140
[end of lecture 3]

LECTURE IV.

The connection of the fourth with the third lecture.

In my last lecture, I endeavoured to answer an objection which may be urged against the theory of utility. And to the purpose of linking my present with my last lecture, I will now restate, in a somewhat abridged shape, that summary of the objection and the answer with which I concluded my discourse.

The objection may be put briefly, in the following manner.

If utility be the proximate test of positive law and morality, it is impossible that the rules of conduct actually obtaining amongst mankind should accord completely and correctly with the laws established by the Deity. The index to his will is imperfect and uncertain. His laws are signified obscurely to those upon whom they are binding, and are subject to inevitable and involuntary misconstruction.

For, first, positive law and morality, fashioned on the principle of utility, are gotten by observation and induction from the tendencies of human actions. Consequently, till these actions shall be marked and classed with perfect completeness, and their effects observed and ascertained with similar completeness, positive law and morality, fashioned on the principle of 141utility, must be more or less defective, and more or less erroneous. And, these actions being infinitely various, and their effects being infinitely diversified, the work of classing them completely and of collecting their effects completely, transcends the limited faculties of created and finite beings.

And, secondly, if utility be the proximate test of positive law and morality, the defects and errors of popular or vulgar ethics will scarcely admit of a remedy. For if ethical truth be matter of science, and not of immediate consciousness, most of the ethical maxims, which govern the sentiments of the multitude, must be taken without examination, from human authority.

Such is the objection.—The only answer of which the objection will admit, is suggested by the remarks which I offered in my last lecture, and which I repeated at its close, and here repeat in an inverted and compendious form.

In the first place, the diffusion of ethical science amongst the great bulk of mankind will gradually remove the obstacles which prevent or retard its advancement. The field of human conduct being infinite or immense, it is impossible that human understanding should embrace and explore it completely. But, by the general diffusion of knowledge amongst the great bulk of mankind, by the impulse and the direction which the diffusion will give to inquiry, many of the defects and errors in existing law and morality will in time be supplied and corrected.

Secondly: Though the many must trust to authority for a number of subordinate truths, they are competent to examine the elements which are the groundwork of the science of ethics, and to infer the more momentous of the derivative practical consequences.

And, thirdly, as the science of ethics advances, and is cleared of obscurity and uncertainties, they, who are debarred from opportunities of examining the science extensively, will find an authority whereon they may rationally rely, in the unanimous or general agreement of searching and impartial inquirers.

The second objection to the theory of utility, resumed.

But this answer, it must be admitted, merely extenuates the objection. It shows that law and morality fashioned on the principle of utility might approach continually and indefinitely to absolute perfection. But it grants that law and morality fashioned on the principle of utility is inevitably defective and erroneous: that, if the laws established by the Deity must be construed by the principle of utility, the most perfect system of ethics which the wit of man could conceive, were a partial and inaccurate copy of the Divine original or pattern.

142 And this (it may be urged) disproves the theory which makes the principle of utility the index to the Divine pleasure. For it consists not with the known wisdom and the known benevolence of the Deity, that he should signify his commands defectively and obscurely to those upon whom they are binding.

A further answer to that second objection.

But admitting the imperfection of utility as the index to the Divine pleasure, it is impossible to argue, from this its admitted imperfection, ‘that utility is not the index.’

Owing to causes which are hidden from human understanding, all the works of the Deity which are open to human observation are alloyed with imperfection or evil. That the Deity should signify his commands defectively and obscurely, is strictly in keeping or unison with the rest of his inscrutable ways. The objection now in question proves too much, and, therefore, is untenable. If you argue ‘that the principle of utility is not the index to his laws, because the principle of utility were an imperfect index to his laws,’ you argue ‘that all his works are in fact exempt from evil, because imperfection or evil is inconsistent with his wisdom and goodness.’ The former of these arguments implies the latter, or is merely an application of the sweeping position to one of innumerable cases.

Accordingly, if the objection now in question will lie to the theory of utility, a similar objection will lie to every theory of ethics which supposes that any of our duties are set or imposed by the Deity.

The objection is founded on the alleged inconsistency of evil with his perfect wisdom and goodness. But the notion or idea of evil or imperfection is involved in the connected notions of law, duty, and sanction. For, seeing that every law imposes a restraint, every law is an evil of itself: and, unless it be the work of malignity, or proceed from consummate folly, it also supposes an evil which it is designed to prevent or remedy. Law, like medicine, is a preventive or remedy of evil: and, if the world were free from evil, the notion and the name would be unknown.

‘That his laws are signified obscurely, if utility be the index to his laws,’ is rather a presumption in favour of the theory which makes utility our guide. Analogy might lead us to expect that they would be signified obscurely. For laws or commands suppose the existence of evils which they are designed to remedy: let them be signified as they may, they remedy those evils imperfectly: and the imperfection which they are designed to remedy, and of which the remedy partakes, might naturally be expected to show itself in the mode by which they are manifested.

143 My answer to the objection is the very argument which the excellent Butler, in his admirable ‘Analogy,’ has wielded in defence of Christianity with the vigour and the skill of a master.

Considered as a system of rules for the guidance of human conduct, the Christian religion is defective. There are also circumstances, regarding the manner of its promulgation, which human reason vainly labours to reconcile with the wisdom and goodness of God. Still it were absurd to argue ‘that the religion is not of God, because the religion is defective, and is imperfectly revealed to mankind.’ For the objection is founded on the alleged inconsistency of evil with his perfect wisdom and goodness. And, since evil pervades the universe, in so far as it is open to our inspection, a similar objection will lie to every system of religion which ascribes the existence of the universe to a wise and benevolent Author. Whoever believes that the universe is the work of benevolence and wisdom, is concluded, or estopped, by his own religious creed, from taking an objection of the kind to the creed or system of another.

Analogy (as Butler has shown) would lead us to expect the imperfection upon which the objection is founded. Something of the imperfection which runs through the frame of the universe, would probably be found in a revelation emanating from the Author of the universe.

