside, as he can
narrower goods that lie outside his own : it is a wider
circle that includes his own, and he must either identify
himself with it or fight against it. This war against
society seldom indeed presents itself in the extreme
form in which it is depicted in Milton's Satan or Shake-
speare's Timon of Athens ; but on a smaller scale we see
it often enough in the wilful mischief of children, or in
the anti-social delight that gives its edge to scandal.

But apart from any such war against the social good,
even the best of men show at times "the defects of
their qualities," i. e. the limitations connected with the
particular kind of universe in which they live ; and the
more definite that universe is, the more marked are
likely to be the defects. Hence the shortcomings
which are often noticed in men of strong and original
characters. A weak character has no definite limits.
It flows vaguely over the boundaries of many universes,
without distinctly occupying any. It excludes little
because it contains little. It takes on, like a chame-
leon, the colour of any universe with which it comes
in contact. Such a person is not likely to offend
profoundly against any laws of his social surround-
ings. He will rather be "faultily faultless," drifting
securely because he is making for nowhere, carried
safely by wind and tide without any force of seaman-
ship. It is to such that the proverb applies that
"Fortune favours fools." No one can find any fault

1 C/. Shakespeare's King Richard III. : —

" And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days."

ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VL

with one who has "no character at all."1 On the
other hand, one who has great strength of char-
acter in some particular direction has generally some
accompanying weakness. His universe is a clear-
cut circle, and excludes many elements of a com-
plete moral life. Thus, the great poet, tenderly sensi-
tive and full of high aspirations, is often deficient in
steadiness of will and in attention to the more con-
ventional rules of morals. The great reformer is apt
to be inconsiderate of the weakness of others, and
sometimes even unscrupulous in selecting the means
to secure his purposes. The man who is devoted to
great public achievements is often, like Socrates, un-
successful in his domestic life. And so in many other
cases. Hence in our moral judgments on individuals
it is very necessary to consider not merely where they
fell short, but also what they positively achieved or
endeavoured.3 A man's sins are the shadows of his
virtues ; and though a life of transparent goodness
would cast no shadow, yet, so long as men fall short
of this, the strongest virtues will often have the deepest
shades.

§ 2. VICE. — Moral defects may be regarded either
from the inner or from the outer side — as flaws of
character or as issuing in evil deeds. From the former

1 " Nothing so true as what you once let fall,

Most women have no characters at all." — POPE.

It is perhaps scarcely necessary to say that I do not mean to ex-
press agreement with this dictum.

* Cf. Carlyle's Essay on Burns : " Granted, the ship comes into
harbour with shrouds and tackle damaged ; the pilot is blameworthy ;
he has not been all-wise and all-powerful : but to know how blame-
worthy, tell us first whether his voyage has been round the Globe,
or only to Ramsgate and the Isle of Do£s."

§ 2.] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 397

point of view, we may describe them as vices — vice *
being the term that corresponds to virtue, and that
denotes the inner stain of character rather than the
overt act. From the outer side, we may speak of them
rather as sins and crimes. The inner side is more
extensive than the outer ; for stains in the inner char-
acter may be to a large extent concealed, and not
issue definitely in evil deeds — though they can scarcely
fail to give a certain colour to our outer acts. It is
chiefly Christianity that has taught us to attach as
much weight to the evil in the heart as to the evil in
outer deeds.2 The more superficial view is to regard
the latter as alone of importance. Such sayings as
" whoever looketh on a woman to lust after her, has
committed adultery with her already in his heart,"
gave a new extension to the conception of morals.
Similarly, the conception of morality was deepened
when it was recognized that an action which is ex-
ternally good may in reality be evil if it is not done
from the highest motive. "Whatever is not of faith
is sin. "3 It was from this point of view that some of

1 From Latin vitiunt, a defect or blemish. Sin appears to come
from a root meaning a breach of right The corresponding Greek
word, ofiopWa, means an error. Crime is from the Latin crimen, an
accusation or judgment

3 The term generally employed by Christian writers, however, is
rather Sin than Vice. And thus Sin, though properly referring to an
outer act rather than to a stain of character, has acquired the sense
of Vice, and indeed has come to bear an even more inward meaning
than Vice. For Vice corresponds to Virtue, and means a general
habit of character issuing in particular bad acts ; whereas Sin, as
used by Christian writers, refers more often to the inner disposition
of the heart, want of purity in the motive, and the like. It is in this
sense, for instance, that St Paul speaks of " sin dwelling in him.*

* C/. Sidgwick's History oj Ethics, pp 114-115

398 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. VL

the early Christian writers spoke of the virtues of the
heathen as only "splendid vices."1

If we were to attempt to classify vices, the subdivi-
sions of them would naturally correspond to those of
the virtues. Thus we should have vices arising from
our yielding to pleasure, or failing to endure pain, or
not being sufficiently wise in our choice or strenuous
in our purposes. We should also have various vices
connected with imperfections in our social relation-
ships. But into the details of such a classification we
need not here enter.

§ 3. SIN. — Although it is true, however, that the inner
side of an evil character is quite as important, from a
moral point of view, as the evil acts that flow from it,
yet it must be remembered that there is a considerable
difference between vice that remains in the heart and
vice that issues in an evil deed ; just as there is a dif-
ference between virtue that remains mere "good in-
tention " and virtue that issues in deed. Mr. Muirhead
remarks on this point*: "How far the resolution is
from the completed act has become a proverb in respect
to good resolutions. It is not, perhaps, very creditable
to human nature that a similar reflection with regard
to bad resolutions does not make us more charitable
to persons who are caught apparently on the way to a
crime. Hoffding (Psychology, Eng. ed., p. 342) quotes
a case of a woman who, having got into a neighbour's
garden for the purpose of setting fire to her house, and
been taken almost in the act, swore solemnly in court

i Green, however, rightly insists that the best Greek writers were
perfectly aware of the importance of the inner motive. See his
Prolegomena to Ethics, Book III., chap, v., § 252 ; and # below,

* Elements of Ethics, p. 50, note.

§ 3-] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 399

that she knew she would not have perpetrated the act,
but hesitated to state upon oath that she had abandoned
her intention when she was surprised. With this we
may compare the passage in Mark Rutherford's story
of Miriams Schooling, where, speaking of Miriam's
temptation to take her own life, he says : ' Afterwards
the thought that she had been close to suicide was for
months a new terror to her. She was unaware that
the distance between us and dreadful crimes is much
greater often than it appears to be. ' " ' Perhaps we should
say, then, not merely that " Hell is paved with good
intentions," but that Heaven is paved with bad ones.
It should be remembered, however, that there is an
important difference here between good intentions and
bad intentions. Bad intentions, like good intentions,
are often frustrated by infirmity of purpose. In this
case the good intention is not so good as the good act ;
whereas the bad intention is on the whole worse than
the bad act. We do not think the better of Macbeth
for his hesitation in committing murder ; and often we
feel almost an admiration for a determined crime. On
the other hand, if a crime is prevented by genuine
moral scruples, which arise often just at the moment
when we have the opportunity of actually performing

1 Cf. Carlyle's French Revolution, vol. iii., Book I., chap. iv. j
"From the purpose of crime to the act there is an abyss ; wonderful
to think of. The finger lies on the pistol ; but the man is not yet a
murderer : nay, his whole nature staggering at such a consum-
mation, is there not a confused pause rather — one last instant of pos-
*ibility for him ?" This distinction is, indeed, generally recognized
in our ordinary moral judgments— though perhaps it is not so much
dwelt upon as the corresponding distinction in the case of good
actions. Cf. Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part IL, sect
111, chap, ii

400 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. vt

the deed, the hesitation which then arises is partly an
exculpation. Thus we think on the whole the bettel
of Lady Macbeth for her exclamation —

" Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done!"

While, then, it Is the case that a good intention is
always inferior to the corresponding good deed,1 it
depends on circumstances whether a bad intention is
or is not less evil than a bad deed.2

So also, from the point of view of the development
of the character of the agent, a bad deed is often less
evil than a stain in the character which does not go
forth in action. An overt act brings, as a rule, an overt
punishment. At any rate, the wickedness of the act is
made openly apparent, in a way in which an evil
thought is not made apparent And when a man thus
sees plainly the consequences of his action, he is often
led to repent of it and amend his life. It is here that
we see the element of truth in the common idea of the

1 Even this, no doubt, is subject to some qualification. A compar-
atively unscrupulous man may often perform an action on the whole
good, where a more conscientious man would hesitate. In such a
case we should not always regard the conscientious man as blame-
worthy. Still, even here, the good intention of the conscientious
man is not so good as his good action would have been, if only he
could have brought himself to do it — though it may be as praise-
worthy as the good action of a man who is more unscrupulous.

a Of course evil thoughts may also pass through a man's mind
without getting the length even of intentions. In this case they
are not morally culpable. C/. Milton's Paradise Lost, Book V.—
" Evil into the mind of God or man
May come and go, so unapproved, and leave
No spot or blame behind."

Even such evil, however, may be taken as evidence of the existence

§4-] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 40 1

benefit of "sowing wild oats." Here also we »ee the
force of Luther's Pecca fortiter. * If there is evil in a
man's heart it is generally best that it should come out
plainly. There is more hope of a straightforward sin-
ner than of one who is neither cold nor hot.*

§ 4. CRIME. — The term Crime is generally used in a
narrower sense than sin, It denotes only those offences
against society which are recognized by national law,
and which are liable to punishment. It is impossible
that all moral offences should be brought under this
category. Ingratitude, for instance, cannot be made
punishable by law, because it would be practically
impossible to specify the offences that come under this
head. Again, the moral sense of conscientious persons
is constantly outrunning the ordinary moral code of
the society to which they belong, and thus inventing

of some lower universe within a man's nature — some extinct vol-
cano, as it were — which may at some time or other burst forth into
action. Milton, I suppose, would scarcely have admitted this — ai
least with regard to God.
i C/. Browning's The Statue and the Bust—

" The sin I impute to each frustrate ghost
Is, the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin,
Though the end in view was a vice, I say."

See Jones's Browning as a Philosophical and Religious Teacher, p^
in— 118.

3 Similarly, in the life of a state, it is often desirable that an evil
should be brought to a head. For this reason, it has often been ob-
served that it is generally better to have a thoroughly bad despot
than a half good one. Thus Hallam remarks (Constitutional History
of England), "We are much indebted to the memory of Barbara,
Duchess of Cleveland, Louisa, Duchess of Portsmouth, and Mrs.
Eleanor Gwyn. . . . They played a serviceable part in ridding
the kingdom of its 'besotted loyalty." Cf. Buckle's History of Civil"
ization, vol. i., p, 338, where this passage is more fullyigiven.
Eth. 96

402 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VL

sins which are not recognized as crimes. Also when
the evil effects of a sin fall mainly on the perpetrator
of it, it is generally thought unnecessary to have a
special law against it.

§ 5. PUNISHMENT. — Sin always brings evil conse
quences with it, and these evil consequences always
react in some way upon the perpetrator. It was one
of the paradoxes of the Socratic teaching that it is
worse for a man to do wrong than to suffer wrong. In
a sense this is true. The consequences of suffering
wrong are external. They do not hurt the soul ; where-
as when a man does wrong, he lowers himself in the
scale of being, and thus wrongs himself worse than
any one else could wrong him. Still, the evil effects
of a man's wrongdoing upon himself are not always
apparent either to himself or to others. He often seems
to have got off scot-free. Now this is contrary to our
natural sense of justice. We naturally think that a
man should be rewarded according to his deeds. And
this idea seems to have a rational justification. The
virtuous man is fighting on ihe side of human progress,
and we feel it natural to expect that the gods will fight
with him, and that his labours will prosper. The vi-
cious man, on the other hand, is fighting against the
gods, against our ideals of right ; and it seems unnatural
and unreasonable that his course should prosper. If
for a time the virtuous man is unsuccessful, we yet feel
bound to believe that his ultimate reward cannot "be
dust." ' His cause at least must prosper, unless the
world is founded on injustice ; and it is natural to ex-
pect and hope that he will prosper along with it On

> See the concluding paragraphs in Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics*

§ 5-] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 403

the other hand, if the wicked for a time seems to
flourish, we cannot help believing that his triumph is
ephemeral, that in the long run the wages of sin must
be death. It is here that the natural feelings of grati-
tude and revenge find their rational basis. Of course,
we are not here maintaining that these feelings derive
their origin from any such rational consideration. The
psychological question of the development of these
feelings is not now under consideration.1 But these
feelings could scarcely maintain their ground in the
developed consciousness of mankind unless they had
support in reason ; and it is this rational support that
we have now to take notice of.

Now it is out of these natural feelings that reward
and punishment take their origin. In the case of
revenge, indeed, and to some extent even in the case
of gratitude, there is a certain tendency for the feeling
to grow weaker as the race develops, so far as merely
personal relationships are concerned. The primeval
man resents keenly every wrong done to himself or to
those who are intimately connected with himself, and
seeks to return it at the earliest opportunity upon the
head of the perpetrator. As the moral consciousness
develops, this feeling of personal resentment becomes
less keen. Men begin to learn that their merely per-
sonal wrongs are not of infinite importance ; and under
certain circumstances forgiveness becomes possible.
They see that a wrongdoer to them is not necessarily
a wrongdoer to humanity ; and it is only this last that

1 On this point, see Mill's Utilitarianism, chap. v. See also Adam
Smith'* Theory of Moral Sentiments, Part II., sect. II., chap, in.,
where the distinction between an inquiry into the origin of revenge
and an inquiry into its rational basis is clearly drawn.

404 ETHICS. [BK. IIL, CH. VL

is of moment. As regards society, however, there is
not anything like the same weakening of the sense of
injury. A wrong against social law z's a wrong against
humanity, and cannot be forgiven until the offended
majesty of the law has been appeased, t. e. until the
wrongness and essential nullity of the act has been
made apparent It is here that the justification of
punishment is to be found.

§ 6. THEORIES OF PUNISHMENT. — Three principal the-
ories of the aims of punishment have been put forward.
These are generally known as the preventive (or deter-
rent), the educative (or reformative), and the retribu-
tive theories. According to the first view, the aim
of punishment is to deter others from committing simi-
lar offences. It is expressed in the familiar dictum of
the judge — "You are not punished for stealing sheep,
but in order that sheep may not be stolen." If this
were the sole object of punishment, it seems probable
that, with the development of the moral consciousness,
it would speedily be abolished : for it could scarcely be
regarded as just to inflict pain on one man merely for
the benefit of others. It would involve treating a man
as a thing, as a mere means, not an end in himself.
The second view is that the aim of punishment is to
educate or reform the offender himself. This appears
to be the view that is most commonly taken at the
present time ; f because it is the one which seems to
fit in best with the humanitarian sentiments of the
age. It is evident that this theory could hardly be
used to justify the penalty of death ; and many other

1 Though perhaps it is most often held in conjunction with the
preceding view (the deterrent).

§ 6.] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 40$

forms of punishment also would have to be regarded
from this point of view as ineffective. Indeed it is
probable that in many instances kind treatment would
have a better effect than punishment. The third view
is that the aim of punishment is to allow a man's deed
to return on his own head, i. e. to make it apparent
that the evil consequences of his act are not merely
evils to others, but evils in which he is himself in-
volved. ' This is the view of punishment which ap-
pears to accord best with the origin of punishment
among early peoples : but in later times, especially
in Christian countries, there has been a tendency
to reject it in favour of one or other of the two pre-
ceding theories, because it seems to rest on the
unchristian passion of revenge. In this objection,
however, there seems to be a misunderstanding in-
volved. Revenge is condemned by Christianity on
account of the feeling of personal malevolence which
is involved in it. But retribution inflicted by a court
of justice need not involve any such feeling. Such a
court simply accords to a man what he has earned.
He has done evil, and it is reasonable that the evil
should return upon himself as the wages of his sin —
the negative value which he has produced. Indeed
there would in a sense be an inner self-contradiction
in any society which abstained from inflicting pun-
ishment upon the guilty. Suppose a society had a
law against stealing and yet allowed a thief who
was unable to make restitution to escape scot-free.

1 For an emphatic statement of this view, see Carlyle's Latter*
Day Pamphlets, No. z See also Adam Smith's Theory of Moral
Sentiment, Part II., sect I., chap. \v.,note, Bradley's Ethical Studie^
Essay I., and Dtihring's Cursus der Philosophic, sect IV., chap. ii.

406 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. vi.

