THE LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF
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THE LIBRARY OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF
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ENDOWED BY THE
DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC
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1895

UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL

10001917730

This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on
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nnay be renewed by bringing it to the library.

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1996

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DEC 21

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HEDONISTIC THEORIES
FROM ARISTIPPUS TO SPENCER

JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW,
l^nblishens to ths Stnibirsitg.

MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK.
London^ - - Simpkin^ Hamilton and Co,
Cambridge i • Macmillan and Bowes.
Edinburgh^ - Douglas and Foulis.

MDCCCXCV.

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

FROM ARISTIPPUS TO SPENCER

JOHN WATSON, LL.D.

PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF QUEEN'S
COLLEGE, KINGSTON, CANADA

GLASGOW
JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS
JBubliahers to Vcit Snibersilg
LONDON AND NEW YORK : MACMILLAN & CO.

189s

PREFACE.

In the following pages an attempt is made to give,
in familiar and untechnical language, a critical
account of Hedonistic Theories in their historical
succession. I hope that even those who cannot
accept my criticisms may find my expositions fairly
satisfactory. For my own part I am convinced, as
the result of this and other investigations, that no
Hedonistic theory can plausibly explain morality
without assuming ideas inconsistent with its asserted
principle. What is here presented to the public has
been in manuscript for several years, and I have
been induced to publish it now as a needful supple-
ment to the ethical part of my Outline of Philosophy.
At the same time each work is complete in itself.

To obviate the necessity of continual foot-notes,
I have relegated all references to authors to the end
of the volume.

University of Queen's College,
Kingston, Canada,

Aprils 1895.

/ ^ '^-1

Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2014

https://archive.org/details/hedonistictheoriOOwats

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER 1.

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS ON GREEK THOUGHT.

The question, Is life worth living? shows that we live in an age of
philosophical doubt — Pessimistic answer — Carlyle's attitude un-
satisfactory — Spencer's ** short and easy" methoci with those who
deny Hedonism fallacious — The Greek Sophists implicit Hedonists
— Differences between Greek and modern State — The Sophists, by
creating doubt of customary morality, helped to destroy the Greek
State — They were (i) casuists, (2) rhetoricians — Protagoras denied
natural morality — Hippias denied customary morality — Gorgias
held morality to be the interest of the people — Thrasymachus made
morality the interest of the ruler — The rhetoric of the Sophists led
to disregard of truth, pages 1-18

CHAPTER 11.

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC.

The scepticism of the Sophists a condition of progress — Law of progress
(i) construction, (2) destruction, (3) reconstruction — The Cyrenaics
beyond the Sophists, in having a precise doctrine — Aristippus ( i )
held that there is a single end of life, viz., pleasure ; (2) reduced all
knowledge to feeling; (3) maintained that the end is the pleasure

viii

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

of the moment — This is Hedonism in its naive form — Criticism :
(i) Valuable as bringing out the logical result of the individualism
of the Sophists — (2) Aristippus' theory of knowledge is a theory of
ignorance — (3) As a matter of fact men do not seek pleasure —
(4) Aristippus' ethical theory is {a) self-contradictory, because it
tells us to seek pleasure by not seeking it ; {jb) false to the real
nature of man, ....... pages 19-46

CHAPTER III.
EPICURUS.

JEpicurus says that pleasure is the end, but it can be obtained only by
foresight — He is a ** practical" philosopher — His problem was:
How shall I find the highest satisfaction in a world foreign to me ?
— Historical reasons for this— (i) Epicurus adopts the atomic theory
to get rid of superstition — Modifies it to make room for freedom —
(2) The soul material and mortal — (3) The ^'wise man" will keep
clear of politics — Epicurean ideal of life, plain living and refined
fellowship — (4) Pleasures do not differ in kind — (5) 'Arapa^ta the
ideal — (6) Cardinal virtues are [a) self-restraint, {b) courage or
cheerful endurance of pain, (<;) justice or enlightened self-interest,
friendship — Criticism : (i) Epicurus' theory of nature a veiled
scepticism — (2) His ethical theory involves two discrepant ends:
{^a) pleasure, {b) permanent satisfaction — (3) 'Arapa^La not the
highest good, because {a) only attained by a few, {b) an organized
selfishness, and therefore self-destructive, - . pages 47-72

CHAPTER IV.
:::::: r - HOBBES.

Hobbes shows the influence of Christianity in his Hedonism — Relation
to his time— Man by nature selfish — The primary desires— Right

CONTENTS

and wrong the creation of th€ State— Which is based upon contract —
Hobbes prefers an absolute monarchy — Criticism", (l) The theory
of Hobbes is unhistorical — {a) There never was a '* state of nature "
— [b) Society, therefore, did not originate in a contract — (2) The
theory is unphilosophical— (^z) The State not an "automaton" but
an organism — [b) The State could not be made by a contract —
(3) Society a self-conscious organism — (4) Man is not by nature
selfish any more than unselfish — (5) The natural desires not selfish
— (6) Society not an instrument for securing selfish pleasure, but the
embodiment of reason, . . . . . . pages 73-94

^ ^-^Ir-- ' « LOCKE. ■ ■

Locke, the philosopher of compromise — Seeks to determine the limits
of knowledge — Contract not the basis of society, but for the pro-
tection of existing rights — Toleration based upon the uncertainty
of theological knowledge — No innate ideas" — Locke's incon-
sistency in holding that we know the primary" qualities of
bodies— His ethical theory inconsistent — (i) The man is free, but
not the will — ;(2) The motive to action the "most pressing uneasi-
ness" — (3) We have the power to "suspend the satisfaction of our

' ' desires " — (4); Distinction of present and future pleasure — (5) Moral
obligation arises from law— Which is divided into {a) divine>
(^) civil, (^r) social— Shaftesbury holds that we desire the pleasure
of others as well as of ourselves^ — But after all we are seeking our
own pleasure in the pleasure of others— Hutcheson distinguishes

; ' between " blind ^' and **calm" affections — The altruistic "

: tendencies need reinforcement from the ** moral sense" — Criticism :
(i) Locke's "freedom" is merely "spontaneity": he is in reality
a " determinist "— (2) He cannot consistently admit any power to
"suspend" the desires— (3) His theory of moral obligation incon-
sistent with his account of desire, . . c . » pages 95-115

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

CHAPTER VL

■ HUME.

Hume's watchword is ''Thorough" — No "substance" or "causal
nexus " — The Self a " bundle " of feelings — Hume's ethics : (i) The
will is not free, for all actions proceed from motives — (2) Reason
the " slave of the passions " — It has no power to initiate or prevent
action — (3) The "passions" divided into (at) direct, {b) indirect,
{c) instinctive— (4) Why do we call an action virtuous
Sympathy with the pleasure of others explains the moral approba-
tion accompanying benevolent actions — {b) Sympathy with their
tendency to produce the greatest pleasure on the whole explains
our moral approbation of just acts — Justice an "artificial" virtue —
Its origin — (5) The motive to virtue never moral obligation, but
desire for pleasure — Criticism : Consciousness not a series of feel-
ings — Desire and will not related as antecedent and consequent —
Will not the result of a struggle between impulses — Man's conscious
life a process — Freedom, self-determination by an ideal — Morality
conformity to a rational ideal, . . . pages 116-136

CHAPTER VIL
BENTHAM.

Bentham's aim practical — (i) Rejects Asceticism and Intuitionism —
(2) Pleasures must be estimated quantitatively — Wherein their
quantity consists — They are divided into "self-regarding" and
"extra-regarding" — (3) Distinction between {a) intention, [b)
motive, {c) disposition — (4) Contrast of "private ethics" and the
"art of legislation" — Criticism*, (i) The balancing of pleasures
really a rational judgment — (2) The end is not pleasure, but self-
realization — (3) Bentham's account of the relations of intention,
motive, and disposition imperfect — («) An intention is good or bad,
because the means to a conceived end — (<^) A motive good if con-
sonant with reason — {c) The disposition not good for Bentham,
because the "sum of the intentions" — (4) Bentham can only con-
sistently hold "self-regarding" motives — (5) To make "common
good " the end is to abandon Hedonism, . . pages 137-15^

CONTENTS

CHAPTER VIII.

JOHN STUART MILL.

Mill's ** Utilitarianism " exhibits Hedonism expanding into a truer
doctrine — (i) Pleasures differ in quality as well as quantity — (2)
Morality depends upon intention^ not upon motive — (3) Sanctions
are either external or internal — (4) Proof of Utilitarianism — (5)
Mill's account of Justice — {a) The "idea" implies something
"which some individual person can claim as his moral right" —
[jb) The '* sentiment" derives its energy from the instinct of retalia-
tion, its moral character from enlarged sympathy and enlightened
self-interest — [c) The ** sanction" of Justice is its tendency to pro-
mote the public good — Criticism : (i) To value pleasures by their
quality is to abandon Hedonism — (2) Common good could not
result from every one acting according to excess of imagined
pleasure — (3) Mill's "proof" of Utilitarianism fallacious — (4) His
V account of Justice plausible, because it implies that law expresses
an ideal of reason, pages 159-179

CHAPTER IX.

HERBERT SPENCER.

Spencer connects Hedonism with Evolution — Previous moralists "un-
scientific " — Spencer's conception of Evolution wider than Darwin's
— His general formula — Its application to ethics — (i) To under-
stand moral conduct we must consider conduct in general — {a)
Purposeless actions excluded — {h) Purposive actions show increasing
complexity — The result is to increase the breadth as well as the
length of life — And that in the species as well as the individual —
Perfectly evolved human conduct implies permanently peaceful
societies — (2) Data furnished by the various sciences — {a) Physically^
conduct consists of bodily movements ; Moral conduct shows
greater cohereitce^ dejiniteness^ variety^ and harmony — (b) Biologi-

xii

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

cally^ moral conduct consists in the due discharge of the functions —
{c) Psychologically, moral conduct consists in the complexity of the
motive and of the thought through which the motive is shaped —
Moral restraints concern the intrinsic "' effects of actions — (^Z)
Sociologically y ethics is "an account of the forms of conduct that
are fitted to the associated state"- — (3) A scientific" ethics seeks

> to lay down the rules that "formulate normal conduct in an ideal
society "—(^z) One class deals with actions in their relation to the

^ individual — {b) Another class deals with the effects of one's conduct
on others — (a) Rules of Justice — ( jS) Rules of Beneficence, negative
" and positive, . ... . . . pages 180-199

■ ' ; , .CHAPTER .x/: ;

HERBERT SPENCER (Continued).

Limits of the Darwinian theory of evolution — Extension of the problem
by Spencer— Examination of his "formula" — It tacitly denies any
fundamental distinction between different orders of existence —
I. Spencer cannot legitimately distinguish between conduct and
action in general, and between moral and non-moral conduct —

(1) When human conduct is viewed as movement it is not viewed
as conduct: hence thQ "formula" must be further specified —

(2) This is done when acts which do not secure an end are excluded
■■iv\ •■ — ^^(3) Spencer, however, virtually obliterates this distinction — (4)

J The ".formula" must be finally specified so as to exclude all
. r actions except those intended to secure an end — But this shows
C that we caLnnot apply the same formula to all orders of being —
* 2. Spencer's "Absolute Ethics " rests upon an abstraction— Its main
'J ' value lie- in reminding us that society is still in process towards an
ideal goal— ^3. Spencer's view of motives imperfect, because it
i: 'SUf^oses one feeling to control another—Natural that he should
regard the feeling of moral obligation as temporary-*-In reality, the
Cprisciousness of ' moral obligation can orily disappear with the
•V, disappearance of self-consciousness, • . . pages 200-225

CONTENTS

xiii

CHAPTER XL

HERBERT SPENCER (Concluded).