And here my solution of the difficulty necessarily stops. A complete solution is manifestly impossible. To reconcile the existence of evil with the wisdom and goodness of God is a task which surpasses the powers of our narrow and feeble understandings. This is a deep which our reason is too short to fathom. From the decided predominance of good which is observable in the order of the world, and from the manifold marks of wisdom which the order of the world exhibits, we may draw the cheering inference ‘that its Author is good and wise.’ Why the world which he has made is not altogether perfect, or why a benevolent Deity tolerates the existence of evil, or what (if I may so express myself) are the obstacles in the way of his benevolence, are clearly questions which it were impossible to solve, and which it were idle to agitate although they admitted a solution. It is enough for us to know, that the Deity is perfectly good; and that, since he is perfectly good, he wills the happiness of his creatures. This is a truth of the greatest practical moment. For the cast of the affections, which we attribute to the Deity, determines, for the most part, the cast of our moral sentiments.

The hypothesis of a moral sense, briefly introduced.

144I admit, then, that God’s commands are imperfectly signified to man, supposing we must gather his commands from the tendencies of human actions. But I deny that this imperfection is a conclusive objection to the theory which makes the principle of utility our guide or index to his will. Whoever would disprove the theory which makes utility our guide, must produce another principle that were a surer and a better guide.

Now, if we reject utility as the index to God’s commands, we must assent to the theory or hypothesis which supposes a moral sense. One of the adverse theories, which regard the nature of that index, is certainly true. He has left us to presume his commands from the tendencies of human actions, or he has given us a peculiar sense of which his commands are the objects.

‘A moral sense,’ ‘a common sense,’ ‘a moral instinct,’ ‘a principle of reflection or conscience,’ ‘a practical reason,’ ‘innate practical principles,’ ‘connate practical principles,’ etc. etc., are various expressions for one and the same hypothesis.

All the hypotheses, regarding the nature of that index, which discard the principle of utility, are built upon the supposition of a peculiar or appropriate sense. The language of each of these hypotheses differs from the language of the others, but the import of each resembles the import of the rest.

By ‘a moral sense,’ with which my understanding is furnished, I discern the human actions which the Deity enjoins and forbids: And, since you and the rest of the species are provided with a like organ, it is clear that this sense of mine is ‘the common sense of mankind.’ By ‘a moral instinct,’ with which the Deity has endowed me, I am urged to some of these actions, and am warned to forbear from others. ‘A principle of reflection or conscience,’ which Butler assures me I possess, informs me of their rectitude or pravity. Or ‘the innate practical principles,’ which Locke has presumed to question, define the duties, which God has imposed upon me, with infallible clearness and certainty.

These and other phrases are various but equivalent expressions for one and the same hypothesis. The only observable difference between these various expressions consists in this: that some denote sentiments which are excited by human actions, whilst others denote the commands to which those sentiments are the index.

The hypothesis in question involves two assumptions.

The hypothesis of a moral sense, or the hypothesis which is variously signified by these various but equivalent expressions, involves two assumptions.

The first of the two assumptions involved by the hypothesis in question, stated in general expressions.

The first of the two assumptions involved by the hypothesis in question, may be stated, in general expressions, thus:

Certain sentiments or feelings of approbation or disapproba145tion accompany our conceptions of certain human actions. They are neither effects of reflection upon the tendencies of the actions which excite them, nor are they effects of education. A conception of any of these actions would be accompanied by certain of these sentiments, although we had not adverted to its good or evil tendency, nor knew the opinions of others with regard to actions of the class.

In a word, that portion of the hypothesis in question which I am now stating is purely negative. We are gifted with moral sentiments which are ultimate or inscrutable facts: which are not the consequences of reflection upon the tendencies of human actions, which are not the consequences of the education that we receive from our fellow-men, which are not the consequences or effects of any antecedents or causes placed within the reach of our inspection. Our conceptions of certain actions are accompanied by certain sentiments, and there is an end of our knowledge.

For the sake of brevity, we may say that these sentiments are ‘instinctive,’ or we may call them ‘moral instincts.’

For the terms ‘instinctive,’ and ‘instinct,’ are merely negative expressions. They merely denote our own ignorance. They mean that the phenomena of which we happen to be talking are not preceded by causes which man is able to perceive. For example, The bird, it is commonly said, builds her nest by ‘instinct:’ or the skill which the bird evinces in the building of her nest, is commonly styled ‘instinctive.’ That is to say, it is not the product of experiments made by the bird herself; it has not been imparted to the bird by the teaching or example of others; nor is it the consequence or effect of any antecedent or cause open to our observation.

The remark which I have now made upon the terms ‘instinctive’ and ‘instinct,’ is not interposed needlessly. For, though their true import is extremely simple and trivial, they are apt to dazzle and confound us (unless we advert to it steadily) with the false and cheating appearance of a mysterious and magnificent meaning.

The foregoing statement of the first assumption, exemplified and explained by an imaginary case.

In order that we may clearly apprehend the nature of these ‘moral instincts,’ I will descend from general expressions to an imaginary case.

I will not imagine the case which is fancied by Dr. Paley: for I think it ill fitted to bring out the meaning sharply. I will merely take the liberty of borrowing his solitary savage: a child abandoned in the wilderness immediately after its birth, 146and growing to the age of manhood in estrangement from human society.

Having gotten my subject, I proceed to deal with him after my own fashion.

I imagine that the savage, as he wanders in search of prey, meets, for the first time in his life, with a man. This man is a hunter, and is carrying a deer which he has killed. The savage pounces upon it. The hunter holds it fast. And, in order that he may remove this obstacle to the satisfaction of his gnawing hunger, the savage seizes a stone, and knocks the hunter on the head.—Now, according to the hypothesis in question, the savage is affected with remorse at the thought of the deed which he has done. He is affected with more than the compassion which is excited by the sufferings of another, and which, considered by itself, amounts not to a moral sentiment. He is affected with the more complex emotion of self-condemnation or remorse: with a consciousness of guilt: with the feeling that haunts and tortures civilized or cultivated men, whenever they violate rules which accord with their notions of utility, or which they have learned from others to regard with habitual veneration. He feels as you would feel, in case you had committed a murder: in case you had killed another, in an attempt to rob him of his goods: or in case you had killed another under any combination of circumstances, which, agreeably to your notions of utility, would make the act a pernicious one, or, agreeably to the moral impressions which you have passively received from others, would give to the act of killing the quality and the name of an injury.