The laws of such a society would be little more
than injunctions or recommendations to its citizens.
They would not have the force of imperatives, or
at least they would be imperatives which are liable
to exceptions. Absolute imperatives must either be
able to prevent any violation of their commands,
or else must in some way vindicate their author-
ity when they are violated. r This seems to be the
primary aim of punishment It should be observed
however, that this aim in a sense includes the other
two. If the aim of punishment is to vindicate the
authority of the law, this will be partly done in so far
as the offender is reformed, and in so far as similar acts
are prevented. And indeed neither reformation nor
prevention is likely to be effected by punishment unless
it is recognised that the punishment is a vindication of the
law — i. e. a revelation of the fact that the law holds
good although it has been broken, that, in a sense,
the breaking of it is a nullity. It is only when an
offender sees the punishment of his crime to be the
natural or logical outcome of his act that he is likely
to be led to any real repentance ; and it is only this
recognition also that is likely to lead others to any real
abhorrence of crime, as distinct from fear of its con-
sequences. We may regard the retributive theory,
then, when thus understood, as the most satisfactory
of all the theories of punishment*

1 Cf. above, p. 167, note 2.

2 A complete discussion of the theory of Punishment must be left
to writers on the Philosophy of Law. I have here noticed only those
points that seemed most important The most original and sug-
gestive treatment of the whole subject is that contained in Hegel's
Philosophy of Right, §§ 96-103. Besides the theories above re-
ferred to, there are other possible views of Punishment For in«

§ /.] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 40?

§ 7. RESPONSIBILITY. — In considering the subject o!
punishment, it is necessary to ascertain to what extent
a man is to be regarded as responsible for his actions.
The plea of insanity is always held to exempt a man
from punishment ; but some thinkers go much further
than this. Some hold, in fact, that all crime ought
to be regarded as an evidence of insanity, and conse-
quently that no one is to be regarded as responsible
for his evil deeds. Instead of punishing men for their
crimes, therefore, we ought rather to try to cure them
of their distempers.1 This view, of course, rests on the
purely determinist conception of human conduct It
regards a man's acts not as the outcome of himself but
of his circumstances. If the view of freedom which
we have already taken is correct, this idea is false. A
man's acts, when he is fully aware of what he is doing,
are the expression of his own character ; and it is im-
possible to go behind this character and fix the blame
of it on some one else.2 The case of insanity is dif-
ferent. Here the man is alienated from himself, and
his acts are not his own. Of course, we must recog-

stance, there is the view that a main object of Punishment is to get
rid of the offender, so as to prevent him from working further mis-
chief. This is a preventive theory in a somewhat different sense
from that already referred to under that name. But this view would
evident! y nppl y only to some forms of Punishment For an interest-
ing treatment of the whole subject, the student may be referred to
Green's Collected Works, Vol. II., pp.486 — 511. Discussions on this
subject will also be found in Stephen's Social Rights and Duties
and in the International Journal of Ethics, Vol. II., No. I, pp. 20—31
and 51—76, and No. 2, pp. 232-239 ; also Vol. IV., No. 3, pp. 269-284,
Vol. V., No. 2, pp. 241-243, VoL VI., No. 4, pp. 479-502, and VoL VII,
No, I, pp. 95-4

1 This is amusingly illustrated in S. Butler's Erewhon.

»C/. above, Book I, chap, iii, especially the Note at the end

408 ETHICS. [BK. in.. CH. VL

nize in the sane man also a certain part of conduct for
which he is not entirely responsible. Ignorance ex«
cuses much, unless the ignorance is itself culpable.
Any condition in which a man is not fully master oi
himself removes his responsibility, except when — as in
drunkenness — he can be blamed for the condition in
which he is. When an act is done impulsively, also,
a man has not the same full responsibility as he has for
a deliberate action ; except in so far as he is to be
blamed for having habitually lived in a universe in
which impulsive acts are possible. E

§ 8. REMORSE. — When an evil deed has been done,
and when the wickedness of it has been brought horn*
to the actor, it is accompanied by what is known as
the pain of conscience. This pain arises from the
sense of discord between our deeds and our ideals.
It is proportioned, therefore, not to the enormity of
our sins, but to the degree of discrepancy between
these and our moral aspirations. In the "hardened
sinner " it is scarcely felt at all, because he has habitu-
ated himself to live within a universe with whose
ideals his acts are in perfect harmony. It is only in
the rare moments in which he becomes aware of the
larger universe beyond, that he is made conscious of
any pang- On the other hand, in a sensitive moral
nature, habituated to the higher universe of moral
purpose, an evil deed is not merely accompanied by a
pang of conscience, but, if it is an evil of any con-
siderable magnitude, by a recurrent and persistent
sense of having fallen from one's proper level. This
persistent feeling of degradation is known as remorse.
In its deepest form, it is not merely a grief for parti*

1 On this whole subject, see Aristotle's Ethics, Book III., chap, v

§9-] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 409

cular acts but a sense of degradation in one's whole
moral character — a sense that one has offended against
the highest law, and that one's whole nature is in
need of regeneration. The best expression of this in
all literature, is, I suppose, that contained in the 5ist
Psalm: "Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and
done this evil in thy sight. . . . Behold, I was shapen
in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me,"
etc.

§ 9. REFORMATION. — The natural effect of remorse T is
to lead to a reformation of character. This effect may
be prevented by "stifling the conscience," i. e, by per-
sistently withdrawing our attention from the higher
moral universe and endeavouring to habituate our-
selves to a life in a lower one. This endeavour may
easily be successful. There is nothing inevitable
about the higher point of view. Facilis descensus
Averni. But if we do not thus abstract our attention
from the voice of conscience, the natural result is that
we make an effort to regain the level from which we
have fallen, to bring our own actions once more into
accordance with the ideals of which we are aware.
This rise often requires a certain renewal of our whole
nature. It requires a process of conversion like that
to which we have already referred. Such a process is
brought out in the Psalm which we have already quoted.

1 Some writers limit the application of the term " remorse " to those
cases in which it does not lead to repentance. Sometimes the sense
of aberration from the right path is so strong, that a return to it
seems impossible, and the mind sinks into absolute despair. But
there seems to be no sufficient reason for confining the term to such
cases as these. It applies properly to any case in which there is a
gnawing pain of Conscience. The word is derived from the Latif
remorcUo meaning " to bite again and again."

4io ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. VL

"Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean. . . .
Create in me a clean heart. " What is here figuratively
referred to is the process of habituating ourselves to a
higher universe, involving a transformation of oui
whole nature. When such a transformation is effected,
it becomes almost impossible to act upon the lower
level. Our habits of action become adjusted to the
ideal within us, and go on almost without an effort.
The will becomes to some extent "holy." Indeed
some religious enthusiasts have even thought that
such a process of " sanctification " may go so far as to
make sin an impossibility. * But this is an exaggera-
tion ; "for virtue," as Hamlet says, "cannot so in-
oculate our old stock but we shall relish of it." What
actually is possible is that we should definitely identify
our wills with the highest point of view, and habituate
ourselves by degrees to action that is in accordance
with this. In this way we may asymptotically ap-
proximate to a state of perfect holiness of will.

§ 10. FORGIVENESS. — The place of punishment has
been indicated as the recoil of guilt upon the offender,
thereby asserting the majesty of law, and leading on,
through this, to repentance and reformation. In this
way "the wheel comes full circle": the crime is
wiped out — i. e. its essential nullity is exhibited —
within the universe occupied by the criminal. It
is possible, however, that this revolution may be
effected without the intervention of punishment. The
guilt may be brought home to the mind, not by the
working of it out within the universe in which it has

1 Cf. First Epistle of John, chap, ill, 9. : " Whosoever is born of
God doth not commit sin ; for his seed remaineth in him; and ho
cannot sin, because he is born of God"

§11.] MORAL PATHOLOGY. 411

arisen, but by rising to a higher universe. Education,
for instance, may bring about this result. Modern
humanitarian sentiment leads us, as far as possible, to
seek to deal with criminals — especially young criminals
— in this way, rather than by way of punishment.
Where this is possible, the offence can be forgiven, be-
cause it no longer exists at the higher point of view.
It must be remembered, however, that to say this is
not to deny the validity of the preceding account of
punishment.*

§ 11. SOCIAL CORRUPTION. — So far we have been look-
ing at moral evil only as it appears in the individual
life. But a society, as well as an individual, may have
moral excellence or defect. It may have its customs
and its institutions so framed as to give encourage-
ment to its citizens at every turn to live at the highest
human level ; or it may have them so devised as to
obstruct the moral life and make virtue, in certain
aspects, almost an impossibility.* Civilization ought
to mean the arrangement of social conditions so as to
make virtue as easy and vice as difficult as possible.
But civilization, as it actually exists, is partly a product
of the vices as well as of the virtues of mankind ; and
is adapted to the former as well as to the latter. It is
not arranged for the extinction of vice, but at most, in
Burke's language, that vice may " lose half its evil by
losing all its grossness." It is arranged not for the
promotion of virtue but only of respectability. Heroic

1 Some highly suggestive remarks on the relation between Pun-
ishment and Forgiveness will be found in Caird's Hegel, pp. 28-30.

* Mr. Muirhead enumerates, as illustrations of such institutions
(Elements of Ethics, p. 174), " brothels, gambling dens, cribs, and
cramming establishments."

412 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. VL

virtue is in many ways made difficult rather than easy.1
Among the rich luxury is encouraged. Wants are
multiplied, and go on multiplying themselves, and
men are tempted to seek the satisfaction of them by
dishonourable means. The poor, on the other hand,
are exploited — i. e. used as a mere means for the ad-
vantage of others. They have no leisure for culture
and are exposed to many temptations. When a nation
has reached such a stage as this, it often declines and
falls. Indeed it must do so, unless it is reawakened
by a reformer, such as in our own time Carlyle and
Ruskin. Sometimes also it is saved by a revolution ;
but this generally involves almost as much moral evil
as the corrupt state of society itself. Sometimes, again,
a nation wanders so far from the ways of righteousness
that other nations feel justified in stepping in for its
punishment. It is in such cases that an offensive war-
fare seems to be justified. But it is seldom that one
nation is thus entitled to make itself the judge of an-
other. The Jews seem to have regarded themselves
in this way in ancient times. In modern times, as a
general rule, only a combination of nations could feel
themselves to represent the side of right reason against
the corruptions of some particular society.'

1 See Carlyle's view on this point in his Essay on " The Opera. *
* This chapter is of course concerned only with the ethical aspect
of moral pathology. For other aspects see the interesting books by
Mr. W. D. Morrison on Juvenile Offenders and Crime and its Causes ;
also Enrico Ferri's Criminal Sociology, Maudsley's Body and Mind,
and other works on morbid psychology, criminology, &c

I X.] MORAL PROGRESS. 413

CHAPTER Vlt

MORAL PROGRESS.

f 1. SOCIAL EVOLUTION. — Although we have frequently
referred, throughout the preceding chapters, to the fact
that the moral life is to be regarded as a process of
development, yet our treatment of it has been to a
large extent statical. What has been said, however, in
the closing paragraphs of the last two chapters, with
reference to the work of the moral reformer, seems to
lead us naturally to a more explicit consideration of
the conditions of moral development. That there is a
certain "increasing purpose through the ages," is a
truth that is now in some form generally admitted,
however much we may be tempted at times to doubt it.
This is on the whole an entirely modern conception, and
is somewhat contrary to the impressions of the natural
man. It is not only to the graceful pessimism of a
Horace that the present generation seems a degenerate
offspring of heroic sires. The idea of a Golden Age
behind us, of the "good old times," when men were
uncorrupted by the luxuries and follies of a later age,
of the "wisdom of our ancestors," when men looked
at the world with a fresher and deeper glance, has a
certain natural fascination for the discontented spirit
of man. Nor is it entirely without a basis in fact. If
"new occasions bring new duties," they also bring
new opportunities for vice. Looking, for instance, at

4H ETHICS. [BK. IIIM CH. VIL

the commercial morality of the present time, and com«
paring it with the practices of more primitive peoples,
we have often a difficulty in determining whether, in
the root of the matter, we have advanced or receded.
If in some respects our actions seem more trustworthy
and based on broader and more reasonable principles,
in other respects we seem to have grown more selfish
and dishonest than men ever were before.1 It is only
when we pass from the actions of individual human
beings to the consideration of the principles on which
men are expected to act — the codes of duty and ideals
of virtue which have grown up among us — that we
gain any firm assurance of progress. When we reflect,
however, that those higher conceptions of conduct
which prevail among us could scarcely hold their
ground if there were not some individuals who habitu-
ally acted in accordance with them, we may be led to
believe that even in the individual life there must on
the whole have been a certain advancement And,
indeed, this conviction ought to be rather strengthened
than otherwise by the recognition that, in our modern
system of life, there are depths of degradation which
to a ruder state of existence are scarcely known.
Corruptio optimi pessima. The grass, as Mr. Ruskin
somewhere remarks, is green every year : it is only the
wheat that, on account of its higher nature, is liable
to a blight So, too, a mere animal is incapable of such
a fall as we find in man. As Walt Whitman says, —

" They do not sweat and whine about their condition.
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God ;
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented

» Cf. Marshall's Principles oj Economics, pjx 6-8 and 361.

§ I.] MORAL PROGRESS. 41$

With the mania of owning things ;

Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands

of years ago ;
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth."

All this is, no doubt, very creditable to the lower
animals ; yet it need not induce us to envy their con-
dition. Man's relative un happiness, as Carlyle says,
is due to his greatness. "The assertion of our weak-
ness and deficiency," as Emerson puts it, "is the fine
innuendo by which the soul makes its enormous
claim." "A spark disturbs our clod ;" and this dis-
turbance brings with it the possibility of new forms of
evil. Animals are not capable of the higher forms of
sin. " The advantages which I envy in my neighbour,
the favour of society or of a particular person which I
lose and he wins and which makes me jealous of him,
the superiority in form or power or place of which the
imagination excites my ambition — these would have
no more existence for an agent not self-conscious,
or not dealing with other self-conscious agents, than
colour has for the blind."1 So it is also, in some
measure, with the growth of civilization. Knowledge
is power for evil as well as for good. The depth of
our Hell measures the height of our Heaven ; and when
we are conscious of special degradation and misery
in the midst of a high civilization, we may reflect, with
Milton's Satan, "No wonder, fallen such a pernicious
height" There seems, therefore, to be no real reason

* Green's Prolegomena to Ethics, p. 131. It should, however, in
fairness be noted, that practically all the evils here alluded to are
to be found in a rudimentary form even among the lower animals.
What is peculiar to man is not so much the presence of new forms
of evil as the clear consciousness that they are evil, and the conse-
quent degradation in yielding to them. Still, it is also true that
civilization creates more subtle forms of evil

416 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VIL

for doubting that in the general improvement of the
conditions of life there is also a certain moral advance.1
To the consideration of this advance we may now
appropriately devote a few paragraphs.

§ 2. THE MORAL UNIVERSE. — We have seen already
that the moral life of an individual is lived within what
may be described as a social or moral universe. Such
a universe is constituted by various elements. It con-
sists, on the one hand, of a moral ideal, generally
recognized by the society in which the individual lives.
This ideal may be expressed in a code of command-
ments, in a series of injunctions, or in the form of a
life which is set up as a model for our imitation. This
is the ideal side of our moral universe. On the other
hand, it consists of definite social institutions, such as
we have referred to in Chapter II. Finally, it consists
of certain habitual modes of action, acquired rather by
half-unconscious imitation than by any distinct injunc-
tions or efforts to copy an ideal pattern. In any given
age and country these three elements of a social
universe will nearly always be found in some more or
less fully developed form ; but often there is a very
considerable divergence between the three. A people's
ideal does not always bear a close resemblance to its

i Even Carlyle partly admits this. See his Heroes and Hero-Wor-
thip, Led IV. " I do not make mnch of ' Progress of the Species'
as handled in these times of ours. . . . Yet I may say, the fact itself
seems certain enough. . . . No man whatever believes, or can believe,
exactly what his grandfather believed : he enlarges somewhat, by
fresh discovery, his view of the Universe ; and consequently hii
Theorem of the Universe. ... It is the history of every man ; and in
the history of mankind we see it summed np into great historical
amounts— revolutions, new epochs. ... So with all beliefs whatso-
ever in this world— all Systems of belief and Systems of Practice thai

§3-] MORAL PROGRESS. 417

Institutions or its habits ; and sometimes even its habits
are not entirely conformable to its institutions. A
religion of peace and good-will has been found not
incompatible with the thumb-screw and the torpedo ;
and the existence of the monogamic family is not
always a guarantee of social purity. A large part of
the moral development of peoples consists in the effort
to adjust these three elements to one another; though
it also partly consists in the effort to elevate their ideas,
and improve their institutions and habits.