How Spencer connects Evolutionism with Hedonism — (i) Even the
pessimist assumes pleasure to be the end — (2) This end can be
obtained only by aiming at completeness of life — *'Good" means
in ordinary language what secures an end — This agrees with the
results reached by the study of conduct in its evolution — The course
of evolution tends at once towards the most perfect life and the
greatest happiness — Proof of the correspondence of greatest pleasure
and completeness of life — All previous ethical systems neglect the
idea of causation — Even the utilitarian moralist does not ask what
kinds of action necessarily tend to produce happiness" — Illustration
of the difference between the empirical" and the "scientific"
method — An action good according as it ministers to the preserva-
tion of self, offspring, and society in general — Life-preserving and
pleasure-giving acts ultimately identical — Their occasional divorce
arises in the transition from one stage of social development to
another — (3) The pleasure of the agent and of society must coincide
in a perfect state — But general happiness is to be achieved mainly
through the adequate pursuit of one's own happiness — Criticism :
(i) The ordinary judgments as to '*good " do not support Spencer's
view — {a) No action is called morally good unless it is intended,
and is directed to a good end — Spencer's account of motives does
not recognize this — [h] Completeness of life" is not a means to
pleasure, but pleasure is an element in it — (2) To say that life-
preserving are also pleasure-giving acts is to confuse the desirable
with the pleasurable — (3) Spencer does not prove pleasure to be
the end, but simply assumes it — Hence he cannot show that conduct
subserving the universal good is binding upon us, pages 226-243

HEDONISTIC THEORIES
FROM ARISTIPPUS TO SPENCER

CHAPTER I

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS ON GREEK
THOUGHT

The author of that clever but somewhat flippant
satire, The New Republic, has made us familiar with
the question, Is life worth living ? That such a
question should be put at all is a fact of great
significance. The first tendency of man is to ex-
pend the pent-up energy with which he is endowed,
in building up for himself an ordered world of
customs, institutions, and laws. And what is true
of the race is also true of the individual. A man
throws himself into some active pursuit: the accumu-
lation of a fortune for himself and his family,
the ascent to political or social power, the achieve-
ment of fame as a man of science, an artist, or a
thinker; but he assumes in all of these cases that ?
what he seeks is worth striving for, and the life he
lives worth living. When, therefore, we find an
age or an individual " sitting down in a calm

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

moment to think," and when the thought takes
the form of the question, What is the end of life ?
we may be sure that the energy and enthusiasm
of youth is spent, and has been succeeded by the
sober reflection of maturer years. But when the
problem has assumed the sceptical form, Is there
any worthy end of life at all ? we cannot doubt
that the age of faith is gone for ever.

Now, Mr. Mallock's question is of this sceptical
character. When we ask, Is life worth living ?
we condense in one set of words two connected
questions — (i) Is there an end of life? (2) If so,
is it worth seeking ? Will it bring satisfaction
supposing it to be attained ? To these questions
some men, in point of fact, have answered. Hap-
piness is doubtless the end which all men seek,
but it is an end which no man ever has attained,
or ever can attain. This despondent view of life
is thus expressed by Shelley in his Queen
Mab—

" The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies ;
All that we wish to stay

Tempts, and then flies :
What is this world's delight ?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright."

Byron puts the same thought into still more
hopeless words —

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS 3

" Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,
Count o^er thy days from anguish free,
And know, whatever thou hast been,
^Tis something better not to be."

Nor is this view of life a plant of purely modern
growth, for the chorus in the Oedipus Coloneus of
Sophocles says that it is —

" Happiest beyond compare
Never to taste of life ;
Happiest in order next,
Being born, with quickest speed
Thither again to turn
From whence we came,"

while the saying of Menander, Whom the gods
love die young," has all the familiarity of a
proverb. The view of life embodied in these
sayings of the poets has received careful philo-
sophical expression at the hands of such thinkers
as Schopenhauer and Von Hartmann. Human
life," says the former, " oscillates between pain and
ennui"; our conscious life, according to the latter,
is one long disease, " in pain it is born, with pain
it consumes itself, through pain it raises itself to a
higher level ; and what compensation does it offer
for all this pain but a vain reflection of itself?"

It is not my intention to make a special
examination into the basis of pessimism, and
although I think it will be found, as the result of
our inquiry, that it rests upon a fundamental

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

mistake, I have brought forward these sayings
rather to show the necessity of a reasoned basis
for the faith in absolute rules of conduct which
we all tacitly assume. No doubt it is natural to
regard such reflections upon human life as those
which I have quoted as a proof of the futility of
all speculation on the ultimate nature of things,
and to draw from them the lesson that we must
fall back upon simple and child-like faith. In his
Past and Pj^esent, Carlyle passionately commends
the ages of faith in comparison with the eager^
questioning, critical age in which we ourselves live.
But one answer to Carlyle's advice not to philo-
sophize on the basis of conduct is that it is that
most useless of all kinds of advice, that which
cannot be followed. By refusing to inquire into
the foundation of things we do not get rid of a
theory of life, but may adopt a crude and un-
critical one. It is no more possible to go back
to the simple faith of an earlier age than to re-
turn to the spontaneous and abounding energy of
earlier years, or, like Alice in Wonderland, to make
and unmake one's stature at will. I will go further,
and say, that not only can one not retain the
simplicity of an earlier and less reflective age, but
that it would not be good for us even if we
could. Just as the innocence of the child must
develop into the self-control of the man, so

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS 5

criticism, the testing and founding of conduct on
a reasoned basis, is essential to our full intellectual
and moral stature. That faith is the most robust
which

" buildeth in the cedar's tops,
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun."

My aim shall therefore be, in the following pages,
to take nothing for granted, to try all things, and,
while stating as clearly and impartially as I can
the views of those thinkers in ancient and modern
times who have said that pleasure is the end of
life, to " hold fast that which is good " in their
doctrine, and to reject that which is false.

I have decided to consider hedonism in its
historical development, rather than to discuss its
abstract basis, because as a rule the earlier form of
hedonism is also the simplest, and because nothing
so well enables us to grasp a truth as to see it
from the most various points of view. It has
been suggested that some of the prejudices of
Englishmen are due to the fact that they live
on an island ; and at least we may say that in
the realm of thought as of practical life, Home-
keeping youth have ever homely wits." Such a
critical account of hedonism would seem to be an
impertinence were Mr. Herbert Spencer right in
saying that all theories of human conduct, wittingly
or unwittingly, must from the nature of the case

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

assume pleasure to be the end of life. Even the
pessimist, when he says that life is not worth
living, bases his proof, according to Mr. Spencer,
on the assumption that the end is a surplus of
agreeable feeling." He condemns life because it
results in more pain than pleasure. The optimist
defends life in the belief that it brings more
pleasure than pain. The implication common to
their antagonistic views is, that conduct should
conduce to preservation of the individual, of the
family, and of the society, only supposing that
life brings more happiness than misery. This
" short and easy method " with the opponents of
hedonism is not so convincing as Mr. Spencer
seems to think. For the pessimist may hold that
as a matter of fact life brings more pain than
pleasure, while maintaining that not pleasure but
something infinitely higher is the end of life. You
will of course understand that I do not intend these
remarks to be taken as a disproof of the hedon-
istic end, but only as a disproof of Mr. Spencer's
attempt to snatch a hasty verdict in favour of
hedonism, by an unwarrantable interpretation of
theories which differ from his own.

Having thus cleared the way, we may now go
on to consider the hedonistic theories of Ancient
Greece. The first set of thinkers who can be
called hedonistic, in tendency at least, is that re-

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS

markable group of men called the Sophists. It is
true that in them hedonism was implicit rather
than explicit, but yet they were so instrumental
in preparing the way for the Cyrenaics, who
expressly formulated hedonism, that no considera-
tion of this type of thought as it existed in Greece
would be complete that failed to take note of
their extraordinary influence in the development of
philosophical reflection. To estimate that influence
aright we must know something of the form of
'society and the modes of thought and feeling
characteristic of Ancient Greece.

In the fifth century before the Christian era,
the Greeks had developed from their early condition
into a number of city commonwealths, all of which
were, at least in idea, absolutely independent. When
we speak of the Greek people we must never forget
that the bond uniting them was mainly that of a
common religion and a common tongue. Politi-
cally each city, with its immediately surrounding
territory, formed an independent State. The idea
of a vast region united by the bond of a common
polity was quite foreign to the mind of the Greek.
His country was not a region but a city. Hence
freedom to the Greek meant something different
from what it means to us. To be a freeman was
to have the rights and privileges of a citizen. For
as the State was small it was possible for the

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

whole body of citizens to assemble for political
purposes in one place. In Attica the whole
number of citizens does not seem ever to have
exceeded 30,000. Such a thing as representative
government was undreamt of by the Greek : his
idea of citizenship was to take part personally in
the high matters discussed in the assembly of
the people, to fill the offices of state, to take his
place as one of the judges in the courts of law, or
to offer up public sacrifices. Hence the franchise
was jealously guarded and limited. A freeman,
a foreigner, or a dependent ally was in no case
admitted to citizenship unless by a special decree
of the assembly of the people. Each Greek State
was thus like a number of mutually repellent
atoms. There was no means of compressing a
number of cities into one body. Either a city must
be absolutely free or it must be dependent upon
another. No doubt, at a very early period, Eleusis,
Marathon, and the other small towns of Attica
were independent before they were absorbed by
Athens, but the whole of Attica was comparatively
small in extent. Sparta, with a larger territory,
held the Laconian towns in complete subjection,
and Boeotia was regarded by her so-called Attica
as a tyrant.

What we find then in Greece is a crowd
of little city commonwealths, each independent

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS

and sovereign, and each united by the common
ties of blood, language, manners, and religion.
It will be readily understood that direct participa-
tion in public affairs afforded the citizens of a
State like Athens the highest political education.
An ordinary citizen in democratic Athens had
more power than an ordinary English member of
parliament ; he had not only the right to speak
in the assembly, but he was called upon to vote
^ven upon such important matters as declaring
war or making peace. And not only was the
Greek State a city, not a nation ; not only were
the people at once parliament and government,
but there was no distinction as with us between
Church and State : the form of religion was under
the control of the people, and its acceptance or
rejection was regarded as a part of their political
function. Hence we find Aristophanes saying that
the Athenians had converted Athens into Egypt
by their facility in admitting strange gods, while
Anaxagoras and Protagoras were banished, the
former for saying that the sun was a red-hot ball
about the size of the Peloponnesus, the latter,
because he had said " Whether there are gods I
cannot tell : life is too short for such obscure
problems " ; and Socrates, one of the most pious
as well as the most thoughtful of men, was con-
demned to death on a charge of corrupting the

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

minds of the youth and denying the gods of his
country. The result of this active participation
in affairs of state was an intense and yet narrow
patriotism. The walls, temples, and theatre of
Athens were regarded by each citizen as his own ;
and it is not wonderful that in its best days
a man was glad to die for the great name of
Athens.

But this intensity of life had its weak side.
For one thing, those who were not allowed to
take part in war or politics were thrust into the
background, and hence the family life of the
Greek was largely sacrificed to the public good.
Further, as a small city cannot be continually
recruited by new blood, it gradually loses its
vigour, especially in times of prosperity, and ex-
hibits symptoms of senility and decay. Moreover,
to the intensity of patriotism corresponds an in-
tensity of hatred of other States, and hence we
find that war was carried on with a fierceness and
a cruelty to which we are happily unaccustomed
in modern times. The very smallness of the
arena led to intense bitterness of party warfare,
and to the perpetual expulsion of the leaders of
defeated factions. But the source of the greatest
weakness of the ancient State was the fact that
it rested upon slavery. The greatest work
of Greece was done during the two centuries

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS

that ended with the close of the Peloponnesian
war. Seeing the great results that were achieved
by means of it, such humane philosophers as Plato
and Aristotle accepted the institution of slavery
and only sought to ameliorate the condition of
the slave. In Attica there were over 400,000
slaves and aliens and only some 30,000 citizens.
Raised on the shoulders of this immense servile
population, who were engaged chiefly in menial
tasks, a small body of citizens was left free to
devote their energies to war and politics, or, in
later times, to literature and art. For a time
the rate of progress was wonderful, but after
the repulse of the barbarian hosts of Persia,
moral and political corruption set in, the fire of
intellect gradually burnt itself out, and when St.
Paul came to Athens he found its people a set !
of refined gossips, with no origing.lity, no faith/
and no enthusiasm. What has just been said may
help to explain the influence of the Sophists.
They acted as a solvent of Greek thought by
destroying men's faith in what had been accepted
as a sort of divine revelation of what was right
and just. The main idea common to them all
was that customary morality was not absolute, but
was a fair subject of discussion and criticism.
The very simplicity of Greek thought made it
peculiarly liable to scepticism the moment the

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

sanction of a supposed divine authority was with-
drawn from it.

To a man, in our own day, who thinks and who
insists upon having a connected view of things,
it is apparent that individual, social, and political
morality are one and inseparable, and that law
and morality as a whole ultimately rest upon and
are explained by religion. But the complexity of
modern life is so great, and the various forms of
organization so many and distinct, that often a
man will act in different spheres in ways quite
inconsistent with one another. The man who in
private life is considerate and unselfish may in
his public life display all the rancour and bitter-
ness of faction; he may practically deny that the
nation should be guided by the same principles
of morality as are binding on the individual ; or
he may separate morality from religion or re-
ligion from morality, not seeing that these are
two sisters

" That doat upon each other, friends to man,
Living together under the same roof,
And never can be sunder'd without tears."