Again: Shortly after the incident which I have now imagined, he meets with a second hunter whom he also knocks on the head. But, in this instance, he is not the aggressor. He is attacked, beaten, wounded, without the shadow of a provocation: and to prevent a deadly blow which is aimed at his own head, he kills the wanton assailant.—Now here, according to the hypothesis, he is not affected with remorse. The sufferings of the dying man move him, perhaps, to compassion: but his conscience (as the phrase goes) is tranquil. He feels as you would feel, after a justifiable homicide: after you had shot a highwayman in defence of your goods and your life: or after you had killed another under any combination of circumstances, which, agreeably to your notions of utility, would render killing innocuous, or, agreeably to the current morality of your age and country, would render the killing of another a just or lawful action.

147 That you should feel remorse if you kill in an attempt to rob, and should not be affected with remorse if you kill a murderous robber, is a difference which I readily account for without the supposition of an instinct. The law of your country distinguishes the cases: and the current morality of your country accords with the law.

Supposing that you have never adverted to the reasons of that distinction, the difference between your feelings is easily explained by imputing it to education: Meaning, by the term education, the influence of authority and example on opinions, sentiments, and habits.

Supposing that you have ever adverted to the reasons of that distinction, you, of course, have been struck with its obvious utility.—Generally speaking, the intentional killing of another is an act of pernicious tendency. If the act were frequent, it would annihilate that general security, and that general feeling of security, which are, or should be, the principal ends of political society and law. But to this there are exceptions: and the intentional killing of a robber who aims at your property and life, is amongst those exceptions. Instead of being adverse to the principal ends of law, it rather promotes those ends. It answers the purpose of the punishment which the law inflicts upon murderers: and it also accomplishes a purpose which punishment is too tardy to reach. The death inflicted on the aggressor tends, as his punishment would tend, to deter from the crime of murder: and it also prevents, what his punishment would not prevent, the completion of the murderous design in the specific or particular instance.—Supposing that you have ever adverted to these and similar reasons, the difference between your feelings is easily explained by imputing it to a perception of utility. You see that the tendencies of the act vary with the circumstances of the act, and your sentiments in regard to the act vary with those varying tendencies.

But the difference, supposed by the hypothesis, between the feelings of the savage, cannot be imputed to education. For the savage has lived in estrangement from human society.

Nor can the supposed difference be imputed to a perception of utility.—He knocks a man on the head, that he may satisfy his gnawing hunger. He knocks another on the head, that he may escape from wounds and death. So far, then, as these different actions exclusively regard himself; they are equally good: and so far as these different actions regard the men 148whom he kills, they are equally bad. As tried by the test of utility, and with the lights which the savage possesses, the moral qualities of the two actions are precisely the same. If we suppose it possible that he adverts to considerations of utility, and that his sentiments in respect to these actions are determined by considerations of utility, we must infer that he remembers both of them with similar feelings: with similar feelings of complacency, as the actions regard himself; with similar feelings of regret, as they regard the sufferings of the slain.

To the social man the difference between these actions, as tried by the test of utility, were immense.—The general happiness or good demands the institution of property: that the exclusive enjoyment conferred by the law upon the owner shall not be disturbed by private and unauthorised persons: that no man shall take from another the product of his labour or saving, without the permission of the owner previously signified, or without the authority of the sovereign acting for the common weal. Were want, however intense, an excuse for violations of property; could every man who hungers take from another with impunity, and slay the owner with impunity if the owner stood on his possession; that beneficent institution would become nugatory, and the ends of government and law would be defeated.—And, on the other hand, the very principle of utility which demands the institution of property requires that an attack upon the body shall be repelled at the instant: that, if the impending evil cannot be averted otherwise, the aggressor shall be slain on the spot by the party whose life is in jeopardy.

But these are considerations which would not present themselves to the solitary savage. They involve a number of notions with which his mind would be unfurnished. They involve the notions of political society; of supreme government; of positive law; of legal right; of legal duty; of legal injury. The good and the evil of the two actions, in so far as the two actions would affect the immediate parties, is all that the savage could perceive.

The difference, supposed by the hypothesis, between the feelings of the savage, must, therefore, be ascribed to a moral sense, or to innate practical principles. Or (speaking in homelier but plainer language) he would regard the two actions with different sentiments, we know not why.

The first of the two assumptions involved by the hypothesis in question, briefly re-stated in general expressions.

The first of the two assumptions involved by the hypothesis in question is, therefore, this.—Certain inscrutable sentiments of approbation or disapprobation accompany our conceptions of 149certain human actions. They are not begotten by reflection upon the tendencies of the actions which excite them, nor are they instilled into our minds by our intercourse with our fellowmen. They are simple elements of our nature. They are ultimate facts. They are not the effects of causes, or are not the consequents of antecedents, which are open to human observation.

And, thus far, the hypothesis in question has been embraced by sceptics as well as by religionists. For example, It is supposed by David Hume, in his Essay on the Principles of Morals, that some of our moral sentiments spring from a perception of utility: but he also appears to imagine that others are not to be analyzed, or belong exclusively to the province of taste. Such, I say, appears to be his meaning. For, in this essay, as in all his writings, he is rather acute and ingenious than coherent and profound: handling detached topics with signal dexterity, but evincing an utter inability to grasp his subject as a whole. When he speaks of moral sentiments belonging to the province of taste, he may, perhaps, be adverting to the origin of benevolence, or to the origin of our sympathy with the pleasures and pains of others: a feeling that differs as broadly as the appetite of hunger or thirst from the sentiments of approbation or disapprobation which accompany our judgments upon actions.

The second of the two assumptions involved by the hypothesis in question, briefly stated.

That these inscrutable sentiments are signs of the Divine will, or the proofs that the actions which excite them are enjoined or forbidden by God, is the second of the two assumptions involved by the hypothesis in question.