§ 3. INNER CONTRADICTION IN OUR UNIVERSE. — The
mere want of adjustment between the various elements
in our moral universe is often of itself sufficient to
suggest the need of a new ideal or of new institutions.
Institutions to which men's habits cannot be adapted are
soon felt to be unsatisfactory, and have to be abolished.
This was largely true, for instance, of the institution of
celibacy among the clergy in the middle ages. So,
again, if our institutions and habits are in contradiction
with our ideal, this will sometimes be the means of
enabling us to see that our ideal is too narrow. The
early Christian ideal has been in this way expanded by
the absorption of elements derived from the Greeks
and other pagan peoples. On the other hand, our
habits may become gradually reformed, so as to adapt
themselves to the institutions among which we live ;
and our institutions may gradually be adjusted to our
ideals. This is perhaps the more normal course of the
two. Sometimes there is a crisis in a people's life, in
which the question arises, whether the institutions are
to be revolutionized or men's habits reformed. There
seems to be such a crisis, for instance, at the present

time with regard to our industrial system.

Eth. 97

418 ETHICS. [BK. in., en. vn.

§ 4. SENSE OF INCOMPLETENESS. — Even apart, how-
ever, from those contradictions within our universe
which drive us forward by a kind of natural dialectic,
there is also a tendency to progress in our habits,
institutions, and ideals, due simply to our conscious-
ness of their incompleteness. This incompleteness is
often first brought to clear consciousness by some
reformer who points out a certain want of logic in our
present system. Such a reformer points out, for in-
stance, that we habitually act in one way under certain
circumstances, but in quite an opposite way under
other circumstances, when there is no sufficient rea-
son to account for the difference. He may point out
inconsistencies, for instance, in the way in which men
commonly treat their children, being sometimes cruel
and sometimes over-indulgent. Or he may point out
the difference between the morality recognized in the
relations between countries in their negotiations with
one another and that recognized in the relations
between individuals, and may ask whether there is any
adequate reason for this contrast Or he may point to
the pains inflicted on animals in certain processes of
vivisection, or in various forms of the chase, or in
slaughter-houses, or even in the ordinary use of animals
as instruments of human service ; he may contrast this
with the treatment accorded to human beings ; and
may ask whether, seeing that in respect of the suffering
of pain there appears to be no distinction between men
and animals, there is any sufficient reason for tolerating
in the case of animals what would not be tolerated in
the case of men. Or, again, he may turn to the
institutions of social life, as distinguished from its habits,
and may call attention to anomalies in the govern-

§ 5.] MORAL PROGRESS. 419

ment of the country, in the regulation of family life,
in the methods of industnal action, and in the various
other organized forms in which the life of the com-
munity is carried on. He may thus criticise these
institutions by means of themselves, showing that the
principles underlying them are incompletely carried
out. He may ask, for instance, upon what recognized
principle women are excluded from certain functions
and privileges which are universally open to men.
Finally, such a reformer, carrying his weapon of
criticism still higher, may attack our ideals themselves.
He may ask whether we are quite consistent in our
ideas of what constitutes the highest kind of life. Is
there not a certain narrowness about them? Do we
not apply principles in one direction which we omit to
extend in another? If wo attach so much importance
to the tithing of mint and cummin, should we not be
at least equally careful about some other weightier
matters of the law ? If the ideal man should be brave
in battle and temperate in his food and drink, should
he not also show fortitude under disaster and self-
restraint in power? Such questions lead r to an
extension of the conception of our duties and of the
virtues which we ought to cultivate ; and this aspect
of moral development is so important that it may be
well to consider it a little more fully.

§ 5. DEEPENING OF SPIRITUAL LIFE. — There is no re-
spect in which moral progress can be more clearly
seen than in the deepening views which men are led
to take of the nature of the virtues and of the duties

1 Through the force of persuasion. It is here that Mr. Alexander's
view of " Natural Selection in Morals " is in place. See above, pp.

•trot*

420 ETHICS. [BK. IIL, CH. vn.

that are required of them. This has been illustrated
in a most masterly manner by Green in that part of his
Prolegomena to Ethics ' in which he contrasts the Greek
with the modern conceptions of virtue — perhaps the
most original and suggestive chapter in the whole of
that great work. He takes up the two most prominent
of the personal virtues recognized by the Greeks,
courage and temperance,* and shows how in modern
times both the range of their application has been ex-
tended and the conception of the principle on which
they rest deepened. With regard to temperance, for
instance, he observes that the Greeks limited the ap-
plication of this virtue to questions of food and drink
and sexual intercourse ; whereas, in modern times,
we apply it to various other forms of self-denial. He
urges, moreover, that even with regard to those parti-
cular forms of self-indulgence which the Greeks recog-
nized as vicious, the principles on which they rested
the claim for self-denial were not so deep as ours.

" We present to ourselves, "as he says,J " the objects
of moral loyalty which we should be ashamed to for-
sake for our pleasures, in a far greater variety of forms
than did the Greek, and it is a much larger self-denial
which loyalty to these objects demands of us. It is
no longer the State alone that represents to us the
melior natura before whose claims our animal inclina-
tions sink abashed. Other forms of association put
restraints and make demands on us which the Greek
knew not. An indulgence, which a man would other-
wise allow himself, he foregoes in consideration of

* Book IIL, chap. v.

« C/. also Muirhead's Elements oj Ethict, pp. 325— &

§ 5.] MORAL PROGRESS. 42 I

claims on the part of wife or children, of men as such
or women as such, of fellow-Christians or fellow-work-
men, which could not have been made intelligible in
the ancient world. ... It is certain that the require-
ments founded on ideas of common good, which in
our consciences we recognize as calling for the surrender
of our inclinations to pleasure, are more far-reaching
and penetrate life more deeply than did such require-
ments in the ancient world, and that in consequence
a more complete self-denial is demanded of us." And
Green goes on to add that even in respect of those
aspects of life in which the Greeks did recognize the
virtue of self-denial, their recognition is less complete
and far-reaching than that of the moral consciousness
in our own time. This is especially true with regard
to self-denial in matters of sexual indulgence. And
the change which has thus taken place in our moral
consciousness does not mean merely that we have ex-
tended the range within which certain virtues are ap-
plicable. It involves also a deepening of our concep-
tion of the principles on which the virtue rests. " The
principles from which it was derived " * by the Greek
moralists, "so far as they were practically available
and tenable, seem to have been twofold. One was
that all indulgence should be avoided which unfitted a
man for the discharge of his duties in peace or war;
the other, that such a check should be kept on the lusts
of the flesh as might prevent them from issuing in what
a Greik knew as ufipts — a kind of self-assertion and
aggression upon the rights of others in respect of person
and property, for which we have not an equivalent
name, but which was looked upon as the antithesis of
i Loc. di, p. 285

422 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH.

the civil spirit" Another prevalent notion among
Greek philosophers was " that the kind of pleasure with
which temperance has to do is in some way unworthy
of man, because one of which the other animals are
susceptible." "Society was not in a state in which
the principle that humanity in the person of every one
is to be treated always as an end, never merely as a
means, could be apprehended in its full universality ;
and it is this principle alone, however it may be stated,
which affords a rational ground for the obligation to
chastity as we understand it The society of modern
Christendom, it is needless to say, is far enough from
acting upon it, but in its conscience it recognizes the
principle as it was not recognized in the ancient world.
The legal investment of every one with personal rights
makes it impossible for one whose mind is open to the
claims of others to ignore the wrong of treating a woman
as the servant of his pleasures at the cost of her own de-
gradation. Though the wrong is still habitually done,
it is done under a rebuke of conscience to which a
Greek of Aristotle's time, with most women about him
in slavery, and without even the capacity (to judge
from the writings of the philosophers) for an ideal of
society in which this should be otherwise, could not
have been sensible. The sensibility could only arise
in sequence upon that change in the actual structure of
society through which the human person, as such, with-
out distinction of sex, became the subject of rights." «
Thus we have here, not merely an extension of the
range of the virtue, but also a deeper conception of
the principle upon which it rests. And the same truth
might be illustrated in the case of other virtues, Th«

§6.] MORAL PROGRESS. 423

principle of the virtues, in fact, becomes universalized,
and ceases to attach itself simply to this or that particular
mode of manifestation. And along with this universa-
lization there comes a deeper consciousness of the in-
wardness of the virtuous life. So long as the virtues
are connected only with particular modes of manifesta-
tion in social life (e. g. courage with the activities of
war), they seem to be little more than outer facts.
When, on the other hand, we see that the essence of
the virtues consists in the application of a certain prin-
ciple, whatever may be the sphere in which it is ap-
plied, we recognize at the same time that their essence
lies rather in the attitude of the individual heart than
in the particular forms of outward action. It is true
that the Greeks were by no means ignorant of this
essentially inward character of the virtues. They
knew — i. e. their best thinkers knew — that the virtues
are not virtues at all unless they are accompanied with
purity of heart and will, unless they are done TOO xalolj
f-vexa, for the sake of what is beautiful or noble. But
the recognition of this has been very much deepened f
by the growth of a clearer consciousness of the uni-
versality of the principles on which the virtues rest.

§ 6. NEW OBLIGATIONS. — In the preceding section we
have seen that the deepening of the conception of the
principle on which the virtues rest is accompanied by
an extension of the sphere of their application. The
expansion of our ideas of obligation which takes place
V» this way is of a comparatively simple kind. We

* It seems to me that Green somewhat exaggerates the unity
of sentiment on this point in the Greek and Christian moral con-
Bciousness, Ibid., p. 271 seq.t p. 288, &c, But no doubt there is greater
danger in unduly emphasizing the divergence between them.

424 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH.

learn to recognize that what applies to the Greek ap-
plies equally to the Barbarian, that what applies to the
Jew applies equally to the Gentile, that what applies
to men applies equally to women. But along with
this expansion there is another of a less simple kind,
by which we become aware of obligations that present
themselves to our minds as new rather than as mere
extensions of the old ones. Thus, when the Christian
conception of man's nature and destiny was intro-
duced, it seemed to bring with it an obligation of pro-
pagandism which had not been felt in the same way
before. The recognition of the infinite issues at stake
Jn the moral regeneration of mankind, and of the in-
terest in these issues which belongs to every individ-
ual soul, rendered it an imperative obligation on those
who accepted the Christian doctrine to endeavour, to
the utmost of their power, to "preach the Gospel to
every creature." On the other hand, the knowledge
which has been subsequently acquired of the gradual
way in which the moral nature develops, has modified
the obligation of preaching, and transformed it into
the obligation to make intellectual and moral education
universally accessible. Again, the knowledge that has
recently been acquired of the relation between men
and animals has led to a transformation of our view
with regard to the way in which the latter ought to
be treated. It would be going somewhat too far to
describe this transformation by saying that we have
extended to the lower animals the same conception of
rights and obligations as we apply to men. In the
case of some of the lower animals any such extension
would be generally regarded as absurd ; and even with
respect to the highest of them, unless we allow that

§ 6.] MORAL PROGRESS. 42$

they are self-conscious, rational beings, with a moral
life like that of man (which even their best friends
scarcely claim for them), we cannot acknowledge that
they possess rights, in any strict interpretation of the
term. All that we seem entitled to say is, that we
have begun to recognize that the animal consciousness
has a certain kinship with our own, that we can dis-
cover in it traces of feelings, perceptions, and instincts
that appear to be on the way towards the development
of a moral life, and that consequently we feel bound
to treat the animals, at least in their higher forms, in
a way that is semi-human — in a way approximating
to that in which we treat children, in whom also the
moral consciousness, to which rights attach, is not
fully developed.1 But the acknowledgment of our
relationship has, in recent times, extended even further
than this. Even with inanimate nature we have be-
gun to recognize a certain kinship ; and this has given
rise in some minds to a more or less vague sentiment
that even natural scenery possesses a certain quasi-
right to exist, and ought not to be wantonly outraged.
In noticing such extensions of our obligations as
these, it ought not to be denied that there are also
some obligations of which we are apt to lose the con-
sciousness. Thus, it has often been pointed out that,
in more primitive times, the consciousness of the
mutual obligations of master and servant was much
stronger than it is now. This must be fully admitted.
At the same time it should be remembered that this

1 1 need hardly say that I do not intend this passage to be taken
as a complete discussion of this difficult questioa The quasi-rights
of children, for instance, must differ widely from those of the lower
animals, inasmuch as the former are actually on the way to become
rational, whereas the latter are not

426 ETHICS. [BK. in., CH. vit

partial obliteration of the consciousness of a duty is
partly due to an extension of the sphere within which
our obligations hold. The intensity of the personal
relationship between master and servant (which, how-
ever, is often greatly exaggerated) was due in part to
the fact that no human obligation was acknowledged
except what was due to that particular relationship.
The servant was supposed to owe a debt of gratitude
to his master for the protection and patronage vouch-
safed to him. r The obligation recognized on the side
of the master was, I am afraid, generally of a much
vaguer character. Now, on the other hand, we recog-
nize the obligation of man to man, as such, independ-
ently of any special relationships. That this recogni-
tion of a wider sphere of duty has practically weakened
the narrower ties, seems to be partly true. It is
always more difficult to act up to the requirements of
a large obligation than to those of a small one. But
this ought not to prevent us from perceiving that there
has been a great extension of the sphere of acknow-
ledged duty.

§ 7. MORAL CHANGE AND CHANGE OF ENVIRONMENT. —
The question is sometimes raised a whether the exten-
sion which thus takes place in our view of moral
obligation is in reality due to a development of our
moral consciousness, or only to a change in our en-
vironment. Thus, it may be urged that the emancipa-
tion of slaves 3 in modern times may be accounted for
by the general development of our industrial methods;

i Cj. Buckle's History of Civilization , VoL III., p. 325. See alao
above, pp. 304, note i, and 346, note I.

* Cf. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics,, p. 229 seq.

• Cf. Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations, Book IIL, chap. ii.

§ 7,] MORAL PROGRESS. 427

and it may be suggested that the attempt to rest the
movement in this direction on general considerations
of the rights of men is merely an illustration of the
cant and hypocrisy of the modern age. Now it seems
clear that the general recognition of the possibility of
abolishing slavery (which Aristotle could not acknow-
ledge), and with this the recognition of the duty of
actually abolishing it, was really due to the develop-
ment of economic conditions. And a similar remark
would apply in most other cases in which an extension
of recognized obligations occurs. It is so, for instance,
also with the movement towards the emancipation of
women. New industrial conditions have pushed for-
ward the demand for it. But this fact need not in any
way stumble us, or make us hesitate the more to be-
lieve that there is a moral advance. Doubtless the
moral life does not grow up in vacuo. It is relative
throughout to the environment in which it is nurtured.
It grows by the increase of our knowledge, by the in-
crease of our power, by the increase of the possibilities
of our action. The moral life is thus constantly being
determined anew by the new conditions and combina-
tions presented for solution, and by the new directions
in which possible solutions appear. * But its growth is
not therefore the less real. Those who know anything
of the spirit in which the emancipation of the slaves
was carried out, must be well aware that, however
true it may be that industrial conditions made it pos-
sible, that industrial conditions first brought it to men's
minds, and first won for it a general acceptance, how-

* The spirit of man " makes contemporary life the object on which
it acts ; itself being the infinite impulse of activity to alter its forma."
Hegel's Philosophy of History (English translation), p. 215.

428 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VII.

ever true it may even be that commercial and merely
political motives weighed most strongly with the rank
and file of those who fought for its accomplishment,
yet the inspiration of the great leaders of the move-
ment, without which the necessary self-sacrifice would
never have been undergone, was at bottom purely
moral. Mere external changes may bring the need of
a moral reform to light ; but it is only in so far as they
thus serve to awaken a moral consciousness that the
world is moved by them.