The danger to the Greek mind was of an
opposite character. As the State was all in all,
and gathered up in itself the various functions now
separately discharged by the club, the university,
the church, the municipality, and the state, to

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS

touch traditional beliefs at one point was to touch
them in all. An attack on the sanctity of public
law sent a shock through the whole body politic.
To say that a time-honoured custom had no
support but convention seemed to the Greek as
impious as to sneer at the gods of his country.
The Greek mind referred the institutions and
customs of the State to divine appointment.
.Noble families believed that they could trace their
descent from a god or god-like hero. Herodotus,
in telling the thrilling story of how the three
hundred Spartans kept the pass of Thermopylae
against overwhelming odds, pauses to trace the
genealogy of Leonidas back to Hercules. Thus
the popular mind could even less than now dis-
tinguish between the form and the substance of
religion or grasp the idea that, from its very
nature as dealing with the Infinite, religion can-
not without degradation be identified with the
rites and ceremonies of a particular people. The
mythological stories of the gods and heroes seemed
to have the same sacredness as the laws and
customs of the State ; to cast doubt on the
popular creed was to destroy the State itself, for
the Greek State could only survive so long as
its citizens had implicit faith in their own as
the only perfect form of constitution.

Now the Sophists from their very mode of life

HEDOXISTIC THEORIES

were to a large extent free from the narrow
patriotism of the ordinary Greek citizen. They
went about from one city to another earning a
Hving by teaching, and thus they learned to look
upon the customs and institutions of different States
without the superstitious reverence felt for them by
their own citizens. In Athens they found the best
field for their operations, and }'et hardly one of
them was an Athenian citizen. It was therefore
perfectly natural, viewing the constitution of the
State in which for the time they resided in the
" dry light of the understanding/' that they should,
by the tone of their teaching, produce scepticism
as to the divine authority of the established
religion and moralit}'.

Scepticism is the natural result of the denial of
external authority, so long as it is not seen that
ultimately nothing is right that does not rest upon
reason, and is capable of justifying itself to reason.
Now the Sophists did not seek for any such
reasoned system of conduct to replace the custom-
ary morality whose sacredness they had destro}'ed.
Like Faust they had destroyed the beautiful
world " of faith, but they did not take heed to
follow the advice of the poet to " build it up in
their minds again." They were not constructive,
but purely sceptical thinkers, and it is for this
reason that Plato and Aristotle find their mode

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS

of thought so objectionable. It is no doubt true,
as Grote says, that they were, as a rule, men of
high personal character ; but it is not the less
true that their teaching was purely destructive in
its tendency. But the Sophists would have had
very little influence had not the public mind been
prepared for their teaching by its own independent
development. The true sceptic, as Plato said, was
"that great Sophist the public.

Greece was less able to bear prosperity than
adversity. The victories of Marathon and Salamis
generated in the mind of the people a proud self-
reliance and a thirst for glory and power that
carried them beyond the narrow grooves in which
they had been wont to move. Especially was this
the case in Athens and among the allies of Athens
in Syracuse and other Sicilian colonies. The
mere fact that the whole body of the people came
to have a direct voice in the high concerns of
the State inevitably produced a type of mind keen,
eager, and disputatious. A people accustomed to
hear the best orators of the day in the assembly,
and to practise the cross-examination of witnesses
in the public law-courts, was prepared for the
overthrow of customary beliefs when a serious
attack was made upon them. And we must
remember that the religion of Greece, which lent
an adventitious sanction to current moral ideas, was

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

itself the product of imagination, and was doomed
to fall the moment men could distinguish between
poetry and prose. Add to this that Greek politi-
cal morality had gradually degenerated under the
influence of the civil discords fomented by the
conflict of Athens and Sparta, while in Athens, at
least, with the great plague of 430 B.C., a similar
corruption of private morality had set in, and it
is not difficult to see that the soil was ready for
the seed of doubt and of superficial culture which
it was the work of the Sophists to scatter.

The teaching of the Sophists consisted in casu-
istry and rhetoric.

(i) Their casuistry took various forms, but its
general tendency was to effect the dissolution
of customary morality by showing that it was
open to numerous exceptions. A favourite con-
trast of the Sophists was between nature and
custom. Protagoras drew attention to the fact
that the object of perception varies with the state
of the subject. What to one man is hot to an-
other is cold, and the same thing appears different
even to the same individual at different times.
It is a man's sensations, therefore, that for him
are the measure of reality. Similarly Protagoras
seems to have held that morality rests upon
convention, not upon nature. The laws and cus-
toms of a State are simply rules which men have

INFLUENCE OF THE SOPHISTS

agreed to observe for their mutual advantage.
Hippias, on the other hand, opposed nature to
convention. The laws of a people, he argued,
cannot be absolute, because no two States have
the same idea of right and wrong. It seemed to
him that the source of division and discord among
men was to be found in their unjust laws.

However different is the point of view of those
•two Sophists, they are agreed in condemning the
popular belief in the divine authority and un-
changeability of customary morality. The half-
unconscious scepticism of Protagoras and Hippias
is outdone by the bold and open scepticism of
Gorgias, who deliberately argues that knowledge
is impossible and morality merely a useful con-
vention. It is only a step further to say, with
Thrasymachus, that morality is nothing but the laws
imposed upon others by those who rule for their
own selfish advantage, a doctrine which is on a par
with the favourite view of the sceptics of the last
century that religion is an invention of the priests
to keep the people in subjection to the church.

(2) The natural tendency of the doctrine that
law and morality are purely conventional was
to take away the basis of external authority
on which it had hitherto rested, without laying
down any more solid basis in place of that
which had been removed. The positive teaching

1 8 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

of the Sophists consisted mainly of an art of
rhetoric, enabhng its possessor to make the most
of his case in the assembly, or in the courts of
law. The rhetorical culture of the Sophists was
independent of any special knowledge, and there-
fore tended to generate an intellectual insolence
that to Socrates and his great disciple Plato
seemed antagonistic to the reverent spirit of the
true philosopher. Not that there was anything
positively immoral. The pupil of the Sophist was
not so bad as the modern political demagogue,
the sensational preacher, or the omniscient re-
viewer who, after a glance at the preface and
the table of contents, blames without stint a book
that has cost its author years of labour. The
tendency of purely instrumental culture is to make
truth seem the plaything of words, and from this
point of view we can understand how Carlyle
should have said: ''Good speaker, eloquent speaker,
but what if he does not speak the truth!" For,
after all, what a man says is more important than
how he says it, to discover truth is a nobler thing
than to confuse and bewilder an antagonist, and
the solitary thinker is in the long run of more
service to the world than the pretentious rhetori-
cian, who gains the ear of the mob by a mastery
over the art of making the worse appear the
better reason.

CHAPTER II

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC

In the former chapter I tried to explain the char-
acter of the Greek as distinguished from the
modern State, and to show how it was that the
Sophists came to have so great an influence on
Greek thought. The Greek State was a city, not
a nation. It was an organic unity, but a unity of
a comparatively simple character. As there was in
it no distinction of religion and politics, social
and individual morality, doubt of the laws and
customs of a particular State led to doubt of all
the most cherished beliefs of the people. Even
among ourselves the plain man, who has been
accustomed to regard morality as resting upon
divine enactment, feels as if he were cut loose
from his moorings and were drifting helplessly
into an unknown sea, when doubt is cast upon
some article of his religious faith, or when a
fundamental law of society, as it has hitherto

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

existed, is called in question. Beliefs that are
supposed to rest upon external authority seem to
lose all their sacredness and validity when that
authority is denied. Hence the Sophists, in main-
taining that morality did not rest upon divine
authority but upon the arbitrary will of the
people, seemed to the Greek of a conservative
type to be Ae tearing up -©£ society from its
roots, and to be opening a way for absolute
anarchy. At the same time the natural progress
of the Greek people, and especially of Athens,
the most enlightened of all Greek States, had
unconsciously prepared the soil for scepticism,
otherwise the Sophists would very soon have found
Athens too hot for them, and would have been
compelled, like several of the earlier philosophers
who denied the popular religion, to beat a hasty
retreat.

What view, then, are we to take of the teaching
of the Sophists ? Must we regard their scepticism
as an unmixed evil ? I have already indicated
that, in my opinion, the work they did was a
work that had to be done. If progress is to be
made, men's uncritical belief in what is must
be shaken to its centre. The negative or critical
movement of thought is as essential as the posi-
tive or constructive. First constructive, next de-
structive, and then reconstructive is the triple

ARISriPPUS THE CYRENAIC

movement by means of which man has developed.
At the same time we cannot bless the Sophists
altogether. Their scepticism in regard to external
authority was justifiable, not so their contentment
with scepticism as the last word. We may even
say that they were not thorough enough in their
scepticism. It was good to deny the absoluteness
of the laws and customs of this or that State,
but it was not good to base morality upon a new
sort of external authority, the arbitrary agree-
ment of a particular people. The next step must
therefore be to work out to its legitimate issue
the principle that law and morality are the pro-

duct of the individual will, and to -prove an
articulate theory of conduct on that basis.

This was attempted by the Cyrenaics, the intel-
lectual heirs of the Sophists. The views of the
Sophists were not put into a definite and well de-
fined shape, and that is one of the reasons why
Grote has been able to show, with a good deal
of plausibility, that they had no common philo-
sophical Creed, but were merely men of unusual
culture and intelligence, who devoted themselves
to the task of teaching the young. It is quite
true that they did not form a school of philosophy
in the same sense in which we can speak of the
school of Plato, or Locke, or Kant. There were
no precisely formulated principles on which all

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

were agreed, and by which each was willing to
be tested. But the want of such definite principles
is one of the charges which we bring against
them. They were sceptical without clearly appre-
hending how sceptical they really were. There is
no difficulty in finding a modern parallel. Many
a clever newspaper editor or magazine writer will
tell you that he does not trouble himself to find
any philosophical basis for morality or religion,
not seeing that he is virtually committing himself
to the indefensible position, that society and con-
duct rest upon no foundation of ascertainable
truth. For if, as is implied, it is hopeless to seek
2^;y^ V^cxtl, truth, is it not plain that all is a matter of
VWVv»^ 'individual opinion, and that we " live in a vain
show " ? Now the Cyrenaics, whatever we may
think of their doctrine, at least had a doctrine.
They were not content with hazy views about
the nature of morality, but had the full courage
of their opinions, and sought to give them a
precise formulation satisfactory to the critical
intellect.

(i) The first thing in which they show their
superiority to the Sophists is in affirming that
there is one single end which all men seek, and
by reference to which every action must be
judged. This notion of a supreme end of life was
no doubt borrowed from Socrates, who was the

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC

first thinker to grasp it clearly. It is difficult for
us who are familiar with the idea to appreciate
its importance in the history of human thought.
It was as instrumental in introducing unity into
men's conceptions of human life as the idea of
g^ravitation in uniting all the phenomena of nature
in the bond of an all-pervasive law\ Previously
reflection had not got beyond the point of view,
that conduct consists of certain practical rules
which it is useful to practise. Socrates showed
that men's actions must be consciously or uncon-
sciously guided by their desire for something which
they regard as desirable, and that these rules
are simply the different ways in which, as they
believe, this one desirable end may be attained.
A man will not respect the gods unless he desires
to obtain their approbation ; he will not act justly
without being convinced that just acts will bring
satisfaction ; he will not obey the laws of his
country unless he believes that such obedience is
a good ; when he seeks for knowledge he tacitly
assumes that it is a thing to be desired to make
one wise. Thus, in every case, it is implied that
there is some desirable end, and it therefore be-
comes an important question what that end is.
The Cyrenaics, in affirming with Socrates that
there is a single end which all men seek, were
distinctly in advance of the Sophists, who merely

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

said that the special enactments of each State
rested upon convention.

(2) The Cyrenaics were also in advance of the
Sophists in formulating the doctrine that knowledge
is merely what appears to each man to be true,
and in giving definite reasons for denying that we
can have any knowledge of things in themselves.
Protagoras, indeed, had said that the perceptions
of a man vary according to his state at the time,
so that the same thing may be at one time hot
and at another time cold. Gorgias went further
and said that we can know nothing of the real
nature of things, but neither of these eminent
Sophists tried to justify his contention by showing
that it rests upon a law of human thought.

Aristippus, on the other hand, with the true
philosophical instinct which leads a man never to be
satisfied until he has found the principle on which
his statements are based, tried to show that what
we call knowledge is reducible to the immediate
convictions or feelings of the individual man.
His proof of the individualism of knowledge was
something like this : When I say that a piece of
sugar is sweet and white, what I really mean is
that it is sweet to my palate, and white to my
eyesight. People say that the sugar is sweet and
white, but their language is wanting in philo-
sophical precision. There are people who have

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC 25

no sense of taste, and people who cannot dis-
tinguish one colour from another. Now if the
sweetness or the whiteness were in the object, the
object would be sweet and white to every one
artd at all times. The inference is obvious, that
we do not know what is the nature of the object
in itself We are certainly aware of our own
feelings. When we taste or see a piece of sugar
we do not confuse sweetness with sourness, or
white with black. But this is very different from
saying that the sugar is sweet and white, not sour
and black. Again, while I am aware of my
feelings when I have them, I am not aware of
the feelings of any one else. I taste sugar and
say "this is sweet"; you taste it and say also
that it is sweet. But how can I prove to you,
or you to me, that we both mean the same thing
when we use the same word ^ sweet' I cannot
enter into your mind and become conscious of
the actual feeling which you have when you say
* sweet,' you cannot enter into my mind and
contemplate what goes on there. We use com-
mon names^ but such a thing as a common feeling
is an impossibility. A feeling shared in common
would not be a feeling, it would in fact be an
object of feeling to each of us, and each man's
consciousness of it would be a feeling, hence we
should be landed in the same difficulty again, for

26 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

you and I should both be aware or have a feeling
of that common feeling. Since then we cannot
possibly get beyond our own individual feelings,
it is useless to talk about the nature of things.
And from this Aristippus drew the inference,
perfectly correct inference from his premises,
.^i/v4.4 Vtftktx^hat the study of nature is a useless form of
activity. The only study worthy of a man is
the study of man, i.e. of the feelings of the
individual.