In the language of the admirable Butler (who is the ablest advocate of the hypothesis), the human actions by which these feelings are excited are their direct and appropriate objects: just as things visible are the direct and appropriate objects of the sense of seeing.

In homelier but plainer language, I may put his meaning thus.—As God has given us eyes, in order that we may see therewith; so has he gifted or endowed us with the feelings or sentiments in question, in order that we may distinguish directly, by means of these feelings or sentiments, the actions which he enjoins or permits, from the actions which he prohibits.

Or, if you like it better, I may put the meaning thus.—That these inscrutable sentiments are signs of the Divine will, is an inference which we necessarily deduce from our considera150tion of final causes. Like the rest of our appetites or aversions, these sentiments were designed by the Author of our being to answer an appropriate end. And the only pertinent, end which we can possibly ascribe to them, is the end or final cause at which I have now pointed.

As an index God’s commands, a moral sense were less fallible than the principle of general utility.

Now, supposing that the Deity has endowed us with a moral sense or instinct, we are free of the difficulty to which we are subject, if we must construe his laws by the principle of general utility. According to the hypothesis in question, the inscrutable feelings which are styled the moral sense arise directly and inevitably with the thoughts of their appropriate objects. We cannot mistake the laws which God has prescribed to mankind, although we may often be seduced by the blandishments of present advantage from the plain path of our duties. The understanding is never at a fault, although the will may be frail.

But is there any evidence to sustain the hypothesis in question?

But here arises a small question.—Is there any evidence that we are gifted with feelings of the sort?

The hypothesis in question is disproved by the negative state of our consciousness.

That this question is possible, or is seriously asked and agitated, would seem of itself a sufficient proof that we are not endowed with such feelings.—According to the hypothesis of a moral sense, we are conscious of the feelings which indicate God’s commands, as we are conscious of hunger or thirst. In other words, the feelings which indicate God’s commands are ultimate facts. But, since they are ultimate facts, these feelings or sentiments must be indisputable, and must also differ obviously from the other elements of our nature. If I were really gifted with feelings or sentiments of the sort, I could no more seriously question whether I had them or not, and could no more blend and confound them with my other feelings or sentiments, than I can seriously question the existence of hunger or thirst, or can mistake the feeling which affects me when I am hungry for the different feeling which affects me when I am thirsty. All the parts of our nature which are ultimate, or incapable of analysis, are certain and distinct as well as inscrutable. We know and discern them with unhesitating and invincible assurance.

The two current arguments in favour of the hypothesis in question, briefly stated.

The two current arguments in favour of the hypothesis in question are raised on the following assertions. 1. The judgments which we pass internally upon the rectitude or pravity of actions are immediate and involuntary. In other words, our moral sentiments or feelings arise directly and inevitably with our conceptions of the actions which excite them. 2. The moral sentiments of all men are precisely alike.

The first argument in favour of the hypothesis in question, examined.

151Now the first of these venturous assertions is not universally true. In numberless cases, the judgments which we pass internally upon the rectitude or pravity of actions are hesitating and slow. And it not unfrequently happens that we cannot arrive at a conclusion, or are utterly at a loss to determine whether we shall praise or blame.

And, granting that our moral sentiments are always instantaneous and inevitable, this will not demonstrate that our moral sentiments are instinctive. Sentiments which are factitious, or begotten in the way of association, are not less prompt and involuntary than feelings which are instinctive or inscrutable. For example, We begin by loving money for the sake of the enjoyment which it purchases: and, that enjoyment apart, we care not a straw for money. But, in time, our love of enjoyment is extended to money itself, or our love of enjoyment becomes inseparably associated with the thought of the money which procures it. The conception of money suggests a wish for money, although we think not of the uses to which we should apply it Again: We begin by loving knowledge as a mean to ends. But, in time, the love of the ends becomes inseparably associated with the thought or conception of the instrument. Curiosity is instantly roused by every unusual appearance, although there is no purpose which the solution of the appearance would answer, or although we advert not to the purpose which the solution of the appearance might subserve.

The promptitude and decision with which we judge of actions are impertinent to the matter in question: for our moral sentiments would be prompt and inevitable, although they arose from a perception of utility, or although they were impressed upon our minds by the authority of our fellow-men. Supposing that a moral sentiment sprang from a perception of utility, or supposing that a moral sentiment were impressed upon our minds by authority, it would hardly recur spontaneously until it had recurred frequently. Unless we recalled the reasons which had led us to our opinion, or unless we adverted to the authority which had determined our opinion, the sentiment, at the outset, would hardly be excited by the thought of the corresponding action. But, in time, the sentiment would adhere inseparably to the thought of the corresponding action. Although we recalled not the ground of our moral approbation or aversion, the sentiment would recur directly and inevitably with the conception of its appropriate object.

The second argument in favour of the hypothesis in question, examined.

But, to prove that moral sentiments are instinctive or inscrutable, it is boldly asserted, by the advocates of the 152hypothesis in question, that the moral sentiments of all men are precisely alike.

The argument, in favour of the hypothesis, which is raised on this hardy assertion, may be stated briefly in the following manner.—No opinion or sentiment which is a result of observation and induction is held or felt by all mankind. Observation and induction, as applied to the same subject, lead different men to different conclusions. But the judgments which are passed internally upon the rectitude or pravity of actions, or the moral sentiments or feelings which actions excite, are precisely alike with all men. Consequently, our moral sentiments or feelings were not gotten by our inductions from the tendencies of the actions which excite them: nor were these sentiments or feelings gotten by inductions of others, and then impressed upon our minds by human authority and example. Consequently, our moral sentiments are instinctive or are ultimate or inscrutable facts.

Now, though the assertion were granted, the argument raised on the assertion would hardly endure examination. Though the moral sentiments of all men were precisely alike, it would hardly follow that moral sentiments are instinctive.

But an attempt to confute the argument were superfluous labour: for the assertion whereon it is raised is groundless. The respective moral sentiments of different ages and nations, and of different men in the same age and nation, have differed to infinity. This proposition is so notoriously true, and to every instructed mind the facts upon which it rests are so familiar, that I should hardly treat my hearers with due respect if I attempted to establish it by proof. I therefore assume it without an attempt at proof; and I oppose it to the assertion which I am now considering, and to the argument which is raised on that assertion.