§ 8. THE IDEAL UNIVERSE. — The fact of moral progress
causes it to be not entirely true that the good man,
and especially the moral genius (who is generally at
the same time a moral reformer), lives within a uni-
verse constituted by actually existing habits and in-
stitutions, or even by ideals that are definitely acknow-
ledged at a given time and place. What is said of
Abraham may be applied to the moral life generally.
" By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out
into a place which he should after receive for an in-
heritance, obeyed ; and he went out, not knowing
whither he went. . . . For he looked for a city which
hath foundations, whose Builder and Maker is God."
The spirit of man, in its moral growth, looks continu-
ally for such a city. It is continually " moving about
in worlds not realized." It is dissatisfied with the
habits and institutions actually established at any time
and place, and even with the ideals that are customa-
rily recognized, and presses forward towards a form of
life that shall be more complete, consistent, and satis-
fying.1 Hence the perennial interest of Utopias and

1 " That which gives life its keynote is, not what men think good,
but what they think best True, this is not the part of belief which

§ 8.] MORAL PROGRESS. 429

poetic dreams and anticipations of better modes of
existence. The danger, in such dreams and anticipa-
tions, is that they are apt to represent only a partial
and abstract phase in the development of life, and to
involve some loss of hold upon its concrete content.
In this sense, there is some truth in the saying that
the world as a whole is wiser than its wisest men.
The fresh intuitions of the prophets, who are as
strangers and pilgrims on the earth, require to be re-
interpreted in the light of the practical good sense of
those who are at home on it. The prophetic seer is
sometimes apt to be blinded by his own light, so that
the rest of the world seems to him darkness. Hence
the melancholy which Carlyle regarded as at the basis

is embodied in conduct : the ordinary man tries to avoid only what
is obviously wrong ; the best of men does not always make us
aware that he is striving after what is right We do not see people
growing into the resemblance of what they admire ; it is much if
we can see them growing into the unlikeness of that which they
condemn. But the dominant influence of life lies ever in the un-
realized. While all that we discern is the negative aspect of a
man's ideal, that ideal itself lives by admiration which never clothes
itself in word or deed. In seeing what he avoids we judge only
the least important part of his standard ; it is that which he never
strives to realize in his own person which makes him what he is.
The average, secular man of to-day is a different being because
Christendom has hallowed the precept to give the cloak to him
who asks the coat ; it would be easier to argue that this claim for
•what most would call an impossible virtue has been injurious than
that it has been impotent. Christianity has moulded character
where we should vainly seek to discern that it has influenced con-
duct Not the criminal code, but the counsel of perfection shows us
what a nation is becoming; and he who casts on any set of duties
the shadow of the second best, so far as he is successful, does more
to influence the moral ideal than he who succeeds in passing anew
law." These suggestive, and even profound remarks are taken
from Miss Wedgwood's work on The Moral Ideal (p. 373). Th*
italics are mine.

430 ETHICS. [BK. III., CH. VIL

of all true insight — the pessimism and despair which
cloud the consciousness, so long as it sees only the
imperfection and incompleteness of all actual achieve-
ment in the moral life, in contrast with the partial
Pisgah-sight of something better to be attained ; and
does not yet perceive, what is often the deeper truth,
that the germs of the better are already at work in the
partly good, and may even be contained in what pre-
sents itself at first as simply bad.

rfhe recognition, however, of this moral faith, this
presence of the consciousness of an unattained and even
unformulated ideal, leads us at once into the region of
poetry and religion, which in a manner transcend
morality. The consideration of these would carry us
beyond our present subject ; but we may conclude
with a chapter on the relationship between Ethics and
Metaphysics, in which the place of religion will be in-
cidentally referred to.1

1 The whole subject of the present chanter is most admirably
treated in M airhead's Elements oj Lthics, iiook V.

§ I.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 43 l

CONCLUDING CHAPTER.

ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS.

§ 1. GENERAL REMARKS. — It must be evident to the
discerning reader that, in what has gone before, we
have occasionally been skating on rather thin ice. The
ultimate questions to which we have been led have
not received any quite satisfactory solution. We have
perhaps seen the insufficiency of all other theories of
Ethics more fully than we have seen the sufficiency of
that which we have been led to adopt. The truth is
that the theory of Ethics which seems most satisfactory
has a metaphysical basis, and without the considera-
tion of that basis there can be no thorough understand-
ing of it. If we could have satisfied ourselves with a
Hedonistic theory, a psychological basis might perhaps
have sufficed. On the other hand, if one of the current
evolution theories could be accepted, we might look
for our basis in the study of biology. But if we rest
our view of Ethics on the idea of the development of
the ideal self or of the rational universe, the significance
of this cannot be made fully apparent without a meta-
physical examination of the nature of the self; nor can
its validity be established except by a discussion of the
reality of the rational universe. Some further exami-
nation of this point seems now to be demanded.

§2, VALIDITY OF THE IDEAL, — The general result of

43 2 ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH.

our inquiry may be summed up as follows. We have
seen that the moral consciousness presents itself first
of all in the form of law, a supreme command or cate-
gorical imperative imposed on the will of the individual.
Hence, when reflection begins on the nature of morality,
the first theory which presents itself is one that con-
ceives of it as an absolute law of Duty. But this
breaks down, because, as we have seen, when this
idea is carefully analyzed, it is found to yield no con-
tent. The next form in which the idea of morality
presents itself is that of the Good ; and this is naturally
thought of at first simply as that which satisfies desire,
*. e. as the pleasant. But the pleasant is formless, just
as the law of Duty is empty ; and we are thus led to look
for a more adequate conception of the Good. This is
found in the idea of the complete realization of the
essential nature of mankind. But in order to under-
stand this, it is necessary to study the nature of man-
kind in its concrete development. Accordingly, we
have been led to notice, in a brief and summary fashion,
the ways in which the realization of humanity may
be regarded as accomplishing itself through the various
institutions of social life, through the duties and virtues
which grow up in connection with these, through the
growth of the inner life of the individual, and through
the progressive development of human history.
Through these various activities mankind may be seen
to be gradually attaining to that complete rationality
which can only be reached through the complete
grasping of the world of experience, and bringing it
into intelligible relationship to ourselves. This process
cannot be seen to complete itself within the actual
moral life of mankind : and the ideal involved in the

§ 3-] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 433

moral life is consequently unfulfilled. Life remains at
the best incomplete — a noble work, it may be, but a
torso. Now this incompleteness in the concrete reali-
zation of the moral ideal brings with it the further de-
fect that the validity of the moral ideal is not fully
made apparent in the course of its concrete realization.
If mankind could be supposed actually to attain that
complete development of human faculty, that complete
bringing of the world into intelligible and harmonious
relationship to the human consciousness, at which we
may be said to aim, the result would no doubt be seen
to be so satisfying in itself that it would be impossible
to question the validity of the ideal as an object of
human effort. But this complete justification is not
possible so long as the process is not fully worked out.
Now it is this insufficiency in the moral life that leads
us to the point of view of religion ; and perhaps some
consideration of the latter may enable us to see more
clearly the nature of the ultimate problem which is in-
volved in the moral consciousness.

§ 3. MORALITY AND RELIGION. — Matthew Arnold, as
is well known, defined religion as "morality touched
with emotion." "This," remarks Mr. Muirhead,1
"does not carry us far. Emotion is not a distinctive
mark of religious conduct. All conduct . . . is touched
with emotion, otherwise it would not be conduct at
all." This criticism is perhaps not entirely fair. All
conduct is in a sense touched with emotion — /'. e. it
involves an element of feeling. So does all conscious
life. But this need not prevent us from distinguishing
between emotional and unemotional acts and states.
In ordinary life the element of feeling is to all intents

i Elements o/Etitics, p. i8a
Eth

434 ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH.

In abeyance. It influences us quietly, but does not
rise into prominence. We do what is in harmony with
our habits and convictions ; we shun what is in dis-
cord with them : but our attention is not specially
directed to the agreeableness of the one or the disagree-
ableness of the other. The one does not thrill us, and
the other does not jar upon us or shock us. This is
the case so long as we are living steadily within the
universe to which we have become habituated. And
we are so living throughout the greater part of that
conduct which we describe as moral. Even the saint
or hero may perform saintly or heroic acts with no
consciousness that he is doing anything particular,
and consequently with no sense either of harmony
disturbed or of harmony restored. The more entirely
he is absorbed in his work, the more likely is this to
be the case. Still more is it the case that the "good
neighbour" and the "honest citizen" go about their
avocations, for the most part, with no particular stir-
rings of the breast. On the other hand, Matthew
Arnold was probably so far in the right, that the reli-
gious attitude, as distinguished from the simply moral,
is at least generally characterized (as is also the artistic)
by a more or less distinctly marked emotion. Still, I
agree with Mr. Muirhead in thinking that Matthew
Arnold's definition is inadequate, and this for more
reasons than one.

In the first place, although it seems an exaggeration
to say that all conduct is in any special sense char-
acterized by emotion, yet conduct is frequently emo-
tional without being, in any ordinary sense of the term,
religious. Conduct becomes emotional whenever our
attention is strongly directed to some end, affected by

§ 3.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 435

our conduct, which we have come to regard as su-
premely important. Now this end may or may not be
of such a kind as we ordinarily designate religious. In
a hotly-contested political election, a man may perform
his duty as a citizen under a strong emotional influence,
which in some cases has been so powerful as to pro-
duce death. Yet we should scarcely say that his con-
duct is more religious than that of the good workman
who carefully finishes his job, without feeling that
anything particular is at stake. Or again, when one
of the parents of a large family suddenly dies, leaving
the whole responsibility on the shoulders of the other,
the sense of this new responsibility, in a conscientious
person, will generally cause the ordinary duties of the
family to be, for some time at least, performed with
a keener feeling than before of the issues that are at
stake. Yet we should scarcely say that it is thereby
rendered more religious. The truth is that the emo-
tional quality of our actions depends largely on the
question whether they are habitual acts, acts that
belong to the ordinary universe within which we live,
or whether we are rising into an unfamiliar universe.
Now it may be readily granted that religion, in any
real sense of the word, can hardly be made so habi-
tual as not to involve some uplifting of the soul, some
withdrawal from the point of view of ordinary life to a
more comprehensive or more profound apprehension
of the world and of our relations to it. Hence it can
hardly fail to involve emotion. Even the Amor iniel-
kctualis Dei of Spinoza, however purely intellectual it
may be, is still amor. But conduct may involve strong
and deep emotion and yet not be specially religious.
But, in the second place, Matthew Arnold's definition

436 ETHICS. [CONCLUDING en

seems to err not merely by including much which
would not, in any ordinary sense, be regarded as re-
ligion, but also by excluding much which would
naturally fall under that category. Some religions
have scarcely any direct bearing on the moral life.
Even the religion of the Greeks, one of the most beauti-
(ful and typical of all religions, was largely a worship
of the powers of nature. Their gods were not con-
jppicuously respectable ; and though in an indirect way
they had an ennobling influence on Greek life, yet they
were not consciously set up as models of moral conduct,
nor did the worship of them involve any direct incite-
ment to virtue. They did indeed, stand to some ex-
tent as representations of the social bond ; so that to
violate social order was to offend against the gods of
the society. But this was not perhaps their most pro-
minent characteristic. And the same is true of many
other forms of religion. * It cannot, therefore, be said
that religion is always to be regarded as immediately
connected with the moral life.

§ 4. THE RELATION OF RELIGION TO ART. — The connec-
tion of religion with Ethics, in fact, appears to be very
similar to the connection of art with Ethics ; * and we

1 E. g., the Scandinavian. The religion of the Romans, on the
other hand, was strongly moral (Cf. Froude's Ccesar, p. 12). No
doubt, even the Scandinavian and early German mythologies con-
tained some strongly-marked ethical traits : Cf. Carlyle's Heroes and
Hero-Worship, sect I., and Prof. Pfleiderer's article on "The Na-
tional Traits of the Germans as seen in their Religion," in the Inter*
national Journal of Ethics for October, 1892 (voL iiL, No. I, pp. 2—7).

3 A chapter dealing with this subject, which appeared in the earlier
edition of this Manual, has been omitted, partly from want of space,
and partly because it was felt that the treatment of such a subject in
a handbook like this is necessarily too slight to be of any value.
The remarks in the present chapter will probably be found euf6-

ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 43 ?

may understand the connection better by noticing the
relation of art to religion. Carlyle was fond of remind-
ing us of the connection between the terms " Worship "
and " Worthship." What we worship is what we re-
gard as having supreme worth or value. Religion, in
short, like art, is concerned with ideals. But while the
ideals of art are beautiful objects that yield an imme-
diate satisfaction, the ideals of religion are rather objects
that are regarded as having supreme and ultimate
worth. In their immediate aspect they may have "no
beauty that we should desire them." For the same
reason the ideals of religion must be regarded as true.
Art, aiming; at an immediate satisfaction, may be partly
dream. No doubt, if it is to be great art, it must keep
close to reality ; and even its most imaginative crea-
tions must express some inner truth in nature or in
morals. Indeed, in its highest forms art approaches
Tery closely to religion. But still it is never necessary
Jiat the creations of art should be absolutely true. It
is enough that they should be beautiful suggestions of
truth. Even in the highest regions of art, such a work
as Shakespeare's Tempest has no literal truth. There
are no Calibans or Ariels ; nor is it necessary for our
appreciation of the play that we should actually believe
that there are any. We can feel the whole beauty of
it, and yet be well aware that all the creations in it are
"such stuff as dreams are made of." Religion, on the
other hand, gives us ideals which are regarded as
realities, and even as the most real of things. The
Homeric gods, as depicted in the poems, are poetic
creations ; and there is no necessity for supposing

ciently intelligible without reference to the preliminary chapter on
Art

438 ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH,

them to be anything but dreams — significant dreams,
no doubt, but still dreams. As worshipped by the
Greek people, on the other hand, the gods were neces-
sarily regarded as realities. Hegel, indeed, has con-
trasted the Greek with the Christian religion, by saying
that the gods of the former were mere creations of the
imagination.1 This is partly true. The Greeks were
an artistic much more than a religious people ; and
their gods never became, in any complete sense,
definitely established objects of belief. But just to this
extent they remained poetry rather than religion. So
also in the Christian religion there are many mythical
elements which have been made subjects of poetry
and of various forms of artistic representation. We
may admire the paintings of Jesus and of the Virgin,
and feel an artistic pleasure in the contemplation of
them, without believing that they are anything more
than beautiful dreams.* But the man who takes Jesus

i See Wallace's Logic of Hegel, p. 233.

* No doubt there are stages of human development at which the
distinction here indicated is scarcely perceived. To the Greeks, for
instance, Homer supplied poetry, philosophy, and religion all in
one. And so, no doubt, it was to some extent in the great ages of
Mediaeval art At such periods the significance of art for a nation's
life is much greater than it is after the three provinces have been
more rigidly divided. " However excellent," says Hegel, " we think
the statues of the Greek gods, however nobly and perfectly God the
Father and Christ and Mary may be portrayed, it makes no differ-
ence, our knees no longer bend." See Bosanquet's History of
^Esthetic, p. 344, and cf. Caird's Hegel, pp. m-iz Of course, the
clearer distinction in modern times between art and philosophy or
religion need not in the end cause our art to be less perfect or less
serious than that of the ancient world. For we may still recognize
that art is the best expression of all that is deepest in philosophy
and religion. But it is necessarily dethroned from its former unique
position. Homer and Dante may have been treated as authorities :

§ 5-] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 439

as a supreme object of worship necessarily regards him
as real and as the greatest of realities.

§ 5. THE NECESSITY OF RELIGION. — Religion, being
thus akin to art, is related to Ethics in somewhat the
same way as art is. It carries us, in a sense, beyond
the moral life, by raising us to the idea of a sphere of
attainment beyond the sphere of mere struggle. And
this it does, not, like art, in the way of hint and sug-
gestion, but rather in the way of definite conviction.
Such convictions are a necessity of man's life — a neces-
sity partly intellectual and partly moral.1 Both on the
intellectual and on the moral side this necessity may
be said to arise from a consciousness of the incom-
pleteness and inadequacy of our experience. On the
purely intellectual side this presents itself as a feeling
of wonder at the inexplicable in nature. Out of this
wonder, as Plato taught, all science arises. But the
imagination outruns science, and creates explanations
for itself; and even after science has done its best,
there remains a sense of unexplained mystery into
which we still seek to press. On the moral side, in
like manner, there is a sense of inadequacy in our
ordinary experience — a want of completeness in our
lives, a want of poetic justice in our fates. It is chiefly
on this side that religion touches on Ethics. But even
the demand for intellectual explanation expresses a
moral need. It is the desire to be at home within our
universe, and not to be confronted at every turn with
alien mysteries. In an unintelligible world we could

Shakespeare and Goethe are regarded only as exponents and illustra-
tors. But perhaps they have gained in breadth what they have lost
in height Cf. Bosanquet, of>. cit, p. 469.
i See Caird's Philosophy of Religion, chap. ir.