Now I can easily imagine some one saying
softly to himself, " What fools these philosophers
be ! They would persuade us out of our very
senses. Common-sense at once sets aside all such
elaborate trifling, it refuses to be taken in by non-
sense, and sticks to facts." And so the man who
plumes himself on his common-sense — by which he
means his ^/^common-sense — dismisses the whole
problem and falls back on his unreasoned convic-
tions. I am not going to defend the individualism
of the Cyrenaics. I hope to show, by and by,
that their theory of knowledge rests upon an
imperfect analysis of sensation, even from their
own point of view. But at this point I merely
wish to say that the Sophists' view of knowledge,
and much more the Cyrenaic view, is distinctly
in advance of the common-sense view. It would
be in advance were it for nothing else than

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC

that it is an attempt to explain the facts. If
we are to have a reasoned basis for our ideas
we must begin by subjecting everything which we
have been accustomed to regard as true and
sacred to the most thorough criticism.

.And hence Protagoras, in drawing attention to
the varying character of our sensible perceptions,
took one step beyond common-sense, while Aris-
tippus, in reducing our knowledge of things to
each man's immediate consciousness of his own
feelings, took a second and a more important step.
To the assumption of the unreflective mind that
each of us directly apprehends cold and heat,
sweet and bitter, hard and soft, as they are in
things, it was a perfectly legitimate objection to
say that that cannot be so, because of two
different persons one calls the same thing hot
and the other cold ; and it was a fair inference
from this, that the thing in itself is neither hot
nor cold, but that heat and cold are feelings or
states of the individual subject. In fact, not
only do the whole of the philosophical progeny of
the Sophists and Cyrenaics — our Lockes, Humes,
Mills, and Spencers — agree in denying that hot
and cold, hard and soft, etc., are in things as
they are felt by us, but they go even further, and
deny that there are any properties of things
corresponding to such feelings at all.

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

(3) The third point of distinction is that the
Cyrenaics expressly defined the end to be the
pleasure of the individual man. The Sophists
denied that there were any actions which could be
said to be absolute and unchangeable, but they
did not advance to the logical consequence of such
a doctrine, viz., that as law and morality are the
product of an expressed or tacit compact between
individuals, there must be some point of agree-
ment between individuals, something which induces
them to enter into the contract. What is that
point of agreement? What is the end which all
the members of a community alike are aiming at ?
The Cyrenaics, definitively raising the question,
went on to give a perfectly explicit answer to it.
The end, they said, is individual pleasure.

And manifestly no other answer would have been
consistent with the theory of knowledge which they
had adopted. If I know nothing about the nature
of things as they are in themselves, if I know
nothing of the character of the feelings of others,
but must simply assume that they are of the
same character as my own, my action must be
regulated by my own feelings, and by nothing
else. Why do I refrain from taking my neigh-
bour's property? Must it not be because my
feelings revolt against theft, because it would give
me pain to do it? Why do I show kindness to

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC

another, if not because in doing so I feel a glow
of pleasure ? If a man in acting justly or benevol-
ently always felt not pleasure but pain, is it con-
ceivable that he would act justly or benevolently?
Surely a man will do what he believes will bring
him satisfaction or pleasure. The end of all action,
then, must be the attainment of agreeable feeling.

Let us look more closely at this doctrine.
Our experience as individuals is always of our
own feelings. The Cyrenaics, in seeking to estab-
lish their hedonistic theory of the end, begin by
describing the nature of those feelings which lead
to action as distinguished from those which stand
to us for the properties of things.

I. All feeling, w^hether it takes the form of
sensation or the form of desire, is a sort of
movement. The movement may be either (i)
gentle and equable, or (2) rough and violent,
or (3) so weak as to be almost imperceptible.
To this three-fold division of feeling correspond
the three states of {a) Pleasure, {U) Pain, {c)
Indifference. The Cyrenaics evidently run together
the idea of a movement of the organism and
the consciousness of which that movement is
the condition. We may illustrate their meaning
by the contention of Mr. Haweis in his " Music
and Morals," that to every emotion there cor-
responds a mechanical vibration which is swifter

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

or slower according as the emotion is more or
less intense.

II. Which of these three sorts of feeling do
people as a matter of fact desire? Manifestly
the first. No one desires pain, no one desires
that state of feeling in which there is neither
pleasure nor pain, but every one desires pleasure,
and if it were possible he would wish to have
nothing but pleasure. Unless we suppose all
men to be totally perverted in their nature, the
good must be identical with pleasant, the evil
with painful, the indifferent with some neutral state
of feeling. The Cyrenaics, then, appeal to the
experience of every one in support of their con-
tention that pleasure alone is desirable. As a
matter of fact, they say, all men do seek plea-
sure, all men do avoid pain, and to neutral
feelings all men are indifferent. And you will
find, as we go on, that this appeal to experience,
this attempt to show that hedonism is a doctrine,
based upon fact, is a claim made by the modern
as well as the ancient exponents of the doctrine.

Without anticipating what has to be said about
modern hedonism, I may quote, by way of illustra-
tion, the words of John Stuart Mill. No reason,"
he says, " can be given why the general happiness
is desirable, except that each person, so far as
he believes it to be attainable, desires his own

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC 31

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 happi-
ness is a good, that each person's happiness is
a 'good to that person, and the general happiness,
therefore, a good to the aggregate of all persons."
Of course Mill's theory is much more developed
than the theory of the Cyrenaics ; in particular,
it draws a broad distinction between the happiness
or pleasure of the individual and the happiness
or pleasure of the community as a whole, but yet
it rests the proof that pleasure is the end on an
appeal to each individual to say whether he does
not, as a matter of fact, regard pleasure as the
one thing desirable.

Let us then grant to the Cyrenaic, by way of
argument, these three positions — (i) that we are,
and can only be, conscious of our own individual
feelings; (2) that the feelings which incite us to
action are either pleasurable, or painful, or neutral;
and (3) that every one does, in point of fact,
desire pleasure, and by his very nature cannot
desire anything else ; that he does and cannot but
seek to avoid pain, and that he is indifferent to
a feeling that is neither pleasant nor painful. The
next question is this : Admitting that the good
which our nature prompts us to seek is pleasure,
and the evil which our nature causes us to avoid

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

is pain, while we are indifferent to neutral feeling,
what is the highest good ? how shall we obtain the
end of which we are in search ? We certainly
desire pleasure, but we may seek it in a wrong
way, and so may fail to secure it. What, then,
is the right way to seek it ? The answer of
Aristippus is perfectly plain and unambiguous.
Some thinkers had said that pleasure is not a
positive feeling at all ; that it is merely the sense
of repose or tranquillity, which ensues upon relief
from pain. Thus a man who is thirsty feels
pleasure when his thirst is allayed by a glass of
water ; a man who has taken a long walk experi-
ences a feeling of relief when he sits down to
rest; a man, who has been closely confined to his
room for a number of hours, experiences a feeling
of elation when he goes out into the fresh air
and puts his cramped muscles into active play.
But Aristippus will not admit that pleasure is of
this negative character, it is not mere relief from
pain, but something positive. Nor, again, does
he mean that the pleasure at which we are to
aim is the greatest amount of pleasure that can
be extracted from life on the whole. That is a
conception which belongs to a later and more
developed stage of hedonism. The pleasure which,
if we are wise, we shall seek, is the pleasure
which lies directly in our way. Our aim must

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC 33

be to snatch the pleasure of the passing moment.
Away with all vain regrets for vanished joys, and
equally vain anticipations of joys to be ! The past
is beyond recall, and the future turns out quite dif-
ferent from what we expected it to be. Sufficient
unto the day is the pleasure thereof. This view
is not inaptly expressed by Horace, in words
thus paraphrased by Allan Ramsay —

" Let neist day come as it thinks fit,
The present minute's only ours ;
On pleasure let's employ our wit,
And laugh at fortune's feckless powers.'^

Is there, then, no such thing as pleasure which
is intrinsically evil in its nature? Aristippus
plainly answers that to call any pleasure an evil
is a contradiction in terms. Pleasure is always a
good and always desirable. People suppose that
pleasures differ in their nature because they pro-
ceed from different sources. Thus it is said that
the pleasures of the mind are higher than the
pleasures of the body. But there is no ground
for such a distinction. All pleasure is of the same
nature as a feeling, no matter what the source
from which it comes. Nor is it a valid ground of
distinction to say that the pleasure which certain
persons receive from the violation of law and
custom are evil in their nature. Because a man

receives pleasure from running counter to law and

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

custom, that is no reason for saying that the pleasure
is bad, although it may be a sufficient reason for
condemning his action. We have now before us
the hedonistic view of life in its first and, so to
speak, unsophisticated form. The qualifications
and explanations which it afterwards received at the
hands of Aristippus himself, and of other thinkers
of the Cyrenaic school, gave it a much greater
degree of subtlety and plausibility, but they de-
stroyed its natural vigour and simplicity. It will
therefore be most profitable to examine it in its
original and simpler form.

I. When we consider the advance made by
the Cyrenaics beyond the Sophists, we cannot
fail to be struck by the wonderful self-devel-
oping power of a new thought. Ideas, as Luther
said, are " living things with hands and feet."
A man strikes out a new idea the force of
which he only half comprehends, and which
he holds along with a mass of older ideas
inconsistent with it ; other men take hold of it,
turn it round and round, looking at it on all sides,
and lo ! before they are aware, it has changed
under their eyes. So it was with the germinal
idea of the Sophists, that law and morality are
the rules which a particular state regards as
most advantageous for itself. In the mind of
Protagoras this thought no more carried with

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC

it the destruction of all authority than the similar
idea of the so-called " practical man of to-day,
that the great thing in life is to " get on/' or
the favourite view of the politician that the aim
of statesmanship is to keep his party in power.
In the one case as in the other a man persuades
himself, and usually persuades others, that the
principle on which he acts is perfectly compatible
with the sanctity of human life, and with the stability
of society and of the state. But history, more
logical than the individual, insists on carrying
out an idea to its consequences. If law and
morality proceed from the shifting opinions of
the people, what is that but to say that it has
no foundation other than the immediate convictions
of an aggregate of individuals. The individuals
comprising the state may so far effect a compromise
as to agree to a certain curtailment of their im-
mediate desires, but to one who presses home
this question. Why should a man obey the laws
of his country ? there can be but one answer :
he should obey them because it will be best for
himself.

Thus, in the realm of thought at least, which
is usually freer from the spirit of compromise than
the realm of practice, individualism comes to reign
supreme ; after the unformulated individualism of
a Protagoras we have the formulated individualism

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

of a Thrasymachus. But even yet thought has
not done its perfect work. If society is nothing
but " anarchy plus the street constable," if the fear
of law is the hangman's whip to haud the wretch
in order," we must seize firmly and clearly the
twin principles, that knowledge is what each man
finds in his own sensible perception, and morality
the desire for pleasure on the part of the individual
man. Hence we have the Cyrenaic reduction of
all we know and all we do to feeling. Individualism
in no longer implicit but explicit ; it is no longer
" wrapt in a robe of rhetoric " but stands forth
naked and unashamed before the eyes of all men.

2. Are we then compelled to adopt the Cyrenaic
view of knowledge ? Is there no escape from the
doctrine that a man's sensations are but the mirag e
of reality ? That there is no escape on the principle
of individualism is demonstrable. It is certain that
my feelings are not as feelings identical with those
of anybody else, and if I am absolutely limited in
my knowledge to my feelings I cannot say that
the nature of the object is such as it appears to
me to be. So far we must commend the consist-
ency of Aristippus. His scepticism is the legiti-
mate outcome of the Protagorean theory of the
sensible.

One cannot both " have his cake and eat it " in
the realm of thought any more than in actual life.