But, before I dismiss the assertion which I am now considering, I will briefly advert to a difficulty attending the hypothesis in question which that unfounded assertion naturally suggests.—Assuming that moral sentiments are instinctive or inscrutable, they are either different with different men, or they are alike with all men. To affirm ‘that they are alike with all men,’ is merely to hazard a bold assertion contradicted by notorious facts. If they are different with different men, it follows that God has not set to men a common rule. If they are different with different men, there is no common test of human conduct: there is no test by which one man may try 153the conduct of another. It were folly and presumption in me to sit in judgment upon you. That which were pravity in me may, for aught I can know, be rectitude in you. The moral sense which you allege, may be just as good and genuine as that of which I am conscious. Though my instinct points one way, yours may point another. There is no broad sun destined to illumine the world, but every single man must walk by his own candle.

A brief statement of the fact whereon the second argument in favour of the hypothesis in question is founded.

Now what is the fact whereon the second argument in favour of the hypothesis in question is founded? The plain and glaring fact is this.—With regard to actions of a few classes, the moral sentiments of most, though not of all men, have been alike. But, with regard to actions of other classes, their moral sentiments have differed, through every shade or degree, from slight diversity to direct opposition.

The fact accords exactly with the hypothesis or theory of utility.

And this is what might be expected, supposing that the principle of general utility is our only guide or index to the tacit commands of the Deity. The fact accords exactly with that hypothesis or theory. For, first, the positions wherein men are, in different ages and nations, are, in many respects, widely different: whence it inevitably follows, that much which was useful there and then were useless or pernicious here and now. And, secondly, since human tastes are various, and since human reason is fallible, men’s moral sentiments must often widely differ even in respect of the circumstances wherein their positions are alike. But, with regard to actions of a few classes, the dictates of utility are the same at all times and places, and are also so obvious that they hardly admit of mistake or doubt. And hence would naturally ensue what observation shows us is the fact: namely, a general resemblance, with infinite variety, in the systems of law and morality which have actually obtained in the world.

A brief statement of the intermediate hypothesis which is compounded of the hypothesis of utility and the hypothesis of a moral sense.

According to the hypothesis which I have now stated and examined, the moral sense is our only index to the tacit commands of the Deity. According to an intermediate hypothesis, compounded of the hypothesis of utility and the hypothesis of a moral sense, the moral sense is our index to some of his tacit commends, but the principle of general utility is our index to others.

In so far as I can gather his opinion from his admirable sermons, it would seem that the compound hypothesis was embraced by Bishop Butler. But of this I am not certain: for, from many passages in those sermons, we may perhaps infer that he thought the moral sense our only index or guide.

154 The compound hypothesis now in question naturally arose from the fact to which I have already adverted.—With regard to actions of a few classes, the moral sentiments of most, though not of all men, have been alike. With regard to actions of other classes, their moral sentiments have differed, through every shade or degree, from slight diversity to direct opposition.—In respect to the classes of actions, with regard to which their moral sentiments have agreed, there was some show of reason for the supposition of a moral sense. In respect to the classes of actions, with regard to which their moral sentiments have differed, the supposition of a moral sense seemed to be excluded.

But the modified or mixed hypothesis now in question is not less halting than the pure hypothesis of a moral sense or instinct.—With regard to actions of a few classes, the moral sentiments of most men have concurred or agreed. But it were hardly possible to indicate a single class of actions, with regard to which all men have thought and felt alike. And it is clear that every objection to the simple or pure hypothesis may be urged, with slight adaptations, against the modified or mixed.

The division of positive law into law natural and law positive, and the division of jus civile into jus gentium and jus civile, suppose or involve the intermediate hypothesis which is compounded of the hypothesis of utility and the hypothesis of a moral sense.

By modern writers on jurisprudence, positive law (or law, simply and strictly so called) is divided into law natural and law positive. By the classical Roman jurists, borrowing from the Greek philosophers, jus civile (or positive law) is divided into jus gentium and jus civile. Which two divisions of positive law are exactly equivalent.

By modem writers on jurisprudence, and by the classical Roman jurists, positive morality is also divided into natural and positive. For, through the frequent confusion (to which I shall advert hereafter) of positive law and positive morality, a portion of positive morality, as well as of positive law, is embraced by the law natural of modem writers on jurisprudence and by the equivalent jus gentium of the classical Roman jurists.

By reason of the division of positive law into law natural and law positive, crimes are divided, by modern writers on jurisprudence, into crimes which are ‘mala in se’ and crimes which are ‘mala quia prohibita.’ By reason of the division of positive law into jus gentium and jus civile, crimes are divided, by the classical Roman jurists, into such as are crimes juris gentium and such as are crimes jure civili. Which divisions of crimes, like the divisions of law wherefrom they are respectively derived, are exactly equivalent.

Now without a clear apprehension of the hypothesis of utility, of the pure hypothesis of a moral sense, and of the 155modified or mixed hypothesis which is compounded of the others, the distinction of positive law into natural and positive, with the various derivative distinctions which rest upon that main one, are utterly unintelligible. Assuming the hypothesis of utility, or assuming the pure hypothesis of a moral sense, the distinction of positive law into natural and positive is senseless. But, assuming the intermediate hypothesis which is compounded of the others, positive law, and also positive morality, is inevitably distinguished into natural and positive. In other words, if the modified or mixed hypothesis be founded in truth, positive human rules fail into two parcels:—1. Positive human rules which obtain with all mankind; and the conformity of which to Divine commands is, therefore, indicated by the moral sense: 2. Positive human rules which do not obtain universally; and the conformity of which to Divine commands is, therefore, not indicated by that infallible guide.