44O ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH,

not lead a moral life, because we should not know
what ends to propose to ourselves, or how to set about
realizing them.1 Hence even when the imagination
constructs myths to explain the formation of the clouds
or the motion of the sun, it is indirectly serving mo-
rality. It saves us from that prosaic abandonment in
which the higher life expires — that state in which as
Wordsworth complains, " Little we see in nature that
is ours." Natural religions, like that of the Greeks,
save us in some measure from this. They enable us
in the presence of nature to

44 Have glimpses that may make us less forlorn ;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn."

Even here, then, the religious imagination comes to
the aid of the moral life. Still, it is chiefly in so far
as it supplies a relief from the inadequacy of the moral
life itself that religion touches on Ethics. On this
aspect we must now look a little more closely.

§ 6. THE FAILURE OF LIFE. — Those who fix their at-
tention on the lives of individuals have always suf-
ficient ground for Pessimism. Even the most favoured
human beings attain only a small part of what they
hope ; and what they hope is generally but a small
part of what they would wish to be able to hope.
And a large proportion of the human race scarcely
seem to get the length of hope at all. Nor is it merely

1 It is chiefly for this reason that intellectual scepticism is apt to
have a detrimental effect on the moral life. This effect was strongly
insisted on by Plato, and, in more recent times, by Carlyle. Descartes
also, in the pursuit of his intellectual scepticism, felt the need of
guarding himself against its moral accompaniment See his Dis*
tonrst of Method, Part III. Burke also emphasized this point

§ /.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 441

that the average individual does not get so much out
of life as he could wish. The apparent unfairness of
fate is equally galling. Sometimes the sight of the
wicked flourishing "like the green bay tree " offends
the moral sense even more than the failures of the
righteous ; and this not from envy, but from a sense
of injustice.

§ 7. THE FAILURE OF SOCIETY. — Some consolation
may be found, indeed, for the failure of the individual
life in the confidence that society at least goes on ad-
vancing. But the progress of society can scarcely
be regarded as compensating for individual failure.
Society is not an entity apart from the individuals who
compose it ; and if the individuals fail, society cannot
have wholly succeeded. It might be argued, indeed,
that it is moving towards success, towards some " far-
off divine event." Still no such event could be morally
satisfactory if it were reached, so to speak, by tramp-
ling over the fallen bodies of generations of men who
"all died not having received the promises."1 And
even the poor comfort that society advances, does not
seem an altogether certain hope. In nearly all ages
wise men have been inclined to think that they and
their generation were no better than their fathers ;
and even if we can on the whole trace a line of
progress through the lives of nations, "yet progress
has many receding waves," * and in nearly every case
it seems to be followed in the end by a period of cor-

1 This point is strikingly emphasized in Prof. A. Seth's pamphlet
on The Present Position of the Philosophical Sciences, near the end
Cf. also his Hegelianism and Personality, p. 228. With much of
what is said in both these places, however, I do not agree.

* Sorley's Ethics of Naturalism, p. 272.

442 ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH.

ruption and decline. And even such progress as there
is, appears only to lead in an asymptotical way to
the goal that we hope for. The highest civilizations
that have ever been achieved, have been accompanied
by corrupting luxury on the one hand and degrading
toil and misery on the other ; and there has never
been a time at which the most deeply moral natures
have not been made to feel that, in some important
respects, the world was out of joint, and that neither
they nor any others were born to set it right. Is there,
it may well be asked, any sober and certain ground for
supposing that it will ever be otherwise ? If not, we
must regard society as having failed, just as, for the
most part, the individual life is perceived to fail.

§ 8. THE FAILURE OF ART. — Conscious of the failure
of life and society, many of the finest natures have
taken refuge in art. Matthew Arnold, in one of the
most striking of his poems,1 represents Goethe as
turning from the vain strife of his age, after having ex-
posed its weaknesses, and proclaiming to his contem-
poraries as their last resort — " Art still has truth, take
refuge there." And indeed in the same poem Matthew
Arnold describes the message of Wordsworth to his
generation, though in very different language, as
being yet substantially the same. Seeing the folly
and confusion of the actual world around him, he
taught his age to set it aside, and seek relief in feel-
ing. But this is a somewhat treacherous refuge.
"Art for Art's sake" is a shallow doctrine at the best.*
It is true in a sense that art is play. Ernst ist das

1 Memorial Verses.

* S«e Bosanquet's History of ^Esthetic, p. 457.

§ 8.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 443

Leben, heiter ist die Kunsi.1 Men may seek a tem-
porary relief in it from the struggle of life ; and it
may be a not unworthy commendation to say of a
great poet —

" The cloud of mortal destiny.
Others will front it fearlessly —
But who, like him, will put it by ?"

But even this service can be rendered to us by art
only so long as it is believed by us to be a revelation
of a deeper truth in things.8 If it is taken merely as
art, merely as a beautiful dream, it sfr,1's into play,
becomes a mere refined amusement, and loses all its
real power over the human spirit.3 There could
hardly be any worse sign of an age than that it
regards art as a mere amusement, as a mere escape
from the graver problems of life* In the great ages
of art, there has always been a ftr'li behind the art —
a belief that it symbolizes trutLc lhat are eternal, and
that can be expressed, though with an unspeakable
loss of adequacy and completeness, in sober prose •» as
well as in the form of artistic dreams. Their art was,
indeed, in a sense, play ; but it was a playful mode
'of giving utterance to the exuberance of a nation's
faith, and as such it had the highest beauty and value.

1 " Life is serious, art is joyous." — Schiller. Cf. Bosanquet's His-
tory of ^Esthetic, p. 296.

1 On the relation of Beauty to Truth, see Caird's Essays on Litera-
ture and Philosophy, voL i., pp. 54-65, 151-154, &c. ; and cf. Bosan-
quet's History of ^Esthetic, pp. 336, 458-460, &c

* " We cannot give the name of sacred poet to the ' idle singer of
an empty day,' but only to him who can express the deepest and
widest interests of human life." — Caird, loc. ciL, p. 154. Cf. also
Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, voL ii., pp. 465-6.

4 Dante actually gave a prose interpretation of his Divine

444 ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH.

But as a desperate escape from scepticism it could have
no such worth. Its dreams, if they were supposed to
be altogether unreal, would only make the emptiness
of life the more conspicuous. ' We might still feel that
they were beautiful ; but it would be like the beautify-
ing of a sepulchre full of dead men's bones. The soul
would have gone out of them.

§ 9. THE DEMAND FOR THE INFINITE. — "Man'sUnhap-
piness," says Carlyle, "comes of his greatness. It is
because there is an Infinite in him which with all his
cunning he cannot quite bury under the finite." The
ideal unity of our self-consciousness demands a per-
fectly harmonious and intelligible universe ; and this
cannot be found so long as we see the world in its
finite aspect, as a series of isolated events set over
against each other. Art partly breaks down this
finitude, and lets us see the infinite significance of it
shining through.3 But it does this in a form that is
not quite adequate to the truth — a form that is partly
playful ; and we return from its ideals to the actual

1 Some suggestive remarks on the possibility of making art a sub-
stitute for religion will be found in Dilhring's Erzatz der Religion,
pp. 106-111. See also Caird's Hegel, pp. 37-8.

* Carlyle says (Heroes and Hero-Worship, LecL III.) that music
is " a kind of inarticulate unfathomable speech, which leads us to
the edge of the Infinite, and lets us for moments gaze into that,*
C/. also Caird's Hegel, pp. 112-114; a°d see the passage quoted
from Hegel in Bosanquet's History of ^Esthetic, p. 361. " For in art
we have to do with no mere toy of pleasure or of utility, but with
the liberation of the mind from the content and forms of the finite,
with the presence and union of the Absolute within the sensuous
and phenomenal, and with an unfolding of truth which is not ex-
hausted in the evolution of nature, but reveals itself in the world-
history, of which it constitutes the most beautiful aspect and the best
reward for the hard toil of reality and the tedious labours of know-
ledge."

§ 10.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 44$

world with all our discontent again — sometimes, in-
deed, with our discontent deepened and intensified.
Art reaches its intuitions of truth, as Browning put it,
"at first leap ; " and often, when reflection supervenes,
we find that what we have received is not a solution
of our problems, but at most the suggestion of a solu-
tion. What we require is an ideal which shall at the
same time be absolutely real.

§ 10. THE Two INFINITES. — Now there are two main
forms in which we become aware of the infinite as a
reality within our experience — what we may call the
purely intellectual form and the moral form. These
two are well expressed by Kant in a familiar passage,
in which he states the two great objects of reverence. *
"Two things fill the mind with ever new and increas-
ing admiration and awe, the oftener and the more
steadily we reflect on them : the starry heavens above
and the moral law within. I have not to search for
them and conjecture them as though they were veiled
in darkness or were in the transcendent region beyond
my horizon ; I see them before me and connect them
directly with the consciousness of my existence. The
former begins from the place I occupy in the external
world of sense, and enlarges my connection therein to
an unbounded extent with worlds upon worlds and sys-
tems of systems. . . . The second begins from my in-
risible self, my personality, and exhibits me in a world
which has true infinity, but which is traceable only by
the understanding, and with which I discern that I am

i Conclusion of Critique of Practical Reason (Abbott's translation),
p. 360. Cf. also Janet's Theory of M orals. Book III., chap. xiL, whera
the whole subject of the relation of Ethics to Religion is treated ia
• suggestive way.

446 ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH.

not in a merely contingent but in a universal and nec-
essary connection. . . . The former view of a countless
multitude of worlds annihilates as it were my import-
ance as an animal creature, which after it has been for
a short time provided with vital power, one knows not
how, must again give back the matter of which it was
formed to the planet it inhabits (a mere speck in tho
universe). The second, on the contrary, infinitely
elevates my worth as an intelligence by my person-
ality, in which the moral law reveals to me a life in-
dependent on animality and even on the whole sen-
sible world,^ at least so far as may be inferred from
the destination assigned to my existence by this law, a
destination not restricted to conditions and limits of
this life, but reaching into the infinite." These two
reverences, separately or in combination, may be said
to furnish the basis of religious worship. When the
first is taken alone, it gives rise to Pantheism or to
Agnosticism : when the second is taken alone, it gives
rise to Monotheism or to the Religion of Humanity.
When the two are combined, we have a more com-
plete form of religion.

§ 11. THE FIRST RELIGION. — The first form of reve-
rence, then, in which the demand for the infinite is
recognized, is the worship of Nature in the boundless-
ness of its extent and power. In its crudest form this
religion is summed up in the saying that " All is God."
This form of worship rises very naturally in our minds
when we are brought face to face with the great
elemental forces of nature. " What is man," we are
then tempted to exclaim, "that he should be put in
comparison with the infinity of the material universe ! "
This point of view is materialistic, and is scarcely dis-

§ 12.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 447

tinguishable from Atheism. It is, however, a super-
ficial view. The infinity which is reached by the mere
adding on of an endless number of parts is what Hegel
called "the bad infinite." Such^an infinity is in no
way more satisfying to our minds than the finite is.
The mere fact that we cannot get to an end of a thing
does not add anything to its value. The blank empti-
ness of space, for instance, has no worth for us. The
deeper Pantheism is distinguished from this superficial
one, in that its meaning is summed up, not in the say-
ing that "All is God," but that "God is all"— i. e. that
the finite world is an unreality, and that the ultimate
reality is the spiritual power behind it. This view is
developed, with great force and suggestiveness, in the
Ethics of Spinoza.1 Since, however, it rests on the
mere negation of the finite, it ends either in the asser-
tion of blank nothingness as the ultimate reality (the
Nirvana of the Buddhists), or in the assertion of some
ultimate reality of which nothing can be known (the
Unknowable of Mr. Herbert Spencer). This infinity of
emptiness is in the end quite as unsatisfactory (both
from an intellectual and from a moral point of view) as
the infinity of an inexhaustible aggregate.

§ 12. THE SECOND RELIGION. — The second religion is
the worship of the moral law in the absoluteness of its
authority. In order, however, that this may be made
an object of reverence, it requires to be regarded as
embodied in some concrete form. The simplest form
is that of a supreme Law-giver, as in the religion of
the Jews. The unsatisfactoriness of this view arises
from the fact that such a Law-giver has to be thought
of as external to that to which he gives the law. He

i There is, however, another side to the doctrine of Spinoza, which

448 ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH.

deals with a. refractory material He requires, there-
fore, to be thought of as in some sense finite, * being
limited by a world outside. Accordingly, this view
leads readily to Manicheism, the belief in an infinite
Devil as well as an infinite God. Other methods of
escape are (i) to say frankly, like J. S. Mill, that God
is not infinite at all,a which deprives us of that supreme
satisfaction which the infinite alone can give ; or (2) to
abandon the idea of a personal God, and assert only a
progressive realization of the moral ideal. This latter
resource appears in the Religion of Humanity, insti-
tuted by Auguste Comte,* in which the human race as
a whole is represented as a Great Being struggling for-
ward against the opposing tendencies of an unintelli-
gent and unintelligible nature. A similar view is to be
found in Matthew Arnold's idea of a "Power, not our-
selves, that makes for righteousness." The inherent
weakness of any such position is that it leaves an ir-
reconcilable dualism in our world. Evil is left unac-
counted for, and we have no assurance that it will be
finally overcome with good.

§ 13. THE THIRD RELIGION. — It is one of the supreme
merits of the Christian religion that it combines these
two infinites so completely. The God of Christianity
is conceived at once as the infinite Power revealed in
nature, and as the source and end of the moral ideal. It

is even more important and characteristic, and which brings it into
connection rather with the moral point of view, referred to in the
next section. The same may be said of Buddhism.
1 In which case this view would become identical with Mill's.

* A similar view is developed in a recent book entitled Riddles oj
ike Sphinx.

• For an account and criticism of this, see Caird's Social Philoso-
phy and Religion of Comic,

§ I4-] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 449

enables men to see in the world outside them the work-
ing out of their own moral aspirations,1 to believe that
" morality is the nature of things," and to have con-
fidence, not indeed that "whatever is, is right," but
that ' ' whatever is right, is " — i. e. as Carlyle put it,
that "the soul of the world is just," that in the last
resort "the Good" (in Plato's phrase) is the only-
reality. Other religions have partly contained this
same inspiring faith ; but Christianity seems to bring it
out most clearly.

§ 14. RELIGION AND SUPERSTITION. — It has been fre-
quently noted that ages of religious faith tend to be
rapidly followed by times of doubt and disbelief. The
cause of this is not far to seek. The religious imagina-
tion, as we have already remarked, in its effort after
a final explanation of the mysteries of things, outruns
science. It cannot wait for the plodding processes
of reasoning and verification. But these come after-
wards ; and when they come, they generally find that
the kernel of religious truth has been hastily wrapped
up in a husk of superstition. The religions of the
world have grown out of the buoyant faith of some
imaginative and impassioned natures. To the founders
of them they have nearly always been an inextricable
blending of truth and poetry. * Those who came aftei

1 Beautifully expressed by Browning— Epistle from Karshish —

" So through the darkness comes a human voice.
Saying— 'O heart I made, a heart beats here," &c.

3 /. e. their meaning takes the form of an image, which for them
is inseparable from the meaning. As the Germans say, the Bcgrijf
(i. e. the conception or meaning) appears in the form of a VorsUllung
(imaginative representation). C/. Wallace's Logic of Hegel (First
Edition), pp. 1-2, and Ixxxvii— buorix,

Eth. 29

4$o ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH.

them have seldom been able to catch just that point of
view at which insight passed into beauty. The poetry
evaporates, and the truth does not remain. The happy
intuition becomes a miserable creed ; and the beautiful
images that clustered round it turn into the spectres of
superstition. Then, as soon as another man of real
insight arises, the hollowness of the dogma is revealed,
and with this revelation the entire religion appears to
be exploded. The gods before which the rapt adora-
tion of saint and poet once knelt become mere names
that serve perhaps only to give gusto to an oath.