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC 37

It will not do to say with Protagoras that the thing
changes with the changing sensations of the indi-
vidual, and yet to talk as if we could know things
as they are. But Aristippus, while he is in advance
of Protagoras, makes a remarkable oversight. He
fails to distinguish between such properties as
colour, taste, heat, sound, and smell, as states of
the organism, and properties like extension, motion,
and weight, which are not dependent for their
character upon the organism. His objection to
the possibility of a knowledge of the properties of
things is perfectly general. A man puts a finger
of either hand into the same water, and the one
feels hot, the other cold, but the water cannot be
both hot and cold, therefore we do not know the
real properties of things at all. Such is the reason-
ing of Aristippus. Bnt it rests upon a fallacy. It
is quite possible, as Locke has said, that colour and
taste, etc., are merely sensations in us, to which
nothing in the object corresponds, while yet ex-
tension and weight are apprehended by us just as
they exist in the object. Colour or sound, he will
tell you, does not exist in external nature as it
seems to do, but is merely the effect of the move-
ment of certain minute particles of matter. The
infinite number of atoms comprising the sun are
thrown into violent agitation, a wave movement
thrills along the ethereal medium and strikes upon

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

the eye, in response to which a vibration flies along
the ocular nerve to the brain and there calls up
the sensation of a luminous body. But while light
is thus a feeling in the percipient subject, there
could be no such feeling unless there were extended
moving material particles.

This is the general view of the man of
science. I do not vouch for its absolute cor-
rectness, but at least it draws a distinction that
lay beyond the ken of Aristippus. Until it is
shown that extension, mobility, and weight are
not properties of things but are only our way of
apprehending things, knowledge cannot be said to
be purely of appearance, and should the distinction
between colour and extension, light and motion,
hardness and weight, be done away, the next ques-

c^^^ jt^ I-Jqj^ ^jU whether the sensationalist can consist-
«-<'^v^. W^ently speak of things at all. I shall not follow out

v«V^ WT theory of conduct of the Cyrenaics that we have

mainly to deal, not with their theory of knowledge.
So much it seemed necessary to say, because
hedonism rests upon the assumption that the mind
may be resolved into a number of individual
feelings ; but having seen that the matter is not so
simple as Aristippus supposed, we may now go on
to ask how far the theory that pleasure is the
mainspring of human action holds good.

further, because it is with the

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC

3. Pleasure is the one thing desirable, pain is
the one thing objectionable, and all else is desir-
able or undesirable according as pleasure or pain is
associated with it. In support of this contention
each man is bid to look into his own breast, and
to say if he ever desired pain, or even the ab-
sence of all feeling ; and if he would not prefer,
were it possible, to be continually in a state of
pleased enjoyment. Hence it is concluded that
pleasure must be the end. It is very important
that we should see clearly all that is implied in
this appeal to experience. Observe that Aristippus
says not merely that every one desires pleasure
and avoids pain, but he says that he cannot desire
anything else. But may we not admit that men
desire pleasure, without admitting that there is
nothing higher than pleasure which they desire
still more ?

Mark ' well the logical consequences of the
assertion that pleasure is the end of life. It
means not merely that, other things being equal,
men do and ought to seek pleasure, but that,
whether other things are equal or not, they do
and ought to seek it. That is to say, that if
there is a conflict between one's love of pleasure
and the demands of others, the former must and
ought to prevail, unless it so happens that a man
will get more pleasure by considering others than

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

by considering only himself. A poor man, for
example, with the same craving for pleasure as
the rich, works hard from morning to night to
provide food and clothing and shelter for his
wife and family, and we must conclude, on the
principles of Aristippus, that he does so because
he gets pleasure from doing it, not because he
desires the well-being of his wife and family.
The pleasure of the man himself is first, the good
of others second. But there are such persons as
tramps and loafers, who take more pleasure in
leading a lazy, shiftless, vagabond life than in
submitting to the life of the hard-working husband
and father. What are we to say of the loafer?
He also, let us say, has a wife and family ; will
he take pleasure in working for them ? By no
means : that is the " last infirmity " of ignoble
minds ; he will almost rather starve himself The
loafer then takes his pleasure in loafing. But
he is doing just what the hedonistic Aristippus
tells him to do. It is useless to say to him " go
and dig — for pleasure " ; the prospect has no
charms for his miserable soul ; you may talk to
him- of a starving wife and family, but he is
much more affected by his own craving for whisky,
and in that he will seek his pleasure. Instances
need not be multiplied. The statesman and the
demagogue, the upright and the unscrupulous

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC 41

tradesman, the honest and the time-serving work-
man, the respectable and the Hcentious man, all
as we must suppose are seeking for pleasure, and
for nothing else. The end is pleasure, and each
in his own way is aiming at it, and aiming at
nothing else. It is true that pleasure may some-
times be found, sometimes not, but that does
not change the character of the motive. There
is no end but pleasure which a man does seek
or should seek, and therefore the actions of every-
body are morally on the same level. Virtue and

4. The end, according to Aristippus, is pleasure.
But pleasure may not be found if we seek it in
a wrong way. By a " wrong way," Aristippus
does not mean of course morally wrong, but only
wrong in the sense that we may defeat our own
end. How then is pleasure to be found ? By
excluding all reflection, and making the most
of the present moment. The " pale cast of
thought " must not be allowed to diminish our
joy by giving rise to vain regrets for the past,
or vain anticipations of pain or pleasure in the
future. As Byron, in his mocking way, puts it —

vice are unmeaning terms. I do not think
this can be a true theory.

" Carpe diein^ . Juan, carpe, carpe^
To-morrow sees another race as gay
And transient, and devoured by the same harpy."

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

But (i) the theory virtually admits that to
obtain the end we must not seek it. We desire
pleasure, but when we set about getting it, we
are compelled to entertain unwelcome and unex-
pected guests. He that increaseth knowledge
increaseth sorrow. The more we reflect on the
past and forecast the future the less contented we
are. Let us " take the goods the gods provide "
us, and make the most of them. Self-restraint
in the matter of reflection on human life, our own
or others, is essential to that cheerfulness and
buoyancy of feeling at which we should aim.
We are virtually told to seek pleasure by not
seeking it. " The longest way round is the
shortest way home.'' Should we deliberately seek
for pleasure we shall defeat our own end. The
only sensible thing to do is not to seek it, but
to take as much of it as we can get when it
comes. But that is much the same as saying,
the end of life is to have no end.

How can we attain this contented and cheerful
frame of mind which has no regrets and no
anticipations ? Must it not be by suppressing
our natural tendency to " look before and after,"
and refusing to go beyond the good of the
moment? But such a resolute avoidance of the past
and future is not to be attained without a struggle.
For the very injunction, " Seize the moment,"

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC 43

implies that man naturally reaches beyond the
moment and projects himself into the past and the
future. Now, how can it be shown that in the
struggle the end will not be sacrificed ? Should
it happen that the tendency to reflection is
unusually strong in a man, may he not destroy
all, or almost all, the pleasure he might have
had by trying to belie his natural inclination ?
And why should he try? May he not get more
satisfaction in the pleasures of memory and the
pleasure* of hope than another contrives to extract
from the pleasures of experience ? What is true
of the man of reflection is true of the most light-
b ea d ed Autolycus that ever skipped along the
highway of life. If you leave him to find pleasure
in his own way, he may be moderately pleased,
but you must not introduce disunion into his mind
by telling him to seek to live in the moment.
Thus we reach the dilemma ; either {a) momentary
pleasure ' is an end that cannot be reached, or
{b) it is an end that comes without being sought.
In the former case it is useless to seek for it
because it cannot be found, in the latter case it
is superfluous to seek for it because it comes
without being sought ; on either alternative there
is no end at all, unless we call that an end which
cannot possibly be realized or that can only be
realized by making something else the end.

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

(2) The source of the contradiction to which at-
tention has just been called is a misinterpretation of
the facts. Every one, it is said, as a matter of fact,
desires pleasure and wishes to avoid pain, and
his actions are and must be determined by the
desire to obtain pleasure and to avoid pain. I
deny that. We all feel that there are things
which we should choose even if no pleasure came
from them. Sometimes, with faint and lagging
spirit, but with the determination to do his best,
a man goes to his duty as the martyr goes to
the stake. He anticipates not pleasure but pain,
and he gets what he anticipates.

(3) Not only is this true, but I further maintain
that no action which can be called a man's own
is done out of regard for pleasure and nothing
but pleasure. I shall be reminded that there is
such a person as the pleasure-seeker. No doubt,
but even he is not seeking pleasure for itself, he
is seeking to still the immortal craving to realize
himself, to find the means of speaking peace to
his own spirit. He cannot avoid framing an
ideal of himself and seeking to make it an (actual
experience. And so he tries one mean^ satis-
faction after another ; he chases the bubble of
pleasure only to find it elude him ; he increases
his efforts, but they only bring him disappoint-
ment and at last despair. Try as he please he

ARISTIPPUS THE CYRENAIC

cannot get rid of the ideal of himself because it
is part of his divine nature. Why is the pursuit
of pleasure admittedly so unsatisfactory a quest?
* It is not because the pleasure which is anticipated
is not obtained ; the pleasure is obtained ; but
when it is found it " leaves a bad taste in the
mouth," to use Thackeray's phrase ; the " thirst
that from the soul doth rise " is still unslaked,
and still the vision of an ideal good floats before
the imagination. An animal is not troubled by W-^^
such visions, but is perfectly contented with what
comes to it; man cannot rest in the finite, but^*'^
eternally strives after the infinite. That reflection
which comprehends the past, the present, and the
future in one glance, and which, to Aristippus,
seemed a mere superfluity and a mistake, is in
reality a hint of all that is highest in man.

Suppose that any race of people could act
on the Cyrenaic principle, that contentment with
whatever chances to fall to one's lot is true wis-
dom, what would be the result ? The result would
be spiritual death, absolute stagnation, the com-
plete arrest of all that makes for progress in
morality, law, and religion. Nothing could be
learned from the past, because we can learn from
the past only by taking to heart the mistakes and
failures we have made ; the future would have no
message for us, since we are forbidden to move

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

about in " worlds not realized " ; our life would be
a dull round of acts performed with monotonous
regularity and with complete absence of intelligent
foresight and aftersight. Wearied and worn with
the stifled yearnings after a higher life, we
should at length be compelled in sheer self-
defence to strike off the fetters which we had
ourselves forged and fashioned on our spirits ; or
despair would drive us to the deep, where, as we
might hope, the restless strivings of a useless
life might be stilled for ever.

CHAPTER III
EPICURUS

The theory of Aristippus, that the highest good is
to make the most of the fleeting moment, to live
intensely in each pleasure as it comes, we have
found to be self-contradictory, and untrue at once
to the facts of human life and to the deeper nature
of man. For, on the one hand, it tells us to seek
for pleasure and yet to exclude all reflection, and,
on the other hand, it affirms that men always do
seek pleasure, and that there is no higher end in
life, both propositions being demonstrably unten-
able. The main feature which separates the hedon-
ism of Aristippus from later forms of the doctrine
is its attempt to banish thought in all its forms as
a foreign element, which has no right to obtrude
itself into the consciousness of man. Such an
effort to ignore what constitutes the very essence
and nobility of human nature could at best succeed
only for a time, and hence we find that in Epicurus,

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

on whose shoulders the mantle of Aristippus fell,
the existence and necessity of reflection is frankly
accepted as a fact that must be taken due note
of and embodied in a true theory of human
conduct.

The end is still held to be pleasure, but pleasure
that needs to be sought with care and foresight.
How best to make life most pleasant on the whole
is therefore the main task of philosophy as Epi-
curus conceives of it. Epicurus does not ignore
or seek to stifle reflection, but he tries to bring it
under the yoke of a narrow and limited practical
end. For the 'speculative thought which has no
other aim than the discovery of truth he cares
nothing ; what he desires is to get a working
theory which shall enable a man to get out of life
all that is best in it. Ethics is the sole study
that in his inmost soul he thinks worthy of serious
attention, and by ethics he means a practical creed
that will tell a man how best to live in peace and
tranquillity. His problem is. What is that kind of
conduct which will bring me as an individual the
greatest satisfaction ?

The great speculative thinkers of Greece —
Socrates and Plato and Aristotle — never divorced
the two questions : ( i ) What is the highest good
of the individual ? (2) What is the highest good of
the state ? for to them, to answer the former was

EPICURUS

to answer the latter. To Epicurus, and equally to
Zeno, the chief of the rival school of the Stoics,
^ the problem of ethics was, How am I as an
individual to find the highest satisfaction possible
in a world that is foreign to me ?

Why such a change in the point of view from
which life was contemplated should have taken
place it is easy to understand. The eflfect of the
Macedonian conquests was to destroy the old civic
constitutions of Greece and with them the freedom
and public spirit of the people. At the end of the
fourth century B.C., Athens was alternately a prey
to the Macedonian successors of Alexander, and
to tyrants like Demetrius. Material prosperity she
still enjoyed, but all that makes a people great
had vanished, — sovereignty, patriotism, and vigorous
intellectual and religious life. It is not surprising,
therefore, that Epicurus and Zeno, differing so
widely in their respective theories of life — the one
making pleasure the end, and the other virtue —
should yet agree in placing wisdom in tranquillity
of the individual soul. ''Fallen on evil days," men
had to retire into themselves, and seek in their
own minds for the satisfaction which was denied
to them in public life. Hence we are led to
think of Epicurus, to borrow Plato's figure, as
taking shelter under a wall from the rain-storm of
civic commotion.