When I treat of positive law as considered with reference to its sources, I shall show completely that the modified or mixed hypothesis is involved by the distinction of positive law into law natural and law positive. I touch upon the topic, at the present point of my Course, to the following purpose: namely, to show that my disquisitions on the hypothesis of utility, on the hypothesis of a moral sense, and on that intermediate hypothesis which is compounded of the others, are necessary steps in a series of discourses occupied with the rationale of jurisprudence. It will, indeed, appear, as I advance in my projected Course, that many of the distinctions, which the science of jurisprudence presents, cannot be expounded, in a complete and satisfactory manner, without a previous exposition of those seemingly irrelative hypotheses. But the topic upon which I have touched at the present point of my Course shows most succinctly the pertinence of the disquisitions in question.

The foregoing disquisitions on the index to God’s commands closed with an endeavour to clear the theory of utility from two current though gross misconceptions.

Having stated the hypothesis of utility, the hypothesis of a moral sense, and the modified or mixed hypothesis which is compounded of the others, I will close my disquisitions on the index to God’s commands with an endeavour to clear the hypothesis of utility from two current though gross misconceptions.

The two misconceptions stated.

Of the writers who maintain and impugn the theory of utility, three out of four fall into one or the other of the following errors.—1. Some of them confound the motives which 156ought to determine our conduct with the proximate measure or test to which our conduct should conform and by which our conduct should be tried.—2. Others confound the theory of general utility with that theory or hypothesis concerning the origin of benevolence which is branded by its ignorant or disingenuous adversaries with the misleading and invidious name of the selfish system.

Now these errors are so palpable, that, perhaps, I ought to conclude with the bare statement, and leave my hearers to supply the corrective. But, let them be never so palpable, they have imposed upon persons of unquestionable penetration, and therefore may impose upon all who will not pause to examine them. Accordingly, I will clear the theory of utility from these gross but current misconceptions as completely as my limits will permit

I will first examine the error of confounding motives to conduct with the proximate measure or test to which our conduct should conform and by which our conduct should be tried. I will then examine the error of confounding the theory of utility with that theory or hypothesis concerning the origin of benevolence which is styled the selfish system.

The first misconception examined.

According to the theory of utility, the measure or test of human conduct is the law set by God to his human creatures. Now some of his commands are revealed, whilst others are unrevealed. Or (changing the phrase) some of his commands are express, whilst others are tacit. The commands which God has revealed, we must gather from the terms wherein they are promulged. The commands which he has not revealed, we must construe by the principle of utility: by the probable effects of our conduct on that general happiness or good which is the final cause or purpose of the good and wise lawgiver in all his laws and commandments.

Strictly speaking, therefore, utility is not the measure to which our conduct should conform, nor is utility the test by which our conduct should be tried. It is not in itself the source or spring of our highest or paramount obligations, but it guides us to the source whence these obligations flow. It is merely the index to the measure, the index to the test. But, since we conform to the measure by following the suggestions of the index, I may say with sufficient, though not with strict propriety, that utility is the measure or test proximately or immediately. Accordingly, I style the Divine commands the ultimate measure or test: but I style the principle of utility, or the general happiness or good, the proximate measure to which 157our conduct should conform, or the proximate test by which our conduct should be tried.

Now, though the general good is that proximate measure, or though the general good is that proximate test, it is not in all, or even in most cases, the motive or inducement which ought to determine our conduct. If our conduct were always determined by it considered as a motive or inducement, our conduct would often disagree with it considered as the standard or measure. If our conduct were always determined by it considered as a motive or inducement, our conduct would often be blameable, rather than deserving of praise, when tried by it as the test.

Though these propositions may sound like paradoxes, they are perfectly just. I should occupy more time than I can give to the disquisition, if I went through the whole of the proofs which would establish them beyond contradiction. But the few hints which I shall now throw out will sufficiently suggest the evidence to those of my hearers who may not have reflected on the subject.

When I speak of the public good, or of the general good, I mean the aggregate enjoyments of the single or individual persons who compose that public or general to which my attention is directed. The good of mankind, is the aggregate of the pleasures which are respectively enjoyed by the individuals who constitute the human race. The good of England, is the aggregate of the pleasures which fall to the lot of Englishmen considered individually or singly. The good of the public in the town to which I belong, is the aggregate of the pleasures which the inhabitants severally enjoy.

‘Mankind,’ ‘country,’ ‘public,’ are concise expressions for a number of individual persons considered collectively or as a whole. In case the good of those persons considered singly or individually were sacrificed to the good of those persons considered collectively or as a whole, the general good would be destroyed by the sacrifice. The sum of the particular enjoyments which constitutes the general good, would be sacrificed to the mere name by which that good is denoted.

When it is stated strictly and nakedly, this truth is so plain and palpable that the statement is almost laughable. But experience sufficiently evinces, that plain and palpable truths are prone to slip from the memory: that the neglect of plain and palpable truths is the source of most of the errors with which the world is infested. For example, That notion of the public 158good which was current in the ancient republics supposes a neglect of the truism to which I have called your attention. Agreeably to that notion of the public good, the happiness of the individual citizens is sacrificed without scruple in order that the common weal may wax and prosper. The only substantial interests are the victims of a barren abstraction, of a sounding but empty phrase.

Now (speaking generally) every individual person is the best possible judge of his own interests: of what will affect himself with the greatest pleasures and pains. Compared with his intimate consciousness of his own peculiar interests, his knowledge of the interests of others is vague conjecture.

Consequently, the principle of general utility imperiously demands that he commonly shall attend to his own rather than to the interests of others: that he shall not habitually neglect that which he knows accurately in order that he may habitually pursue that which he knows imperfectly.

This is the arrangement which the principle of general utility manifestly requires. It is also the arrangement which the Author of man’s nature manifestly intended. For our self-regarding affections are steadier and stronger than our social: the motives by which we are urged to pursue our peculiar good operate with more constancy, and commonly with more energy, than the motives by which we are solicited to pursue the good of our fellows.

If every individual neglected his own to the end of pursuing and promoting the interests of others, every individual would neglect the objects with which he is intimately acquainted to the end of forwarding objects of which he is comparatively ignorant. Consequently, the interests of every individual would be managed unskilfully. And, since the general good is an aggregate of individual enjoyments, the good of the general or public would diminish with the good of the individuals of whom that general or public is constituted or composed.