§ 15. THE ETHICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF RELIGION. — What
remains essential in religion, however, is the convic-
tion of the reality of the moral life ; and this convic-
tion it is which metaphysics is required to justify. In
other words, it has to justify the belief that the moral
life is worth living. From a practical point of view we
may say no doubt that such a justification is hardly re-
quired. It is the faith which is inevitably involved in
life itself, just as in science there is involved the faith
that the world can be seen as an intelligible system.
In a stirring article entitled "Is Life worth Living?"
Professor James remarks — "If this life be not a real
fight, in which something is eternally gained for the
universe by success, it is no better than a game of
private theatricals from which one may withdraw
at will. But it feels like a real fight ; " and he con-
cludes by urging that our attitude on this matter is
necessarily one of faith. "Believe," he says, "that
life is worth living, and your belief will half create the
fact The 'scientific proof that you are right may
not be clear before the day of judgment (or some stage
•f Being which that expression may serve to symbolize)

§ 1 6.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 451

is reached. But the faithful fighters of this hour, or the
beings that then and there will represent them, may
then turn to the faint-hearted, who here decline to go
on, with words like those with which Henry IV.
greeted the tardy Crillon after a great victory had been
gained : ' Hang yourself, Crillon 1 we fought at Arques,
and you were not there.' "

The belief, then, that the moral life is in this sense
real may be said to be the essential significance of
religion ; and without some such belief the moral life
is hardly possible at all. In all spheres of thought,
however, the human intellect demands proof ; and the
proof of this particular point can only be found in
metaphysics.

§ 16. THE ULTIMATE PROBLEMS OF METAPHYSICS. — We
thus see how it is that the science of Ethics is incom-
plete in itself, and stretches out its hands to metaphysics.
But in a sense this is true of all science, and we may
even say, of all art All positive science rests on
the belief that the world can be seen as an intelligible
system, and this belief cannot be justified except by
metaphysical inquiry. All fine art, in like manner, at
least in its higher and more serious forms, may be said
to rest upon the conviction that " Beauty is Truth," that
the point of view from which the beautiful is appre-
hended is a point of view which grasps a more essen-
tial form of actuality than that which appears in mere
existence. Similarly, the moral point of view involves
the conviction that Good is more real than Evil, that
the moral ideal has a higher actnality ' than the exist-

1 In so far as such a point of view as that here indicated can be
adopted, the Ideal becomes transformed into the Idea (in the sens*
in which that term was used by Plato and Hegel)— i, c, instead of

452 ETHICS. [CONCLUDING CH,

ing world as it appears to the ordinary consciousness
of mankind.

How this can be established by metaphysical reflec-
tion it is not our business here to inquire. It may be
possible, as in the system of Hegel, to show that "the
actual is rational, and the rational is actual ;" or again,
it may only be possible, as in the view of Bradley, to
show that the moral point of view contains a higher
' ' degree of reality " than that to which it is- opposed.
Or it may be that we are left in a purely agnostic posi-
tion. Such questions could not be answered here
except in a purely dogmatic fashion, and a dogmatic
answer is of course worse than none. It is enough for
us to have indicated where the ultimate problem lies ;
and to have shown that Ethics, regarded as a separate
science, is not complete in itself.1

being thought of Ideologically, as the end or standard by which we
are guided in the realization of the moral life, it would be regarded
rather as the underlying principle by which reality itself is deter-
mined, in the process by which its inner significance is gradually
unfolded. Thus, from the point of view of religion, or of a meta-
physical system such as that of Plato or Hegel, the distinction
between the Ideal and the Actual vanishes. The term Idea, ex-
presses in this sense (which must be carefully distinguished from
its use by Descartes, Locke, Berkeley, Hume, &c), the point of
view from which this transcendence of the opposition takes place.
But it would obviously be far beyond the scope of such a work as
this to consider whether this point of view can be justified. It would
require a complete metaphysical system to deal with it

1 Metaphysics is a subject which it is hardly worth while for any
one to take up unless he intends to study it thoroughly. The student
who takes it up in this way will soon find that the writer who is
most important at the present time is HegeL A popular introduc-
tion to Hegel has been written by Dr. Edward Caird (Blackwood's
Philosophical Classics); and Professor Wallace has also written
valuable Prolegomena to his Translation of the Logic and the P/ZJ'/O.
sophy of Mind. The best introduction to Hegel an English is, how*

§ l6.] ETHICS AND METAPHYSICS. 453

ever, Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant, where the transition from
Kant to Hegel is explained with the greatest thoroughness and
clearness. Mr. McTaggart's Studies in Hegelian Dialectic and the
Prefatory Essay to Dr. Bosanquet's translation of the Introduction
to Hegel's Aesthetik may also be found helpful. As a more ele-
mentary introduction to the study of Metaphysics, Watson's Comte,
Mill and Spencer may be recommended, with some slight reserva-
tions ; and, for still more elementary purposes, Mr. W. M. Salter's
First Steps in Philosophy may be mentioned. With special reference
to the more religious aspect of the subject, Caird's Evolution of
Religion will be found exceedingly instructive. Mr. Bradley's Ap-
pearance and Reality is the most important attempt at a metaphysical
construction in English. It is largely, but not entirely in harmony
•with the Hegelian system. But perhaps it must still be sorrowfu'ly
admitted, as it was by Kant, that " Metaphysics is undoubtedly the
most difficult of sciences ; but it is a science that has not yet come
into existence."

APPENDIX.

NOTE ON ETHICAL LITERATURE.

THB chief function of such a handbook as this must be, like that
»f Goldsmith's village preacher, to " allure to brighter worlds and
lead the way." The " brighter worlds " in this case are the works of
the great masters of the science. To these frequent references have
been given throughout this sketch ; but it may be worth while now to
make a few general remarks upon them, and to indicate the order
in which they may be most profitably read. The precise order in
which they should be taken will of course depend partly on indi-
vidual taste, and partly on the amount of time at the student's
disposal

For the majority of readers, I believe that Mill's Utilitarianism
will be found one of the most easy and interesting books to begin
upon ; and it will give a good general impression of the Hedonistic
point of view. If thought desirable, the concluding chapter on
Justice may be omitted on a first reading. The study of the whole
book may be accompanied by a reference to the criticisms contained
in Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics.

Portions of Kant ought also to be read at an early date. The
student will soon find that modern Ethics, like modern Philosophy
generally, turns largely upon him. The first two sections of the
Jdetaphysic of Moral (to be found in Abbott's KanFs Tlieory oj
Ethics) will be found comparatively easy, even by students who
have not read anything on Metaphysics, and will convey a fair un-
derstanding of Kant's general position : but it is difficult to proceed
far in Kant's ethical system without some knowledge of his meta-
physical principles.1

The student who has mastered the general principles of Mill and
Kant will have a fair idea of the bases of the Utilitarian and the

> Those who are prepared to go fully into Kant's point of view
will find invaluable aid in Caird's Critical Philosophy of Kant

455

456 APPENDIX.

Idealistic systems of morals. Those who wish to go more fully 5nto
the modern developments of these points of view must read Sidg-
wick's Methods of Ethics and Green's Prolegomena. Of these two,
Green's is the more difficult to understand, on account of his strongly
metaphysical point of view. Muirhead's Elements of Ethics, how-
ever, will give the student great assistance in following the line of
Green's argument

Sidgwick's book has the advantage of supplying the student not
only with the best statement of the modern Utilitarian point of view,
but also with the best criticism of Intuitionism. For a statement of
the Intuitionist point of view by one of its own adherents, reference
may be made to Martineau's Types of Ethical Theory. An element-
ary student, however, would probably find this book somewhat
confusing.

The chief books written from the Evolutionist point of view are
Spencer's Data of Ethics,1 Stephen's Science of Ethics and Alex-
ander's Moral Order and Progress* Each of these possesses spe-
cial merits of its own. Mr. Alexander's book seems to me the most
profound of the three ; but for this very reason it may perhaps be
the most difficult for an elementary student Mr. Stephen's book,
being by a man of letters, is written in remarkably clear and
vigorous English, and will probably be found the most pleasant to
read It is also in some respects the most suggestive. Mr. Spencer's
work has the advantage of forming part of a complete and compre-
hensive speculative system ; and the way in which he connects
Ethics with the various other departments of knowledge gives his
book a peculiar interest and stimulating power, especially perhaps
for young students. Otherwise, it does not seem to me so satisfac-
tory as the work of either of the other two.

While, however, the more recent books will naturally have a cer-
tain attraction for the student, he ought not to neglect the older
masterpieces. Plato's Republic and Aristotle's Ethics8 are still in
many respects the greatest works on Ethics that we possess ; and

i Now Part I. of The Principles of Ethics.

* Chapters v. and vi in Darwin's Descent of Man may also be
referred to. But the treatment of this subject there is slight and
superficial

* In connection with these, Bosanquet's Companion to Plato's Re-
public and Muirhead's Chapters from Aristotle's Ethics may be used.
See also the Commentaries by Nettleship and Stewart.

NOTE ON ETHICAL LITERATURE. 457

every serious student ought to read them at as early a point in his
course as he finds possible. Spinoza's Ethics is a very difficult book,
and can only be fully appreciated by an advanced student of Meta-
physics.! The same remark is on the whole true of Hegel's Philoso-
phic des Rechts—a. great book of which at last there is a tolerable
translation. Some of the most important points in Hegel's system are,
however, reproduced in a simple and interesting form in Dewey's
Outlines of a Critical Theory of Ethics.3 Bradley's Ethical Studies
also represents the Hegelian point of view ; but this most interest-
ing and stimulating work is unhappily out of print8 Among other
works of historical importance, which the student may profitably
read, may be mentioned Butler's Sermons and Dissertation H.
(" Of the Nature of Virtue "), Hume's Treatise on Human Nature,
Books II. and III., or Dissertation on the Passions and Inquiry con-
cerning the Principles of Morals, Adam Smiths Theory o] Moral Sen-
timent, Bentham's Principles of Morals and Legislation, Bacon's De
Augmentis, Books VII. and VIII., and Hobbes's Leviathan.*

1 Students who desire to read Spinoza will derive great assistance
from Principal Caird's excellent monograph in Blackwood •= " Philo-
sophical Classics." Those who read German will find his whole
system expounded very fully and with extraordinary clearness and
brilliancy in Kuno Fischer's Gcschichte der ncuern Philosophic, l.,ii.
For a shorter account, students may be referred to the article on
" Cartesianism " in the Encyclopedia Britannica, Spinoza as a
pure Determinist, and as : ic who wholly excludes the conception
of ideals or of final causes, may be said to begin by denying the
possibility of Ethics. He treats it as a positive or natural history
science, not as a normative science. C/.. above, p. 92, note I. But as
he goes on with the development of his system, he is led, in spite of
himself, to admit the conception of an ideal or end in human life,
and even of a certain " immanent finality* in nature. This point is
well brought out by Principal Caird (op. cit., pp. 270, 304)

2 Hegel's Philosophy of History (translated in Bohn's Series) will
also be found very interesting.

* Bosanquet's Civilization of Christendom — a collection of Essays
on Applied Ethics — is also written from this point of view

* A lairly complete list of important English works on Ethics,
arranged according to schools, will be found at the ei:d of Muir-
head's Elements of Ethics.

4«j8 APPENDIX.

Many other useful books might be mentioned Students who
read German will find Paulsen's System der Ethik,1 Hoffding's
Ethik, Wundt's Ethik, and Simmel's Einleitung in die Moralwissen-
schaft, of the greatest value.2 In French, the writings of Guyau and
Fouille*e will be found particularly suggestive : Simon's Du Devoir
and Renouvier's La Science Morale may also be referred to. For
Social Ethics Comte's Politique Positive is invaluable.8 I may
also mention Sorley*s Ethics of Naturalism,* Fowldr's Progressive
Morality, Clifford's Lectures and Essays (containing some extremely
suggestive points), Lotze's Practical Philosophy , Janet's Theory oj
Morals, Royce's Religious Aspect of Philosophy, Edgeworth's Mathe-
matical Psychics and New and Old Methods of Ethics. In the
History of Ethics, in addition to Sidgwick's History of Ethics and to
the short statements contained in General Histories of Philosophy
(ft, g. Erdmann's, Zeller's, and Kuno Fischer's), reference may be
made to Lecky's History of European Morals, to Stephen's English
Thought in the Eighteenth Century, and (for readers of German) to
Ziegler's Ethik der Grlechen und RSmern and Gcschichte der Christ-
lichen Ethik, and to Jodl's Gcschichte der neuern Ethik. C. M. Wil-
liams's recent work on Evolutional Ethics will be found useful
with reference to that particular school Notices of current litera-
ture on the subject, as well as discussions on particular points,
will be found from time to time in the pages of Mind, of the Philo-
sophical Review, and of the International Journal of Ethics.

1 This is particularly valuable on the side of Applied Ethics.

* The last-named is almost purely critical.

•For a summary of Comte's point of view, see Caird's Social
Philosophy and Religion of Comte. For the history of social Ethics
before Comte, reference may be made to Janet's Histoire de la
Science Politique ; also to the same writer's Philosophic de la Revolu-
tion francaise, Saint-Simon et le Saint-Simonisme, and Les Origincs
du Socialisme contemporain. See also Mohl's Gcschichte und Litera-
tur der Staatswissenschaften.

4 Containing extremely valuable criticisms of the Utilitarian and
Evolutionist schools.

INDEX.

4 BBOTT, T. K. : referred to,
<£*• 192, 344.
Act : will and, 54-7.

— resolution and, 398-9.

— crime and, 398-9.

Action: reflection and, 109,384-8.

— nature of voluntary, 98-100.
Actions : as lies, 189, 338.

— and motives, 65, 388.

— as dependent on character, 407.

— and remorse, 408.

Activity : involved in morality, 14.
Adjustment : in relation to morals

and science, 239 teq.
Adler: referred to, 349, 374.
.aesthetics and Ethics, 12, 16,

28-30, 177 teq.
Alexander: on natural selection

in murals, 243 teq.

— on sroiul conduct, 245-6.

— on uuiies, 333.

— on virtue and duty, 343-4.

— on the relation of the virtues

to social institutions, 352.

— on vices as old virtues, 394.
Altruism : and Egoism, 293.

— conciliation of, with Egoism

(Spencer), 293-4.
Animals : conduct in, 85, 105-6.

— incapable of higher sins, 415.

— moral judgment in, 114.

— relation to men, 424-5.

— spontaneity of, 94.
Appetite : and Want, 44 seq.

— and desire, 46 seq., 248.
Aristotle : ou moral activity, 14.

Aristotle : on the Good Will, 18.

— on Ethics and Politirs, 32.

— definition of the Good, 44.

— on motive, 64.

— on good habit and the good

man, 84, 88.

— on the relation of virtue and

knowledge, 88.

— view of Ethics, 152, 296.

— on practical utility of Ethics,

350.

— on virtue as a mean, 358.

— list of virtues, 358-9, 372-3.

— on changing of character, 367.

— " practical syllogism," 370.

— definition of virtue, 371.

— on the contemplative life, 384,

387.

— referred to, 3, 46, 53, 89, 92,

268, 272, 284, 288, 291, 295,
318, 329, 331, 394/456.

Arnauld : quoted (on rest ,373.

Arnold, Matthew : on Conduct,
17.

— definition of religion, 433-6.

— on art as truth, 442.

— and a " power not ourselves,

that makes for righteoua-
nefis," 448.

Art: and Science, 11-12.
— morality a fine, 12 teq., 28-30.

— relation to religion, 436 teq.

— the failure of, 442-4.
Ascetic principle: Bentham on,

205.
Asceticism, 383-4.

459

460

INDEX.

Atheism, 447.

Attainment: progressive &nd. catat'

trophic, 79 seq.
Authority, 255 seq.

T3ACKSLIDING, 307.
-*-* Bacon : referred to, 365.
Bain, Prof. : referred to, 68.
Beautiful souls, 29-30, 382-3.
Beautiful, the : and the Good,

177-8.

Beauty, 28-30, 177-8.
Bentham : on pleasure and pain,

67.

— his life, 159-160.

— on " the Ascetic Principle,"

205.

— confused egoistic and univer-

salistic hedonism, 211.

— his view of " ought," 213.

— on value of pleasures, 214.

— doggerel on qualities of

pleasures, 215.

— discarded the expression "of

the greatest number," 222.

— on final and efficient cause of

human action, 261-2.

— on sanctions, 259, 261-4.

Biology, 26-7, 235 seq.

Blunc, Louis: referred to, 315.

Blessedness : term for the satis-
faction of higher desires,
227.

Bosanqnet: on Moral Ideas
and Ideas about Morality,
110.