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

The whole philosophy of Epicurus is of the
nature of a compromise. He cannot deny the im-
portance of reflection as a factor in human conduct,
and yet he will not allow it to follow its own law,
and to go straight to its mark. Reducing all know-
ledge to the flux of individual feelings, and holding
that we can never get beyond the walls of the
" closely shut cell of our subjective personality,"
he boldly affirmed that the study of nature was use-
less, because the secret meaning of nature cannot
be discovered by man. Epicurus, agreeing with
Aristippus in the reduction of all direct knowledge
of the external world to sensation, was yet haunted
by the doubt that nature might rudely break into
the citadel of the soul and disturb its serenity,
and so he felt compelled to show that we know
enough of nature to teach us that it cannot be
hostile to our peace of mind.

The earlier thinkers consistently refused, having
defined knowledge as the feeling of the moment, to
go beyond the moment in search of the end of
life ; the later, with less logic but more truth,
affirmed that just in the power of transcending
the moment and grasping the idea of life as
a whole, lies the possibility of making life
worth living. Aristippus says, ^ Throw away all
theory and live in present feeling ' ; Epicurus
says, ' Let theory be strictly subordinate to

EPICURUS

practice.' We need not be surprised, then, to find
that the doctrine of Epicurus is destitute of the
^ simple vigour of his predecessor ; but we may be
sure also that it mingles truth and falsehood in
ampler proportions.

Bearing carefully in mind that the aim of
Epicurus is to construct a theory that will bring
peace to the individual soul, and that in science
for its own sake he has no interest, we may now
go on to show how his philosophy differs from
that of his predecessor.

(i) First of all Epicurus has a theory of the
nature of things, the theory which has been made
familiar to us from the noble poem of his Roman
follower Lucretius. For the naive view of Aris-
tippus, that we cannot know anything about the
nature of the external world, he substitutes the
theory, borrowed from Democritus of old, that matter
is composed of an infinite number of minute ^"^-"^ H.;^
particles or atoms, the sole properties of which are \tvi
size, shape, and weight, and which have existed
from all eternity. This theory Epicurus was led
to adopt, because it seemed to him to disprove the
popular belief that the gods intermeddled in human
affairs. The superstition of supernatural inter-
ference had to be got rid of, if man was to be
freed from the dread of beings more powerful than
himself ; and the atomic theory, as he conceived it.

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

apparently opened up an admirable way of escape.
Granted an eternity of time in which all the
possible combinations of atoms may occur, and an
infinite number of atoms "ruining along the illimit-
able inane" of space, and we can explain as it
seemed to him, on purely mechanical principles,
the apparent design implied in the exquisite
symmetry of a flower, the flexibility and grace of
an animal or a man, and even the survival of
certain forms of social organisation. In infinite
time an infinity of possible combinations of atoms
must have occurred infinitely often, and naturally
those aggregates, the particles of which have most
affinity for one another, proved to be the most
stable, and survived when others, like the changing
forms of a kaleidoscope, died in the moment of
their birth. Thus a vast number of bodies were
originally thrown up from the earth's bosom, but,
not having the means of nutrition or self-defence,
they individually perished.

This doctrine bears a general resemblance to
the Darwinian account of the origin of species, but
it differs fundamentally in this, that it takes no
account of the slow and gradual accumulation of
slight increments of differences in successive in-
dividuals as the great lever of evolution.

Assuming, then, that all things have arisen from
a " fortuitous concourse of atoms," can we tell the

EPICURUS

manner in which the various combinations have
taken place ? Democritus had held that the atoms
must from all eternity have been falling directly
downwards through infinite space with various
degrees of velocity, and that in colliding with one
another, rotatory movements were set up, from
which the bodies now scattered through space were
formed. But as Aristotle had pointed out that in
a vacuum all bodies must fall at the same rate,
and, therefore, would never come in contact, Epi-
curus, with that simplicity of theoretical intellect
which is characteristic of the narrowly " practical "
man, modified the doctrine of Democritus so far as
to say that the atoms were capable of a slight
deflection from the line of perpendicular descent,
and so were brought into collision with one
another. Lucretius with admirable simplicity adds
that we have an instance of such deflection from
the straight path in our own actions when we
swerve aside from an original impulse.

The sole original contribution of Epicurus to
this theory, the supposition that the atoms have a
power of spontaneous deflection, is not such as
to call forth much respect for his scientific temper.
In fact, so far from saying with M. Renan, that
Epicureanism was " the great scientific school of
antiquity," we must say that the founder of the
school was as unscientific as he was unspeculative.

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

The basis of all science is the inviolability of
natural lavv^, and this very inviolability seemed to
Epicurus to be even more objectionable than a
supernatural interference with the course of nature,
since the gods may be propitiated, while Fate or
Necessity is deaf to the prayers of man. The
atomic doctrine he therefore introduced merely to
banish the gods from the sphere of human life.
The gods are immortal and live a life of perfect
blessedness, but, absolutely sufficient to themselves,
they do not seek to interfere in the changing course
of events in the world, nor have they any influence
on the movements of the heavenly bodies. In fact,
they are themselves composed of material atoms
that have come together by chance.

The Epicurean idea of the divine nature is
beautifully expressed by Tennyson in his Lucretius,
where he speaks of

" The gods, who haunt
The lucid interspace of world and world,
Where never creeps a cloud, or moves a wind,
Nor ever falls the least white star of snow,
Nor ever lowest roll of thunder moans,
Nor sound of human sorrow mounts to mar
Their sacred everlasting calm."

Having banished the gods to the spaces between
the infinity of worlds, Epicurus seemed at first to
have left men to govern their own life. But in
fleeing from one difficulty he stumbled upon an-

EPICURUS

» other. For is it not worse to be dragged in the
dust behind the triumphal car of a merciless
necessity than to be the sport of supernatural
beings, who at least have something in their nature
of human tenderness? Pressed by this difficulty
we may be sure that Epicurus eagerly welcomed
the flaw in the atomic doctrine of Democritus
already referred to and was only too glad to
modify it by the view of spontaneous self-move-
ment in the atoms. For admitting such spontaneity,
it seems credible that in man also there is a certain
freedom of movement enabling him to do what is
best for his own felicity.

Thus Epicurus sets up the mechanical doctrine
of atomism to get rid of supernatural interference
with human life, and he denies pure mechanism to
make room for human freedom.

(2) A second difference between Epicurus and
Aristippus is that the former has a theory of the
ultimate nature of man as a being composed of
soul and body. In saying that pleasure, pain, and
indifference are respectively gentle, rough, and
equable movements, Aristippus confuses feeling with
its bodily conditions — i,e, he draws no distinction
between soul and body. Epicurus clearly dis-
tinguishes them, although his theory of their nature
is such as to allow of no essential difference. All
existing things are composed of material atoms,

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

and the only difference between soul and body
is in the relative fineness of the soul's particles,
and the manner of their composition. For the
soul is made up of the four elements of air, fire,
wind, and another element to which no name is
given ; all of these being atoms of the finest
texture.

Epicurus' interest in the constitution of the soul,
as in other forms of existence, is mainly practical.
One of the most disturbing influences in the
life of man is the fear of death and of future
punishment.

" The dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourne
No traveller returns "

puzzles the will. But if the soul can be shown to
be perishable like the body, that dread need no
longer haunt us, and we shall be able to make
the most of the present life.

Now the mortality of the soul seemed to
Epicurus to follow from its very nature ; for its
particles being held together solely by the body,
must be separated and dispersed when " the earthly
house of this tabernacle is dissolved." The only
other fear that remains to be combated is the
natural shrinking from death ; but this Epicurus
tries to reason away by saying, as has often been
said since, that there can be nothing very dreadful

EPICURUS 57

in death, since it cannot come to us so long as
we feel, and when we cease to feel we can know
nothing at all. " When we are, death is not ;
when death is, we are not.'"'

Thus by the removal of the superstitious dread
of supernatural interference, and of the awful
shadow of an immortality of darkness and despair,
Epicurus thinks that he has satisfactorily prepared
the way for his cheerful view of the life that
now is.

(3) Epicurus expressly advises his followers to
abstain from participation in public life, and, with
less decision, not to form family ties. Even when
a man has learned not to seek to pass beyond
the "flaming rampart of the world"; when he
has severely circumscribed his desires within the
clouded sphere of his earthly life, refusing to
permit his mind to "wander through eternity";
the possible sources of discomfort have not yet
been exhausted. The wise man must not only
be free from the restless ambition for place and
power of the professional politician, but he should
take no active interest in affairs of state, but con-
tent himself with " cultivating his garden." Let
others frame laws ; enough for him is obedience
to the laws that are framed.

The kind of life that to Epicurus seemed best
is that which was led by the brotherhood which

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

he founded, perhaps in imitation of Pythagoras.
In a garden situated in the outskirts of Athens,
a small body of men and women bound together
in friendship by similarity of tastes and their
belief in a common doctrine, walked and talked,
living a simple and natural life, discoursing on
philosophy, and letting the great world go -e¥i- its
way. Perhaps we cannot better describe the life
of Epicurus and his friends than by saying that
it was the uneventful and leisured life of a small
university in which rivalries and ambitions were dis-
solved in reverence for a loved teacher, and into
which no disturbing spirit, burning with a sense of
the wrongs and woes of humanity, was permitted
to enter. A quiet, dreamy, cloistered life it was,
ennobled by an air of antique grace and refinement.

The Epicurean conception of life is not one to
commend itself to daring and original spirits. The
contrast between the prim and formal habits of
this community and the popular notions of Epi-
cureanism as the wild Bacchanalian revelry of roy-
stering blades, or the fastidious selfishness of the
epicure, had already struck Seneca in his day.
" When the stranger," says Seneca, " comes to the
gardens on which the words are inscribed, — 'Friend,
here it will be well for thee to abide ; here plea-
sure is the highest good,' — he will find the keeper
of that garden a kindly, hospitable man, who will

^ EPICURUS 59

set before him a dish of barley porridge and
water in plenty, and say, ' Hast thou not been
well entertained ? These gardens do not whet
hunger, but quench it ; they do not cause a greater
thirst by the very drinks they afford, but soothe
it by a remedy which is natural and costs nothing.' "
" Give me a barley cake and water," said Epicurus,
and I am ready to vie even with Zeus in happi-
ness." Whatever may be the demerits of Epicure-
anism as conceived by its founder, it certainly did
not err by ministering to the pleasures of sense.

Nevertheless, (4), it is the basis of the Epi-
curean doctrine that, not only is all pleasure good,
but that all pleasures are ultimately pleasures of
sense. To Aristippus any distinction of bodily and
mental pleasures would have been irrelevant, for
the end he conceived to lie in filling up the
measure of the present with vivid feelings, and
as feelings all pleasures are alike. Epicurus, how-
ever, in distinguishing between " flesh " and " spirit,"
mind and body, is compelled to admit either that
there are two conflicting ends — {a) bodily pleasure
and {U) mental pleasure — or to reduce one to the
other ; and, as his psychology did not admit of
any radical distinction between body and soul, he
naturally affirmed that all pleasures are at bottom
pleasures of the senses.

In truth there can be no real distinction for

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

Epicurus between, say, a pleasure of the palate,
the pleasure felt in listening to fine music, and the
pleasure of intellectual activity ; the only difference
he can allow is, that sensuous and aesthetic plea-
sures are immediately excited by the impact of
the external thing, while miental pleasure is due
to the excitation of fainter images of sensuous
pleasures. Hence it seemed to Epicurus, if we
may accept the testimony of Cicero, that the
pleasures of the mind are more refined than those
of the body, because, as capable of being felt in
the absence of the external stimulus, and as freed
from the pain that may have accompanied their
original presentation, they afford a prolonged and
a painless gratification.

Accordingly, (5), when Epicurus goes on to define
wherein true pleasure consists — the pleasure which
is the end of life — he tells us that it consists in
serenity of mind, and that it can only be obtained
by the wise man who is ready to reject immediate
gratification in favour of a permanent and tran-
quil satisfaction. The wise man, accustomed to
look at life as a whole, does not, as Aristippus
held, eagerly snatch at whatever pleasure presents
itself, but so orders his life that he is disturbed
neither by intense pleasure nor by intense pain.
His aim is to be independent of all vicissitudes
of fortune, and to be continually in a state of

EPICURUS

calmness and serenity. Hence his main pleasures
will be those of memory and imagination, and
those pleasures of sense that do not excite beyond
measure. Many pleasures he will resolve to forego,
because they are incompatible with the highest
good, the attainment of a painless and equable
serenity, and he will even cheerfully welcome a
less pain for a greater future pleasure.