The principle of general utility does not demand of us, that we shall always or habitually intend the general good: though the principle of general utility does demand of us, that we shall never pursue our own peculiar good by means which are inconsistent with that paramount object.

For example: The man who delves or spins, delves or spins to put money in his purse, and not with the purpose or thought of promoting the general well-being. But by delving or spinning, he adds to the sum of commodities: and he therefore promotes 159that general well-being, which is not, and ought not to be, his practical end. General utility is not his motive to action. But his action conforms to utility considered as the standard of conduct: and when tried by utility considered as the test of conduct, his action deserves approbation.

Again: Of all pleasures bodily or mental, the pleasures of mutual love, cemented by mutual esteem, are the most enduring and varied. They therefore contribute largely to swell the sum of well-being, or they form an important item in the account of human happiness. And, for that reason, the well-wisher of the general good, or the adherent of the principle of utility, must, in that character, consider them with much complacency. But, though he approves of love because it accords with his principle, he is far from maintaining that the general good ought to be the motive of the lover. It was never contended or conceited by a sound, orthodox utilitarian, that the lover should kiss his mistress with an eye to the common weal.

And by this last example, I am naturally conducted to this further consideration.

Even where utility requires that benevolence shall be our motive, it commonly requires that we shall be determined by partial, rather than by general benevolence: by the love of the narrower circle which is formed of family or relations, rather than by sympathy with the wider circle which is formed of friends or acquaintance: by sympathy with friends or acquaintance, rather than by patriotism: by patriotism, or love of country, rather than by the larger humanity which embraces mankind.

In short, the principle of utility requires that we shall act with the utmost effect, or that we shall so act as to produce the utmost good. And (speaking generally) we act with the utmost effect, or we so act as to produce the utmost good, when our motive or inducement to conduct is the most urgent and steady, when the sphere wherein we act is the most restricted and the most familiar to us, and when the purpose which we directly pursue is the most determinate or precise.

The foregoing general statement must, indeed, be received with numerous limitations. The principle of utility not unfrequently requires that the order at which I have pointed shall be inverted or reversed: that the sell-regarding affections shall yield to the love of family, or to sympathy with friends or acquaintance: that the love of family, or sympathy with friends or acquaintance, shall yield to the love of country: that the love of country shall yield to the love of mankind: that the general 160happiness or good, which is always the test of our conduct, shall also be the motive determining our conduct, or shall also be the practical end to which our conduct is directed.

Goodness and badness of motives.

In order further to dissipate the confusion of ideas giving rise to the misconception last examined, I shall here pause to analyze the expression ‘good and bad motives,’ and to show in what sense it represents a sound distinction.

We often say of a man on any given occasion that his motive was good or bad, and in a certain sense we may truly say that some motives are better than others; inasmuch as some motives are more likely than others to lead to beneficial conduct.

But, in another and more extended sense, no motive is good or bad: since there is no motive which may not by possibility, and which does not occasionally in fact, lead both to beneficial and to mischievous conduct.

Thus in the case which I have already used as an illustration, that of the man who digs or weaves for his own subsistence; the motive is self-regarding, but the action is beneficial. The same motive, the desire of subsistence, may lead to pernicious acts, such as stealing. [Love of reputation, though a self-regarding motive, is a motive generally productive of beneficial acts; and there are persons with whom it is one of the most powerful incentives to acts for the public good. That form of love of reputation called vanity, on the other hand, implying, as it does, that the aim of its possessor is set upon worthless objects, commonly leads to evil, since it leads to a waste of energy, which might otherwise have been turned to useful ends. Yet if, as a motive, it be subordinate in the individual to other springs of action, and exist merely as a latent feeling of self-complacency arising out of considerations however foolish or unsubstantial, it may be harmless, or even useful as tending to promote energy.] Benevolence, on the other hand, and even religion, though certainly unselfish, and generally esteemed good motives, may, when narrowed in their aims, or directed by a perverted understanding, lead to actions most pernicious. For instance, the affection for children, and the consequent desire of pushing or advancing them in the world (a species of narrow benevolence), is with many persons more apt to lead to acts contrary to the public good than any purely selfish motive; and the palliation, which the supposed goodness of the motive constitutes in the eyes of the public for the pernicious act, encourages men to do for the sake of their 161children, actions which they would be ashamed to do for their own direct interest. Even that enlarged benevolence which embraces humanity, may lead to actions extremely mischievous, unless guided by a perfectly sound judgment. Few will doubt, for example, that Sand and those other enthusiasts in Germany, who have at different times thought it right to assassinate those persons whom they believed to be tyrants, have acted in a manner highly pernicious as regards the general good. Of the purity (as it is commonly termed) of their motives, I have not the least doubt; that is to say, I am convinced that they acted under the impulse of a most enlarged benevolence; but I have as little doubt that, by this benevolence, they were led to the commission of acts utterly inconsistent with that general good at which they aimed.

But, although every motive may lead to good or bad, some are pre-eminently likely to lead to good; e.g. benevolence, love of reputation, religion. Others pre-eminently likely to lead to bad, and little likely to lead to good; e.g. the anti-social;—antipathy—particular or general. Others, again, are as likely to lead to good as to bad; e.g. the self-regarding. They are the origin of most of the steady industry, but also of most of the offences of men.

In this qualified sense, therefore, motives may be divided into such as are good, such as are bad, and such as are neither good nor bad.

If an action is good; that is, conforming to general utility; the motive makes it more laudable. If not, not. But it is only secondarily that the nature of the motive affects the quality of the action.

[That the nature of the motive does affect the quality of the action is evident from this consideration. Acts are never insulated. And as their moral complexion is ultimately tested by their conformity to the law having utility for its index, so is that moral complexion immediately tested by the nature and tendency of the course of conduct of which the acts are samples. Now, the conduct of an individual is (speaking generally) determined partly by the motives which are his springs of action, and partly by the intention, or the state of his understanding at the instant of action, regarding the effects or tendency of his acts; both being antecedent to the volition by which these immediately emerge into act. Human conduct is, in short, determined by the motives which urge, as well as by the intentions which direct. The intention is the aim of the act, of which the motive is the spring.]