— on " the scholars golden rule,"

363.

— referred to, 87, 113, 274, 444,

453.

Bradley, P. H. : what pleasure is,
224.

— on personal opinions as self-

conceit, 355.

— on being a whole, 367.

— referred to, 67, 170, 203, 274,

346, 354, 453.
Browne, Sir T. : quoted, 196.

Browning: quoted on art, 16,
139.

— on change of universe, 251.

— on education of character,

368.

— on estimate of an individual,

84, 385, 401.

— on intuitions of art, 445.

— on religion, 449.

— referred to, 362.

Bryant, S. : referred to, on edu-
cation, 34.

— on fortitude, 361.

Bryce, J. : quoted, 115, 207-8.
Buckle: referred to, 401, 426.
Buddha : referred to, 390.
Buddhists : referred to, 447.
Burke: quoted, 356, 411.
Burns: quoted, 136.
Butler, J. : on conscience, 182 seq.,
185, 266-8.

— on objects and desires, 71.

— on authority, 257, 267.

— on self-love, 267.

CAIRD, E. : on Kant, 159.
— on art, 443.

— referred to, 452-3, 455.
Caird, Princ. J. : referred to, 52,

457.

Calculus of pleasure, 229.
Capacity and act, 14.
Carlyle : his view of Economics,

12.

— on character as an inheritance,

102.

— on blessedness and happiness,

227.

— on a clear conscience, 304.

— on slavery, 318.

— his commandment, 339, 346.

— on the unconscious as the only

complete, 375.

— on know thyself, 386.

— on crime and act, 399.

— on birth of heroes, 412.

— on ' Progress of the Speciee,'

416.

INDJdX.

Garlyle : on greatness and melan-
choly, 429.

— on worship, 437.

— on greatness and unhappinesa,

444.

— on music, 444.

— " the soul of the world is just,"

449.

— referred to, 172, 256, 269, 322,

376, 383, 392.

— quoted, 396.
Cartesians, 153, 268.
Casuistry, 339-41.
Categorical imperative, 169 seq.
Categories, 188.

Cause, final and efficient, 62.

— Bentham on, 261-2.
Celibacy, 200.

Chalmers, Dr. : referred to, 368.
Character, 83-4.

— Novalis on, 57.

— of women : Pope on, 68, 396.

— as object of the moral judg-

ment, 137-8.

— respect for, 335-6.

— education of, 366 seq.

— a weak, 395.

— of great strength, 396.

— development of, 400.

— in relation to action, 407.
Children : quasi-rights of, 425.
Christ: referred to, 390, 391.
Christian Ethics, 297-8.
Christianity, 30.

Christian love, 363-4.

Church : the, 324.

Circumstance, 85-8.

Civilization : the product of vir-
tues and vices, 411.

Clarke, 154, 175.

Clifford, W. K. : the " tribal
self," 115-6, 305.

— on conscience, 117-8.
Code of honour, 8, 342.
Coit, Dr. S., 148.
Commandments, 8, 332.

— relation to the virtues, 352-3.

— the Jewish, 121, 352.

— what they are, 365-0.

Common sense ethics, 183 seq.
Community: of goods, 317.

— the civic, 323-4.
Comte, Auguste, 113, 448.
Conduct, 1-2, 58.

— a fine art, 12, 14 seq.

— the whole of life, 17.

— definition of, 84-5.

— - Spencer's view of, 85.

— evolution of, 104 seq.

— germs of, in lower animals,

105-7.

— among savages, 107.

— guidance of, by custom, 108.
, by law, 108.

, by ideas, 108-9.

— as object of the moral judg-

ment, 135.

— rules of, 349-50.

— sanctions of, 260.

— and emotion, 433 seq.
Conscience, 146, 186, 198.

— origin of, 117-8.

— individual, as moral standard,

122-3.

— law of, 182 seq.

— as sanction, 264.

— authority of, 265-8.

— and the social unity, 303 seq.

— mystery of, 304.

— pain of, 304.

— attached to the highest system

of things, 305.

— quasi-, 305-6.

— stifling of, 307.

— " case of," 341.
Conscientiousness, 376t

— over-much, 389.
Consistency, 170, 191 seq.
Contract : right and obligation of,

318-9.

— " from status to," 318.

— "social," 318.
Conventional rules, 342-8.
Conversion, 375.
Corruption : social, 411.
Cosmopolitan, 297.

Courage : a Greek virtue, 363 «•.;.,
420.

INDEX.

Courage : a cardinal virtue, 360

teq., 372.
Crime, 401-2.

— as evidence of insanity, 305.
Custom, 1, 107-8, 343.

— as the moral standard, 119*

120.
Cyrenaics : and Cynics, 151.

— and Egoistic Hedonism, 215.

TYANTE: referred to, 438, 443.
•*-* Darwin : referred to, 85, 242.
Decisiveness and perseverance

as virtues, 362, 364, 372.
Democritus, 148.
Descartes : referred to, 153, 389,

440.

Desirable : ambiguity of, 213.
Desire : general nature of, 43 teq.

— and appetite, 46-7.

— universe of, 47-9.

— and wish, 52-3.

— and pleasure, 67-9, 79-82.

— the object of, 69 teq.

— "disinterested," 72.

— imaginative satisfaction of,

81-2.

— higher and lower forms of,

208-9.

— satisfaction of, ia happiness,

209-210.
Desires : conflict of, 49-51.

— not for pleasure, 73-4.

— satisfaction of, 209-210.
Determinists, 94.

— and crime, 407.
Devas, C. S., 33.
Development : of the moral con-
sciousness, 111-2.

— general nature of moral, 126.

— of life, 235.

— higher and lower views of,

235-6.

— of moral life, 236.

— explanation of, 237 teq.
Devil, the : an ass, 15.
Dewey, J. : conflict of desires,

61-2.

Dewey, J. : on motives, 65.

— on actions of animals, 95.

— on the good artisan, 347.

— referred to, 203, 359.
Discipline: value of ascetic,

367.

Diihring : referred to, 248.
Aura/xu, 14.
Duties: my station and its,

346-8.

Duty, 162 teq.
Duty : happiness, perfection and,

159-160.

— of perfect and imperfect obli-

gation, 343 teq.

— and virtue, 345, 352.

— and work, 346-7.

— paradox of, 373.

Tf DUCATION : right and ob-
•*-* ligationof, 319.

— of character, 366 teq,

— and psychology, 366.

— moral, 369.

— punishment aa agent of, 404.
Egoism: and altruism, 293.

— conciliation of, with altruism,

293 teq.

Egoistic hedonism, 215-8.

Eliot, George : on the highest
happiness, 233.

Emancipation of slaves : and mo-
rality, 426-8.

Emerson : on self-consistency,
170.

— quoted, 91, 247, 387, 415.
End, 2-4.

— idea of, 85.

— as self-realization, 233.

— perfection rathe* than hap*

piness, 233.
'Erl/ryeux, 14.
Environment; change of, and

moral change, 426-8.
Epicureans : identified virtue with

happiness, 206.

— and egoistic hedonism, 216.
Ethical hedonism, 212.

INDEX.

463

Ethical hedonism, general mean-
ing of, 214 seq.
Ethos of a people, 354-7.

— the universal, 354. »
Evils: use of, 401-2.
Evolution : of conduct, 104 seq.

— its application to morals, 234-5.

— and theory of ethics, 235, 280

nq.

— and Spencer's ethical theory,

237-241, 247.

— social, 413-6.

Evolutionists: on ethics, 241 seq.
Example : influence of, 366.
Exceptions, 199.
Exploitation : of the poor, 412.

TRACTS ana -rules, 5-8.
-1- Failure: of life, 440-1.

— of society, 441-2.
Fairbanks, Prof. A., 113.
Faith, 429-30, 451-2.
Family : the, 320.

— violation of the sanctities of :

forbidden, 337.
Fanaticism, 57, 136-7, 185.
Faults : as moral agents, 387.
Feeling, 63, 196.

— of " self-realisedness," 224.

— of pleasure is sense of value,

223.

— of satisfaction : differences of,

226.

Fichte, 198.
Fidelity, 365, 372.
Forgiveness, 410-1.
Form and matter, 191, 192 stq.,

230-231.

FouillSe: referred to, 113, 458.
Fowler : referred to, 280.
Freedom : essential to morals,

91-2.

— the tnm sense of, 93-4.

— the highest 97-8.

— a right of man, 315-6.
• — respect for, 314-5.
Friendship, 3-J5-6.
Froude, J. A. : quoted, 389.

GASSENDI: referred to,
15:5-4, 216.

Gauss : referred to, 164.
Genius: moral, 12, 350.
Giddings, F. H., 113.
Gilman, N. P. : referred to, 12.
Gizycki : referred to, 221 , 268, 324.
God: mediaeval conception of,
101.

— goodness in, 165.

— law of, 174, 258.

— must be social, 292.

— as all, 456.

— as infinite and not infinite,

458.
Goethe: quoted, 310, 378, 381,

386.

Goldsmith : quoted, 64.
Golden Age, a, 413.
Good, 2-3.

— will, the, 15-16, 128-130.

— its relation to desire, 44.

— habit, 84.

— happiness the only, 218.

— must be for somebody, 220.

— is explained by the end, 247.

— the only thing desired, 393-4.

— the only reality, 449.
Goodness: an activity, 14.

— and the beautiful, 177-8.

— as adjustment, 242.
Goods : community of, 317.
Greek religion, 436.
Green : on the will, 54.

— on the relation of pleasure tc

objects, 229.

— his view of ethics, 248-250.

— on good and evil actions, 379.

— on Greek virtues, 420.

— on self-denial, 420-2.

— referred to, 377, 398.
Guyau, referred to. 104, 113,458.
Gymnastic and music, 386.

HABIT, 88-90, 106.
— good, 84.

Hallam : referred to, 401;
Happiness, 171.

464

INDEX.

Happiness, the only pood, 218.

— fallacy of the gcivral, 219.

— its relation to the s>uif , 232.

— is a relative term, 232.

— the highest, 233.

— is not the end, 233.

— real meaning of, 253.
Heart: 198-9.

Heaven : and freedom of the will,

101.
Hedonism : psychological, 67-69.

— paradox of , 69-71-

— varieties of, 210-212.

— ethical, in relation to psycho-

logical, 212-3.

— egoistic, 215-8.

— universalistic, 218 seq.

— three forms of, 221.

— general criticism of, 222 seq.

— foundation of, 222.

— gives matter without form,

231.

— and motives to seek general

happiness, 261.

Hedonists: ethical and psycho-
logical, 211.

Hegel : on the planets, 94.

— his view of "ought," 168.

— his Logic, 286.

— on the history of freedom, 315.

— on the Greek gods, 438.

— on art, 444.

— " the had infinite," 447.

— on the real and the rational,

452.

— quoted, 52, 336, 346, 354, 427-

— referred to, 284, 288, 310, 449,

450-1.

Heine, on Kant, 159-160.
Hell : paved with good intentions,

129.

— and freedom of the will, 101.
Helvetius : referred to, 216.
Heraclitus: referred to, 147-8.
Herbart : referred to, 366.

— quoted, 369.
Heredity, 101-2, 106.
Hobbes: referred to. 154, 158,

216.

Hoffding : referred to, 398.
Homer: referred to, 394, 438.
Honesty : more than mere truth*

fulness. 363.

Honour : code of, 8, 342.
Humanity : religion of, 448.
Hume : on reason and passion,

75-6.

— on self, 96.

— referred to, 318.
Hunger : not a desire, 81.
Hutcheson, 154, J78, 181.

— on desires, 71.
Huxley : referred to, 223.

IDEAL: meaning of, 28-9.
— the : study of, 380.

— the universe of, 428-30.

— validity of the, 432.

— as real, 445.

Idealistic view of ethics, its bear-
ing on practice, 282 seq.

Ignorance : and responsibility,
408.

Imagination : and morality, 439-
440.

Imperative : the social, 309.

— absolute, 350, 406.

— with exception, 406.
Impulse, 57 : and responsibility,

408.

Inclination, 57.
Incompleteness : sense of, 418-9.

— and need of religion, 439.

— and morality, 439.
Indifference : liberty of, 90,

9.4.
Individual: and society, 291

seq.

— life, 374 seq.
Individualism : and Socialism,

326-7.

— commandment of, 327.

— the higher, 374-5.
Inducement, 62-64.

Infinite, the: demand for, 444,
446.

— "the bad, "447.

INDEX.

465

Infinites : the two, 445-6.
Insanity : exempts from respon-
sibility, 407.
Instinct, 105-6, 248-9.
Institutions : social, 320 teq.

— unsectarian ethical, 324.

— and rights, 333.

— And duties, 333.

— and virtues, 352, 366.
Intention : meaning of, 69 teq.

— relation to motive, 64 teq.

— the good : and virtue, 398.

— good and bad, 399.
lut'uitionisiu, 183 1*9., 277-8.

TACOBI, 195, 198-9.

** James : referred to, 867,

450-1.
Janet, P. : referred to, 188, 198,

341-2.

Jansenists : referred to, 205.
Jesuits : referred to, 340.
Jevons, 214.

Jewish law summed up, 341.
Jews : commandments of, 121,

352.

— and moral laws, 124.

— the religion of, 447-
John, Epistle of: quoted, 410.
Judgment : the artistic, 16.

— the moral, 114 teq.

— the reflective, 123.

— on act and agent, 130 seq.
Jurisprudence and Ethics, 349.
Justice, 15.

— social, 310-11.

— note on, 329-30.

— use of the term, 344.

— as social virtue, 303, 372.

KANT: on the goodwill, 16-
16, 128, 190-1.

— on idea of end, 86.

— on love not a duty, 91.

— on " ought " and " can," 91.

— bin life, 169-160.

JU.

Kant : on the categorical impera-
tive, 169, 191 ttq.

— on conscience, 186, 278.

— his categories, 188.

— his view of the moral reason,

190 «<??., 268-9.

— undue rigorism of his system,

195 teq.

— his dualism, 196, 201.

— his view of humanity as an

end, 201.

— note on his views, 203-6.

— on duties of perfect and im-

perfect obligation, 344-6.

— on the two infinities, 445-6.

— referred to, 25, 276, 278, 466.
Knowledge and virtue, 88.
Kiilpa : referred to, 73.

LABOUR: right of man to.
316.

— duty of, 338-9.
Law, 162 »eq.

— positive : as the moral, standard,

120-1.

— the moral, 121.

— of reason, 187 teq.

— authority of, 259.

— and public opinion, 311-2.

— punishment a vindication of,

304.

— th» supreme, 341-2.
Laws: moral, 162 teq.

— of nature, 163-4.

— of political economy, 164,

170.

— of ethics, 165, 171.

— nature of moral, 332-4.

— conventional, 342-3.
Liberty : human, 95.

— of indifference is absurd, 90.

— Milton on, 316.

Life : development of, 235.

— the moral, 291 ttq.

— right and obligation of, 314-5.

— sacredness of, 315.

— respect for, 334.

— the monastic, 381.

466

INDEX.

Life : the active and the contem-
plative, 384 seq.

— relation of the inner to the

outer, 386 seq.

— deepening of the spiritual,

419-20.

— the moral : and environment,

426-8.

— failure of, 440-1.

Locke : his view of ethics, 154,
189.

— his use of term ' idea,' 28.
Logic, 6, 10, 18, 21, 24.

— and ethica, 28-30, 189, 286

seq.

Lowell, J. R., 7.
Loyalty, 372.
Luther : referred to, 401.
Luxuries, 323.
Lying : as the essence of sin, 189.

— forbidden, 337-8.

MACAULAY: referred to,
307.

MacCunn : referred to, 34.
Mach: on Instinct, 181.
Maine : on Bentham, 160.

— referred to, 318.

Man : not a mere animal, 291.

— in relation to social surround-

ings, 298 seq.

— the virtuous, 352.

— good and bad, 356.

— the virtuous : and the world,

388-9.

— the virtuous : an-l his environ-

ment, 389.

— the virtuous : and success,

402.

— the vicious : and punishment,

402.

— cause of his relative unhappi-

ness, 415.

— the ideal, 41?.
Mandeville: referred to, 216.
Manicheism, 448.

Marsh.iU, Prof. A. : referred to,
173, 381, 414.

Martinnau's view of motives,

131-3.