So far does Epicurus carry this principle as to
maintain that the wise man even on the rack may
say, " How sweet!" For having banished all dread
of destiny, and all superstitious fears of a future
world ; aware, moreover, that nothing can come
to him that need disturb his self-centred calm, he
can afford to despise bodily pain, which he knows
to be but momentary and evanescent. Thus, by a
circuitous route, Epicurus reaches the same con-
clusion as the Stoics, that true felicity is to be
found in that peace of mind which is independent
of the " slings and arrows of outrageous fortune."

(6) Epicurus tries to show that his theory of
pleasure as the highest good is consistent with
the virtues of temperance, courage, justice, and
friendship.

(a) Temperance, or self-restraint in all its forms,
is in a sense a name for the whole of virtue.
The end is pleasure, but that end can be attained
only by excluding all the sources of disquiet and

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

dissatisfaction. Epicurus therefore preaches the
virtue of contentment with the worldly goods which
fortune may bring us, and praises the simple and
frugal life of the man of small means. The rich he
enjoins to remember that with the loss of fortune
all is not lost ; the necessary wants of man are
few, and no one need lose his peace of mind
who can get a piece of bread and a glass of
water.

(^) Courage, in its old heroic sense of the glad
willingness to face pain and death for one's home
and fatherland, is not a virtue that could be incor-
porated in the Epicurean system without modifica-
tion. A doctrine which found the highest wisdom
in indifference to public life, and in freedom from
the ties of family, could not attach much import-
ance to enthusiastic devotion to one's home and
country. Accordingly, courage is limited to the
cheerful endurance of immediate pain by the remem-
brance or anticipation of ideal pleasure.

{c) Justice is simply a form of enlightened self-
interest. Epicurus expressly denies that Injustice
is in itself evil ; it is inconsistent with the perfect
life only because the fear of possible punishment
by society destroys a man's serenity. In the
orthodox creed drawn up by Epicurus himself, and
which his followers were asked to learn by rote,
we find these articles: (i) "Justice is by nature

EPICURUS 63

a contract for the prevention of aggression ; (2)
Justice does not exist among animals which are
unable, nor among tribes of men who are unwill-
ing, to enter into such a contract ; (3) Apart
from contract, Justice has no existence ; (4) In-
justice is not an evil in itself, but only through
the dread of punishment which it produces ; (5)
No man who stealthily evades the contract to
abstain from natural aggressions can be sure of
escaping detection."

id) Friendship, as it will readily be understood,
occupies a large place in the Epicurean picture of
the perfect life. This virtue in the mind of Epi-
curus is the sole form of the sympathetic emotions
which it is wise to cultivate. Primarily, indeed, it
is described, from the purely individualistic point
of view, as valuable because it is needed to com-
plete a man's happiness. But, as usual, Epicurus
sacrifices consistency to his real goodness of heart.
The friendship which gives a charm to life does
not think of itself, but only of its object. As
Professor Bain puts it : " The giver should not ex-
pect compensation, and should nevertheless obtain it."
As a matter of fact the members of the Epicurean
brotherhood were remarkable for the tenderness
and fidelity of their friendships, a fact which is no
doubt partly due to the natural equanimity of
temper of its members, but partly also to the

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

influence of the philosophical doctrine which they
made the guide of their lives.

On this doctrine of Epicurus one or two general
remarks may be made :

(l) In its theoretical aspect it is manifestly a
veiled scepticism. To construct a hypothesis in
regard to the nature of things, not for the purpose
of explaining nature but to get rid of the dread
of supernatural beings, can only lead to scepticism.
If it is true, as Epicurus affirms, that there are
different and even contradictory ways of explaining
natural phenomena, what is that but to say that
any science of nature is impossible ? No doubt it
is possible to apprehend what is true without seeing
that there is a higher truth which transcends and
includes it. There is, for example, nothing con-
tradictory of the law of gravitation in the common-
sense observation that bodies which are unsupported
fall to the ground, and yet the one truth was
known long before the other. But to say that
the law of gravitation sometimes operates and
sometimes does not is to deny law altogether.
Such contradictions Epicurus not only was prepared
to accept, but he rejoiced in them.

We have seen that after banishing the gods
and reducing all the phenomena of nature to the
unconscious movements of material atoms, he con-
tradicts himself with an equanimity worthy of his

EPICURUS

own imperturbable gods, by saying that after all
the movements of atoms are not purely mechanical
but involve a degree of spontaneity. Now, if
Epicurus may thus modify his mechanical theory
of nature as he thinks fit, manifestly we may with
the same right deny it altogether. A theory which
holds good only at the will of its author is a mere
guess, and has no scientific value whatever. But
with the denial of the atomic theory the concealed
scepticism of the whole Epicurean philosophy be-
comes clearly visible. For if that is an untenable
hypothesis, what becomes of the dread of divine
interference, to destroy which it was invented ?
Must not that dread return in its full force, and
overturn the scientific bulwark that has been thrown
up to exclude it ? Thus the denial of any real
knowledge of nature leads on Epicurus' own show-
ing to the overthrow of his theory of life.

(2) It may be said, however, that at least there
is truth in the ethical doctrine of Epicurus, what-
ever may be said of the weakness of his philosophy
of nature. That a theory which has commended
•itself to some of the acutest minds of all ages
contains a measure of truth I should be the last
to deny. But the question for us to decide is
whether the principle which it proclaims, or the
principle which it tacitly assumes, is the true one.
What it openly af^irms is that the only reasonable

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

end for a wise man to aim at is the securing for
himself of the greatest amount of pleasure on the
whole.

Now, in speaking of the greatest pleasure on the
whole, there is introduced a conception that, when
carried out, destroys the whole hedonistic basis of
the theory, and converts it into its opposite. Had
Epicurus really understood himself when he said
that pleasure is the only thing desirable, he would
not have allowed himself to add that he meant not
all pleasure, but only so7ne pleasure. If pleasure,
and nothing but pleasure, is the end of life, by
what right does Epicurus go on to add : ' I do not
mean you to take each pleasure as it comes, but
to reflect and see that you get pleasure that will
bring you permanent satisfaction'? For, not to
repeat what was said in the last chapter as to the
impossibility of getting permanent satisfaction from
that which is essentially transient in its nature, I
maintain that to say {a) ' Pleasure is the end,' is
not to say {b) ' Permanent satisfaction is the end,'
but that the one end is diametrically opposite to
the other. If to be pleased is to secure the end
of living, Aristippus was right in assuming that we
must be content with whatever pleasure chances to
come in our way, inconsistent as he was in saying
that our aim must be to secure such pleasure.

Epicurus, when pressed with the difficulty that it

EPICURUS 67

is impossible to get permanent satisfaction from a
flux of individual feelings, which are

" Like the snow-fall in the river,
A moment white, then melts for ever,"

tries to turn the edge of the objection by saying,
' Oh, I don't mean immediate pleasure, but that
state of pleased enjoyment which may be made
habitual by the man who aims at true pleasure, i.e.
at that state of contentment which comes to the
man who is free from an unreasoning dread of
imaginary evils, and who confines his desires within
reasonable limits/

Now, we have here two totally different ends :
on the one hand pleasure, and, on the other hand,
contentment. If Epicurus had really meant what
he said when he declared pleasure, and pleasure
only, to be the end, he would have seen that it
is an end which can only be secured if at every
moment of existence there is not only pleasure,
but pleasure than which no greater is conceivable.
For if a single moment of a man's life is empty
of pleasure, or if the pleasure felt falls below what
he can imagine, then he must sorrowfully confess
that, if pleasure is the end it is useless to seek it,
because it cannot be found. But if peace or tran-
quillity of soul is the end, then, whatever may be
said of it, at least it cannot be attained coincidently

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

with the attainment of the greatest possible sum
of pleasure.

This is plainly admitted by Epicurus, when he
says that the wise man will avoid all intense plea-
sures and strive to attain to a cheerful impassibility.
For if he had seriously meant that pleasure is the
end, he would have seen that the end cannot be
attained unless the intensest pleasure conceivable is
secured at every moment of existence. Accordingly,
Epicurus virtually abandons the view that pleasure
is the end, and quietly substitutes for it peace,
serenity, tranquillity of soul. Hence the curious
feature in his system that, beginning with the
assertion that all pleasures are of sense, he goes
on to say that the only pleasures worth having
are those of memory and imagination ; starting
from the affirmation that the pleasure at which
we should aim is positive pleasure, he is led on to
admit that the only satisfactory pleasure is that
which arises from the removal of pain ; and pro-
fessing to make agreeable feeling the object of
pursuit, he ends with the doctrine that the highest
state of man is that of pure painlessness, a state
which, strange to say, may coexist with the intensest
bodily torture.

Here we see Hedonism working out its own
euthanasia. The end turns out to be, not an
unbroken succession of the intensest feelings of

EPICURUS

pleasure imaginable, but an imperturbable calm
which is indifferent whether the next moment may
bring pain or pleasure.

(3) Let us, however, waive the difficulty, that
on Epicurus' own showing, the end is not pleasure
but something which, whatever it is, is the negation
of pleasure ; let us grant that the peace or serenity
of soul which it is reasonable to aim at is a kind
of pleasure, and the question still remains : Is the
attainment of peace or serenity a worthy end of
life ? I do not think that it is, for these among
other reasons :

(a) In the first place, the tranquil life which
Epicurus sets up as the ideal, is one to which
the majority of men cannot possibly attain. It
may be delightful for brethren to dwell together in
unity, but when the unity has to be purchased by
giving up all the serious business of life, and con-
stituting oneself the member of a mutual admira-
tion society, it is manifest that many men cannot,
and some men will not, subscribe to the doctrine.
Now, a theory of conduct that does not apply to
all men, but only to a few of exceptional advan-
tages, or exceptional temper, is self-condemned. It
may be a statement of the manner in which the
select spirits of the earth choose to spend their
lives, but it is certainly not a true theory of man
as such. No ethical doctrine can be true that does

70 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

not so define the end that it comprehends all the
actions of all men at all times. Epicureanism, as
the creed of the impractical dreamer, can have no
authority as a scheme of life for the world at
large.

But (^), even if it could be realized by all men,
serenity of mind is not a worthy end of life. To
make one's own equanimity the aim of all one's
endeavours is simply to reduce selfishness to a
system. Now^, it may be shown that a purely
selfish morality is a contradiction in terms. If in
every act I am to regard my own satisfaction as
the end, all things and all persons must be regarded
by me simply as means for the attainment of that
end. There can therefore be no talk of what I
ought to do, but only of what it is my interest
to do.

What then is my interest} It must be that
which will, as I believe, bring me satisfaction. But
men's ideas of what will bring them satisfaction
are by no means identical, nor are they always the
same in the same individual at different times.
Yet there is no other criterion except the convic-
tion of the individual at the time. You may tell
a man of abounding energy that in your opinion
contentment can be found only in quiet contempla-
tion, and his answer is, that to him contentment
cannot be found in that way. Tell the man who

EPICURUS

has come under its witchery that gambHng can
give no genuine satisfaction, and he will answer
you with a sneer : for him there is satisfaction in
it, or he w^ould not pursue it so eagerly. And so
in other cases ; once lay down the principle that
the end is individual satisfaction, and you have
as many ends as there are individuals, or rather
there is a different end for every change in the
varying desires of individuals. You have evoked a
demon whom you cannot exorcise.

Pure individualism in the moral world is the
analogue of pure anarchy in the state. To every
precept that claims his obedience, the individual is
entitled to answer : ' I don't see that obedience will
bring me satisfaction, and I don't mean to obey.'
Society may answer : ' If you don't obey me you
will destroy your own peace of mind, for 1 will
punish you for your disobedience.' To which the
man may rejoin : * Very well, I will obey, but I
don't admit your right to coerce me.' And on the
theory of individualism, the man has all the logic
on his side. For, if there is no standard of action
except what will bring satisfaction to the individual,
the laws of society can be nothing more than the
means by which the majority in the community
seek to secure their own idea of satisfaction.

Might is right, and moral obligation is an
organized tyranny by which the strongest gain

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

their own better satisfaction at the expense of the
weaker. It is, therefore, allowable, and even praise-
worthy, for any man who can, to evade the power
which seeks to destroy the satisfaction which it is
admitted he has a right to seek in his own way.
Theft or murder is not wrong in itself, but only
because it is unpleasant when it is found out and
punished. But if the chances are that it may not
be found out, and one has the criminal's idea of
satisfaction, there is nothing in individualism to
forbid it. To this Epicurus can but answer that
contentment is obtainable only by passive obedience
to the constituted authorities. For a man of
Epicurus' type of character that is no doubt true,
but to men of a lawless turn of mind it is not
true, and to these nothing can be said except to
urge the danger of being found out, a danger
which may weigh very lightly with them.