162 It is, therefore, wrong to maintain that the complexion of the action mainly depends on the complexion of the motive. It is equally wrong to maintain that the nature of the motive does not, to a certain degree, determine its complexion.

In this limited sense, therefore, the moral complexion of the action is determined by the motive. If the intention be good, the action is the better for being prompted by a social motive. If the action be bad, it is less bad if prompted by a social one.

It is important that good dispositions should be recognised and approved. But the goodness of the action depends upon its conformity to utility; [and even if judged from the narrow point of view commanded by the individual whose acts are in question, depends upon the state of his understanding as to the effects of the action; that is, upon the intention, no less than upon the motive.]¹²

But to adjust the respective claims of the selfish and social motives, of partial sympathy and general benevolence, is a task which belongs to the detail, rather than to the principles of ethics: a task which I could hardly accomplish in a clear and satisfactory manner, unless I visited my hearers with a complete dissertation upon ethics, and wandered at unconscionable length from the appropriate purpose of my Course. What I have suggested will suffice to conduct the reflecting to the following conclusions. 1. General utility considered as the measure or test, differs from general utility considered as a motive or inducement. 2. If our conduct were truly adjusted to the principle of utility, our conduct would conform to rules fashioned on the principle of utility, or our conduct would be guided by sentiments associated with such rules. But, this notwithstanding, general utility, or the general happiness or good, would not be in all, or even in most cases, our motive to action or forbearance.

The second misconception examined.

Having touched generally and briefly on the first of the two misconceptions, I will now advert to the second with the like generality and brevity.

163 They who fail into this misconception are guilty of two errors. 1. They mistake and distort the hypothesis concerning the origin of benevolence which is styled the selfish system. 2. They imagine that that hypothesis, as thus mistaken and distorted, is an essential or necessary ingredient in the theory of utility.^(b)

I will examine the two errors into which the misconception may be resolved, in the order wherein I have stated them.

1. According to an hypothesis of Hartley and of various other writers, benevolence or sympathy is not an ultimate fact, or is not unsusceptible of analysis or resolution, or is not a simple or inscrutable element of man’s being or nature. According to their hypothesis, it emanates from self-love, or from the self-regarding affections, through that familiar process styled ‘the association of ideas,’ to which I have briefly adverted in a preceding portion of my discourse.

Now it follows palpably from the foregoing concise statement, that these writers dispute not the existence of disinterested benevolence or sympathy: that, assuming the existence of disinterested benevolence or sympathy, they endeavour to trace the feeling, through its supposed generation, to the simpler and ulterior feeling of which they believe it the offspring.

But, palpable as this consequence is, it is fancied by many opponents of the theory of utility, and (what is more remarkable) by some of its adherents also, that these writers dispute the existence of disinterested benevolence or sympathy.

According to the hypothesis in question, as thus mistaken and distorted, we have no sympathy, properly so called, with the pleasures and pains of others. That which is styled sympathy, or that which is styled benevolence, is provident regard to self. Every good office done by man to man springs from a calculation of which self is the object. We perceive that we depend on others for much of our own happiness: and, perceiving that we 164depend on others for much of our own happiness, we do good unto others that others may do it unto us. The seemingly disinterested services that are rendered by men to men, are the offspring of the very motives, and are governed by the very principles, which engender and regulate trade.^(c)

2. Having thus mistaken and distorted the so-called selfish system, many opponents of the theory of utility, together with some adherents of the same theory, imagine that the former, as thus mistaken and distorted, is a necessary portion of the latter. And hence it naturally follows, that the adherents of the theory of utility are styled by many of its opponents ‘selfish, sordid, and cold-blooded calculators.’

165 Now the theory of ethics which I style the theory of utility has no necessary connection with any theory of motives. It has no necessary connection with any theory or hypothesis which concerns the nature or origin of benevolence or sympathy. The theory of utility will hold good, whether benevolence or sympathy be truly a portion of our nature, or be nothing but a mere name for provident regard to self. The theory of utility will hold good, whether benevolence or sympathy be a simple or ultimate fact, or be engendered by the principle of association on the self-regarding affections.

According to the theory of utility, the principle of general utility is the index to God’s commands, and is therefore the proximate measure of all human conduct. We are bound by the awful sanctions with which his commands are armed, to adjust our conduct to rules formed on that proximate measure. Though benevolence be nothing but a name for provident regard to self, we are moved by regard to self, when we think of those awful sanctions, to pursue the generally useful, and to forbear from the generally pernicious. Accordingly, that is the version of the theory of utility which is rendered by Dr. Paley. He supposes that general utility is the proximate test of conduct: but he supposes that all the motives by which our conduct is determined are purely self-regarding. And his version of the theory of utility is, nevertheless, coherent: though I think that his theory of motives is miserably partial and shallow, and that mere regard to self, although it were never so provident, would hardly perform the office of genuine benevolence or sympathy. For if genuine benevolence or sympathy be not a portion of our nature, we have only one inducement to consult the general good: namely, a provident regard to our own welfare or happiness. But if genuine benevolence or sympathy be a portion of our nature, we have two distinct inducements to consult the general good: namely, the same provident regard to our own welfare or happiness, and also a disinterested regard to the welfare or happiness of others. If genuine benevolence or sympathy were not a portion of our nature, our motives to consult the general good would be more defective than they are.^(d)

166 Again: Assuming that benevolence or sympathy is truly a portion of our nature, the theory of utility has no connection whatever with any hypothesis or theory which concerns the origin of the motive. Whether benevolence or sympathy be a simple or ultimate fact, or be engendered by the principle of association on the self-regarding affections, it is one of the motives by which our conduct is determined. And, on either of the conflicting suppositions, the principle of utility, and not benevolence or sympathy, is the measure or test of conduct: For as conduct may be generally useful, though the motive is self-regarding; so may conduct be generally pernicious, though the motive is purely benevolent. Accordingly, in all his expositions of the theory of utility, Mr. Bentham assumes or supposes the existence of disinterested sympathy, and scarcely adverts to the hypotheses which regard the origin of the feeling.^(e)