Master : and servant, 425-6.
Mathematics, 164.
Matter : and form, 191, 192 $eq.t

230, 231.
McTaggart, 453.
Mediaeval ethics, 153.
Metaphysics, 24.
• — and ethics, 30-1.

— ultimate problem of, 451-2.
Mill, J. S. : on pleasure as the

object of desire, 68.

— on parts of happiness, 74-5.

— his view of motives and in-

tentions, 133-4.

— confused egoistic and uni-
versalistic hedonism, 211.

— exponent of utilitarianism,

218.

— argument for utilitarianism,

218-9.

— on quantity and quality of

pleasures, 225.

— on higher happiness, 232.

— on capacity for enjoyment,

232.

— on justice, 329-30.

— on sanctions, 259, 264-5.

— on the finitude of God, 448.

— quoted, 180, 299.

— referred to, 96, 164, 299, 303,

344, 455.
Milton : on love of freedom, 316.

— on religion as a " dividual

movable," 382.

— on cloistered virtue, 390.

— on Satan, 394, 395, 415.

— quoted, 146, 400.
Moral genius, 12, 350.

— imperatives, 92.

— ideas and ethical ideas, 110.

— consciousness : development of

111-2.

— law, the, 121.

— conflict, 121-2.

— judgment : growth of, 114.

— judgment, significance of, 127

INDEX.

467

M'-ral judgment: object of, 128,
13o seq.

— judgment: subject of, 138

teg.

— connoisseur, the, 139 seq.

— sense, 140, 154, 177 sea.,

274-5.

— reason, 190 stq.

— life : a process of growth, 234

seq.

— ideals : origin of, 244.

— laws : nature of, 332 seq.

— philosopher, the : the task of,

350.
- - reformer, 390 seq.

— evil, 393-6.

— pathology, 393 seq.

— sanctions : 260-5.

— progress, 413.

— universe, the, 416.

— change, and change of en-

vironment, 240, 416-8.

— life and religion, 436, 450-1.
Morality : and religion, 433 seq.
Morals : freedom essential to

91-2.

— necessity essential to, 92-3.

— and evolution, 234.

— an adjustment, 238 seq.

— natural selection in, 243-4.

— minor, 342-3.

— primitive and modern, com-

pared, 413-4.
Morgan, Prin. C. L., 105, 106,

247, 249.
Morris, Wm. : referred to, 317,

385.

Moses: referred to, 391.
Motive : meaning of, 62 seq.

— relation of, to intention, 64
' seq.

— relation of, to pleasure, 66-7.

— reason as a, 76-6.

— constitution of, 77-8.

— as object of the moral judg-

ment, 134 seq.

— and actions, 317.

— as sanction, 260.

— the right ethical, 260-1.

Motive : the political and econo-
mic, in relation to morality,
416-8.

" Mrs. Grundy," 342.

Muirhead, J. H. : on Kantian
ethics, 203, 206.

— on feeling, 306.

— on a good and a bad artisan,

347.

— on courage and temperance,

362.

— on generosity, 363.

— on resolution, 393.

— his list of corrupt social in-

stitutions, 412.

— on emotion and religion, 433-4.

— quoted, 312.

— referred to, 186, 306, 307, 360,

368.
Music : in education, 386.

— Carlyle on, 444.
Must: 167-9, 256 w?.

•^APOLEON : referred to, 385.
•*M Natural selection : in morals,

243 *eq.

Nature : law of, 1 74 seq.
Necessitarians, 94.
Necessity : essential to morals,

92-3.

Nirvana, 447.
Novalis : on character, 57.
Normative science, 20-22.
— Ethics as a, 4 seq.

/ABJECT : of desire, 64 seq.
^* — its relation to pleasure,
217.

— pleasure inseparable from,

2-27-9.
Obligation, 270.

— and rights, 313-4, 333.

— ultimate meaning of. 319.

— and commandments, 332.

— duties of perfect and imper-

fect, 343 M?.

468

INDEX.

Obligation : new, 423-8.
Ought, 167-9, 171, 256 teq.

— and " can," 91.

— hedonistic use of, 212.

— Bentham on, 213.

— meaning of, 254.

— as the social imperative, 309.

— absolute, 349.
Owen, Robert, 90.

"PEDAGOGICS and ethics,

33-4.
Pain: aa negative of pleasure,

72-3.

Pnley, 258-9.

Pantheism : the deeper, 447.
Paradox : of hedonism, 69 teq.

— of duty, 375.
Passion : 157.

Paul: referred to, 312, 335,
397.

— quoted, 97.

People : the ethos of a, 354-7.
Perception, 180-1.
Perfection, 234 teq,

— the true end, 233.

— explanations of, 236 teq., 247

teq.

— "counsels of," 429.
Perseverance, 362, 364, 372.
Pessimism : ground for, 440-1.
Pessimists, 3.

Pfleiderer, Prof. : referred to, 436.
Philanthropy, 196.
Philosophy : and ethics, 17, 30-1.
Physical science : and ethics, 25.
'Plain man,' 195.
Plato : his view of virtue as an
art, 15.

— his Ideal theory, 152.

— his view of ethics, 295-6.

— on community of goods, 317.

— on the virtues, 358-9, 373.

— referred to, 268, 284, 320, 388,

440, 459.
Pleasure : as a motive, 66-7.

— u the only object of deaire,

Pleasure : paradox of, 69 teq.

— ambiguity of, 69, 72.

— of pursuit, 70, 79-82.

— pain as negative of, 72-3.

— and pleasures, 72-5, 217.

— of progressive attainment, 79

teq.

— and desire : (note on), 79-82.

— is satisfaction of appetite, 209-

210.

— quantity of, 214-5.

— greatest, 214-5.

— intensity and duration of, 214.

— objective, content of, 217.

— only reasonable thing to seek,

218.

— most intense, preferable, 218.

— of others and our own, 220.

— as sense of value, 223-4.

— inseparable from object, 227-9.

— no calculus of, 229-230.
Pleasures : quality of, 225-6.

— sum of : is not pleasure, 229-

230.

Poetry : in religion, 449-50.
Political Economy, 6, 21-2, 271.

— its relation to ethics, 32-3.
Politics: and ethics, 31-2, 295.
Pope : quoted, 58, 396.
Practical reason : dualism of,

221.
Practice: bearing of theory on,

273 teq.

Priggishness, 369.
Progress : respect for, 338-9.

— moral, 413 teq.
Propagandism, 424.

Property : right and obligation of,
316-8.

— respect for, 336.
Psychological hedonism, 67-9.

in relation to ethical, 212-3.

Psychology : and ethics, 27-8,

36-7.

— and education, 33.

— and universe of desire, 61, 68.

— and the mind, 132.

— and education of character,

366.

INDEX.

469

Public opinion : and law, 311-2.
Punishment, 402-4.

— origin of, 403.

— justification of, 403, 406.

— as a vindication of law, 406.

— retributive theory of, 406.
Purpose, 57.

Pursuit : pleasures of, 70, 79-82.

REAL, the : as ideal, 445.
Reality : as the good, 449.
Reason : and will, 75-7.

— and passion, 157 seq.

— law of, 157 seq.

— authority of, 268 seq.
Reflection : and action, 109.

— and the moral life, 374 seq.

— on conduct and motives, 376-9.
Reform : punishment as agent of,

404.

Reformation, 409.
Reformer : the moral, 390.

— is often inconsiderate, 396.

— need of, 412.

— function of, 418-9.
Religion : as a division of labour,

381-2.

— and the moral life, 436.

— in relation to art, 436-9.

— the ideals of, 437.

— and reality, 437-9.

— origin of, 439.

— the necessity of, 439-40.

— the first, 446-7.

— the second, 447-8.

— the third, 448-9.

— of humanity, 448.

— and superstition, 449-50.

— ethical significance of, 450 uq.
Remorse, 408.

Renan : quoted, 98.
Responsibility, 101-3,407-8.
Revenge, 405.
Reverence, 372, 445.
Reward : origin of, 403.
Rhetoric, 166.

R\ddlf» of tht Sphinx: referred to,
448.

Right, 1-2,

— the : and the good, 168 uq.
Righteousness, 171.

Rights: and obligations, 313-4,
333.

— of man : denned and discussed,

314 seq.

— ultimate meaning of, 319.

— quasi, 427.

Ritchie, Prof.D. G. : referred to,

64.
Rossignol, J. E. Le : on Wollas-

ton, 189.

Rousseau : referred to, 315, 318.
Royce, Prof. : referred to, 304.
Rules, 2, 5, 7.

— Greeks no code of moral, 332.

— conflict of : inevitable, 339.

— conventional, 342-3.

— and interest, 347.

— cut-and-dried, 349.

— of conduct : (note on), 349-

61.'

Ruskin : his view of economics,
33.

— on taste, 178.

— on honesty in art, 363.

— referred to, 47, 185, 374, 385,

392, 412, 414.
Rutherford, Mark : quoted, 399.

SANCTION, 98, 260 seq.
— as motive, 260.

— the " Pragmatic," 260.

— kinds of, 262-4.
Satisfaction : subsequent to want,

71-2.

— imaginative, 81-2.

— of desires, 209-210.

— different feelings of, 226.
Schiller: his criticism of Kant,

196-7.

— referred to, 342.

— quoted, 443.

Schopenhauer : referred to, 92.
Science : positive and normative,

5-6, 20-22.

— practical, 8.

470

INDEX.

Science: and art, 11-13.

— physical : its relation to ethics,

25.
Seeley, Sir J. : quoted, 119-120,

121.
Self : a man's, 95.

— of a higher kind, 97.

— the true : is the rational, 98.

— the " tribal," 116-7.

— the " ideal," 144-5.

— and happiness. 232-3.

— realisation of : as the end,

233.

— the social, 291-2.
Self-consistency : real meaning

of, 201-2, 252.
Self-denial, 420.
Self-examination, 378.

— and the monastic life, 381.
Self-realisation : as the end, 233.

— through self-sacrifice, 294-5.

— test of social progress, 326.

— the fundamental law, 341.
Sense : moral, 140, 154, 177 *eq.
Sermon on the mount, 8.
Servant and master, 425-6.
Seth, Prof. A. : referred to, 441.
Shaftesbury, 154, 178-9, 181,

259.

Shakespeare : quoted, 3, 53, 64,
56, 65, 123, 395, 400, 410.

Shand, A. F. : referred to, 87.

Sidgwick, H. : on Mill's Utilitari-
anism, 68-9.

— on the paradox of hedonism,

69-71.

— on the pleasures of pursuit, 70-

71, 79-81.

— his relation to Kant, 194.

— on ethical and psychological

hedonism, 212.

— on egoistic hedonism, 216.

— on seeking pleasure, 218.

— his proof of universalistic he-

donism, 220 ieq.

— on conditions of pleasure,

229.

— on justice, 330.

— referred to, 61, 194, 265, 268.

Simmel, Georg : his view of
Ethics, 281-2.

— referred to, 92, 103, 145, 243,

269, 290, 317.
Sin, 398 teq.

— original, 101.

— "besetting," 380.

— the shadow of virtue, 396.

— never an impossibility, 396.

— and vice, 397.

Slavery : forbidden, 318, 335-6.
Slaves, emancipation of: and

morality,; 426-8.
Smith. Adam : his view of ethics,

140 seq.

— on books of casuistry, 340.

— on positive merit, 344.

— on morals of Charles II. 'B time,

356.

— referred to, 341, 348, 403.
Social philosophy, 32, 310.

— equilibrium, the, 242.

— unity and conscience, 303 seq.

— imperative, the, 309.

— contract, 318.

— institutions, 320 teq.

— progress, 326.

— order : respect for, 336-7.

— corruption, 411.

— evolution, 413-6.
Socialism : and individualism,

326-7.

— commandment of, 327.
Society: and the individual, 291

ieq.

— a unity, 292.

— as the ethical environment,

299.

— an organism, 300-2.

— war against, 395.
- failure of, 441-2.
Sociology, 290.

— and ethics, 27-8, 37-8.

— (note on), 113.

Socrates : on virtue as knowledge,
77, 88.

— his ethics, 149 seq.

— referred to, 268, 332, 388-9.
Sophists, 148-9.

INDEX.

Sophocles : referred to, 332.
Sorley, Prof. : referred to, 246,

441.

Souls: beautiful, 382-3.
Spencer, H : bin view of conduct,

85.

— on development of life, 235.

— his ethics, 237-241, 247.

— on the conciliation of egoism

and altruism, 293-4.

— on the ideal man, 309.

— referred to, 161, 281, 312, 334,

447.

Spinoza : on blessedness, 227,
253.

— referred to, 157, 447.
Spiritual life : deepening of, 419-

20.

Spontaneity : animal, 94.
Springs of action, 132,
State : the, 325.

— and duties, 345.
Status; and contract, 318.
Stephen, L. : on Samuel Clarke's

Ethics, 176.

— on a moral rule, 242.

— on " social tissues," 301.

— on the family, 321.

— quoted, 171.
Stoics: ideal of, 161.

— view of happiness, 206.

— estimate of a good man, 297.

— referred to, 174, 177, 268.
Stout, GK F. : on appetite, 45.

— on voluntary action, 58.

— referrred to, 114.
Subordination: in the family, 20.

— in the workshop, 21-2.
Summum bonum, 3, 14.
Superstition: andreligion,449-50.
Syllogism : the moral, 369 seq.

HPASTE: the moral, 179-180.
-1- Taylor, A. E. : referred to,

252.
Teleology : need of, 245 seq.

— and tipencer'a view of evolu-

tion. 247,

Temperance : as a virtue, 359 »eq. ,

372, 420 seq.

Theory : and practice, 273 seq.
Thugs, 7.
Titchener, E. B. : referred to, 73,

209.
Truth, respect for, 337-8

— in religion and art, 437-8.

— in religion, 449.

Types of ethical theory, 156 teq,

TTNIFORMITIES, 163-4.
^ Universe : of desire, 47-9.

— higher and lower, 208-9, 250.

— and satisfaction, 210.

— the highest, is completely

rational, 253.

— the social, 299-300.

— of moral activities, 355.

— broad and narrow, 393.

— moral: and remorse, 418.

— bringing up to a high, 410.

— the moral, 416.

— contradiction in our inner,'

417.

— the ideal, 428-30.
Unknowable : the, 447.
Utilitarianism : Mill an exponent

of, 218-9.

— theory of, 218 seq., 268.

— as pursuit of the useful, 221.

— end of, 222.

— practical value of, 278-280.

— its motives to seek the general

happiness, 261.

Utopias: relation to morality,
428-9.

"\7ALUE: and pleasure, 222
• seq.

— sense of, 223.

— measure of, 224.
Vice. 397.

Vices : as virtues of early civil-
isation, 294.

— classification of, 398.
Virtue : a kind of knowledge,

88.

47»

INDEX,

Virtue: tne of trim, 343, 358.

— and duty, 3.52.

— nature of, 358.
Virtues : 352 »eq.

— and commandments, 352-8.

— and states of society, 353.

— relative to social functions, 357.

— the cardinal. 358 xcq., 372-3.

— self -regarding and altruistic,

360.

— four clauses of, 362.

— what are they 365-6.

— inner side of, 379.

— as outer fact and inward

character. 423.

Voluntary action : nature of, 98-
100.

STALLAGE, w. : 211, 452.

Want : and appetite, 44
uq.

— prior to satisfaction, 71-2.
War : when justified, 412.
Ward, Dr. : quoted, 87.

— referred to, 209.

Ward, Mrs. Humphry: quoted,
368.

Watson, Prof., 211. 452.

Wedgwood, Miss : on the in-
fluence of moral ideals,
428-9.

Wedgwood, ITus : quoted, 306.
Whitman, Walt: quoted, 374.

385, 414.
Will: the good, 15-16, 128-130.

— and art, 16.

— and wish, 53-4.

— and act, 54-7, 129.

— force of, 88.

— and character, 57-8.

— and reason, 75-7.

— freedom of, 90-1.

— that wills nothing, 195.

— higher and lower forms of,

208-9.

Wisdom: a virtue, 359, 362,
372.

— practical, 365.

— for one's self and others,

365.
Wish : an effective desire, 52.

— and will, 53-4.
Wollaston : referred to, 189.
Women : rights of, 321, 419, 422,

427.

Wonder : a religion, 439.
Wordsworth : quoted, 29, 108,

196, 384, 390, 440.
Work : and duty, 344.
Workshop : the, 321-2.
World: the, and the yirtuoul

man, 388-9.
Worship, what it IB, 437.

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