Thus the selfish view of life which underlies
the Epicurean doctrine leads in the realm of
conduct to the destruction of moral law, just as
the denial of purpose in nature has as its con-
sequence the sovereignty of chance.

CHAPTER IV
HOBBES

Between the age of Epicurus and the age of
Hobbes there extends a period of over 1900 years,
and yet the theory of the latter seems at first
sight to be merely the explicit statement of what
in the former is implicit. In making the satis-
faction of the individual the criterion and standard
of good conduct, Epicurus not only deserted his
principle that agreeable feeling of any and every
sort is the end of life, but he virtually reduced all
conduct to selfishness. Hobbes, who in all things
is a man of " vigour and rigour," conceals his
theory in no honeyed phrases, but says outright
that by nature man is absolutely selfish, and that
from selfishness all his acts proceed. But the
moment he has said this, he goes on to add that
society is based upon the voluntary surrender of
the individual will for the common good. The
motive by which men were led to give up their

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

freedom to the state was selfish, but this end can
be attained only by the complete negation of
selfishness. Like all pleasure, selfish pleasure can
be attained only by not being directly sought.

We can see, then, in Hobbes the conflict of two
opposite and irreconcilable principles — {a) the prin-
ciple of pure individualism, and {U) the principle
of pure universalism. That this contrast of Hobbes
and Epicurus is only what we might expect, we
may readily see when we think of the changed
spirit which the introduction and spread of Chris-
tianity introduced into the world. With perfect
self-complacency, Epicurus lays down the principle
that a man should not trouble himself with what
concerns the general good, but should seek to
exclude all that might ruffle his equanimity.
Hobbes, w^hile he asserts with a brutal frankness
that the original springs of human action come
from selfishness, yet affirms with even greater vehe-
mence that direct selfishness defeats its own end.

This tacit recognition of the common weal as
the condition of individual satisfaction is a mark
of all modern theories of conduct. For the modern
moralist, even when he is unconscious of it himself,
is under dominion of the theory first clearly enun-
ciated in that picture of the higher life which we
have in the Christian New Testament. There we
are told, on the one hand, that the life of each

HOBBES

mjan is of infinite importance to himself, and, on
the other hand, that he must have no will of his
own. " What is a man profited if he shall gain the
whole world and lose his own soul ? " " Whosoever
would save his life shall lose it." In the Christian
idea these opposite points of view are reconciled in
the command : " Be ye perfect^ even as your Father
which is in heaven is perfect."

But while Christianity, in the principle of uni-
versal brotherhood and sonship, introduced what
seems to me the ideal of human life, the attempt
to realize that ideal has been a work of great
difficulty, nor can it be said that we have yet been
able to apply it practically in its purity, or to
frame a complete system of ethics in conformity
with it. It is the nature of all ideals to defy per-
fect realization, not only in the life of the indi-
vidual but of the race, and not merely in practice
but also in theory. The " Parliament of man, the
Federation of the world " is the Christian ideal of
conduct ; but when we ask. What then will be the
final form of society? we find that, not having the
gift of prophecy, we cannot tell, or at best we can
only frame a vague and shadowy outline. We
may feel sure that in the "golden age" yet to be,
" liberty, equality, and fraternity " will assume a
higher form than we can at present clearly con-
ceive, but what that higher form of things will be

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

we are unable to say. At the same time we can-
not divest ourselves of the ideal, nor can we frame
a theory of man that does not in some way pay
homage to it.

So it was with Hobbes. Despite his ostensible
reduction of all actions to prudent selfishness, he
was really bringing into prominence the necessity
of society to the realization of the individual, and
the actual result of his theory was to destroy the
doctrine of the " right divine of kings to govern
wrong," the right to oppose their own caprice or
selfishness to the eternal laws of reason. Hobbes'
theory of society was the natural product of the
age. Born in 1588, the year of the victory over
the Spanish Armada, his life of ninety-one years
extends over the reigns of James I. and his son,
the period of the Commonwealth and the Pro-
tectorate, and into the time of the Restoration.
This period of " storm and stress," when the doc-
trine of the despotic authority of the sovereign was
vehemently affirmed and strenuously denied, almost
compelled a thinker to take one side or the other.
It has been sometimes said that Hobbes was led
to frame his theory from observing the anarchy
which prevailed during the Civil War; but this
view is hardly correct, since the earliest draft of
his political theory was made several years before
the outbreak of the war. What we can say with

HOBBES

certainty is, that it was suggested by the seething
discontent which pervaded the whole country, a
discontent which found articulate expression in the
struggles between Charles I. for despotic power and
the determination of Parliament to secure and pre-
serve the freedom of the people.

The originality of Hobbes lay in his conception
of the " natural " state of man, and the manner in
which he sought to reconcile the claim to absolute
sovereignty with the doctrine that all power pro-
ceeds from the will of the people. His aim was,
as he tells us in the dedication of the Leviathan,
to " pass between the points " of those who con-
tend on the one side for too great liberty, and on
the other side for too much authority. The theory
of Hobbes is shortly as follows : In a state of nature,
or as he exists before he has constructed that great
Leviathan called a commonwealth or state," man is
absolutely selfish. The primary appetites are the
love of gain and the love of glory, which give rise
to a war of every man against every man. By
nature all men are equal in faculty, for although
some men are stronger in body and others of
quicker mind, yet the weakest has strength enough
to kill the strongest, either by secret machination
or by confederence with others that are in the
same danger as himself," while experience puts all
men on an equality as regards the practical affairs

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

of life. From this equality of ability proceeded
war, for, as all men desire wealth and power and
all have an equal capacity to attain their end,
natural distrust of others suggests the wisdom of
making oneself master of their persons. The natural
love of power causes this end to be pursued further
than security requires ; and the love of glory
prompts men to extort from others a recognition of
their own superiority.

Natural distrust, then, together with competition
and glory, are the main springs of action in the
natural man. These desires are not to be re-
garded as immoral, nor are the actions which
proceed from them wrong. Where there is no
law there is no injustice. Justice and injustice
are qualities that relate to men in society, not in
solitude. In a state of nature there is no dis-
tinction of mine and thine ; every man has un-
limited right to all that he covets, and as he
covets all, that means an unlimited right to all.

The source of right and wrong, justice and
injustice, must be sought in the laws of the state,
and such laws cannot be imposed until the state
itself is constituted. The state must be regarded
as a great artificial man or monster constructed by
men for the express purpose of putting an end to
internecine war, and enabling the individual to
secure the end which the natural state sets before

HOBBES

him, but prevents him from attaining. A right
to all things is a right to nothing. The state is
therefore based upon contract. All the social
virtues are different ways of securing peace.

The principle of the contract is a mutual agree-
ment to abstain from aggression and to put down
disturbance. Reason, therefore, teaches men to
give up their individual will to the sovereign
power. Thus they confer all power on one man
or assembly of men, so that all their wills are
reduced to one will. From the very nature of the
contract, this surrender of will is made once for
all. To seek for a revision of the contract is simply
to restore the state of nature, and so to destroy
the whole foundation of public security. The
sovereign power, whether vested in a king or an
assembly, is unlimited. In a monarchy, the king is
absolute : he cannot be justly accused by his sub-
jects, much less put to death, and he alone is judge
of what is necessary in peace and war. And not
only is he the head of the state but also of the
church. Religion exists as a means of securing
peace, and therefore it is one of the functions of
government to determine what sort of religion shall
be adopted by the people.

Whether the government shall be a monarchy,
an aristocracy, or a democracy, must depend on
the terms of the contract ; but Hobbes inclines to

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

an absolute monarchy, on the ground that it is
the interest of a single ruler to seek the good of
his people, that he is perfectly free to select the
best counsellors that can be found, and that he
is not so liable to inconstancy as a large and
heterogeneous body.

No one would now accept the account of
Hobbes as to the origin of the state and the
basis of morality, but the individualism from
which it sets out is held in some form or other
by all modern hedonists. The notion of " natural
rights " is expressly defended by Mr. Herbert
Spencer in one of his later works, Man versus the
State^ and it may be profitable to examine it with
some minuteness.

(i) The first thing that strikes the student of
our own day is that Hobbes had no apprehension
of the historical method as applied to the origin
of society. He speaks of the " state of nature "
as if it had an actual basis in fact, and of a
contract entered into by men existing in that
" state of nature."

But {a) the more we inquire into the early
condition of man the more certain we become
that there never was a time when society was
not, and when individuals stood to one another
in an attitude of pure antagonism. The notion
of the existence of a number of men, not united

HOBBES

by any social bonds, but each bent on seeking
his own individual good and the destruction of
his neighbour, is a pure fiction of the abstract
intellect. Hobbes, in partial anticipation of this
objection, says that, while the state of internecine
war never existed at any time " over all the
world," yet " the savage people in many places
of America have no government at all, and live
at this day in that brutish manner."

The answer to this is, that, while savage races
no doubt have no government or laws in their
more developed form, they have chiefs whose
authority is recognized and customs which they
respect. The savage people " of America are not
individual units exhibiting nothing but repulsion
towards one another, and therefore we cannot
find among them that state of nature about
which Hobbes and others have told us fairy tales.
In the earliest form of society it is possible that
even the family was not yet recognized as a unity,
but in no conceivable form of human existence
could there have been a mere aggregate of indi-
viduals united by no social bonds whatever. As
Plato says that there must be honour even among
a band of thieves, so we may say that in the
natural state of man, meaning by that his earliest
or primitive state, the tacit recognition of the
claims of others was the condition of mere exist-

HEDOXISTIC THEORIES

ence. Even if no other expression of social
feeling were admitted but that of a regard for
helpless children, the abstraction of the mere indi-
vidual would be overthrown. But in any com-
munity, however barbarous, some authority must
be implicitly recognized, or it would become a
prey to external nature, to the lower animals, and
to hostile groups of men.

How utterh' unhistorical Hobbes' conception of
the state of nature is ma\- be seen at once if we
consider that in the patriarchal form of society,
the earliest which we can with certainty affirm to
have existed, the unit is the famih-, and all
property belongs not to the individual but to the
family. And if we accept the view of ^M'Lennan,
that there is an earlier form of societ}' in which
there is as \'et no distinction of one famih' from
another, we must still say that property first belongs
to the community, next to the family, and last
of all to the individual. So far from it being
true that the primitive state of man was a mere
group of individuals, we must rather sa}- that
originally there was no distinction of individual
and societ}', and that only gradualh', as men came
to a consciousness of themselves, was a contrast
drawn between the man and the state. The
reflective grasp of the principle of personality, as
the basis of individual rights of property and

HOBBES

person, does not go further back than the age
of the Stoics, who universalized Roman law and
made it the type of all law.

{U) As there never was a period when men
existed out of society, it is plain that there never
was a time when they instituted society by entering
into a contract such as Hobbes describes. Not
only is there no historical evidence of the forma-
tion of society by contract, but from the nature of
the case the thing is impossible. The intelligence,
foresight, and self-control demanded J^y the theory
could only be developed in that very society which
the contract is supposed first to establish. In
such an instance as that of the Pilgrim Fathers,
the formation of a community by mutual agree-
ment is no doubt conceivable, but the Pilgrim
Fathers had already been trained in a highly-
developed form of society. Hobbes' theory of a
social contract has therefore no historical foundation.

(2) Nor, secondly, has it any real philosophical
basis. The whole conception of the state as a
mere aggregate of individuals is fundamentally un-
sound. Hobbes, in accordance with his mechanical
idea of nature as composed of minute material par-
ticles, although not of indivisible atoms, and of all
real processes as the movements of these particles,
thinks of the state as an automaton formed arti-
ficially by man in imitation of nature. Society,

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

that is, is constructed as a watchmaker constructs
a watch. In a quaint frontispiece this " artificial
animal " is represented as overlooking a fair land-
scape of tow^n and country in the form of a
crowned giant, made up of tiny figures of men,
and bearing in either hand a sword and a crosier ;
and in the introduction he makes an elaborate
comparison of the several parts of this artificial
man " to the organs of the " artificial animal " — the
sovereignty representing the soul, which gives life
and motion to the whole body ; officers of state,
the joints ; reward and punishment, the nerves ;
and wealth, the strength.

{a) The assimilation of the body politic to an
organism is in Hobbes, as in all individualists, of
little significance, since organic processes are identi-
fied with purely mechanical movements. Had
Hobbes really grasped what is implied in calling
the state an animal, he would have seen that to
qualify the description by calling it an " artificial
animal " is to put a lower for a higher conception.
An artificial " animal is simply a machine, and the
peculiarity of a machine is that its parts do not bear
any necessary relation to one another. The spring
and wheels and hands of a watch are all connected
in the watch, but the connection is of a purely ex-
ternal or artificial character. The parts of one watch
may be interchanged with the corresponding parts

HOBBES

of another of the same make without loss to
either ; but you cannot transfer an eye or a heart
or a brain from one living being to another with-
out destroying it.

In an organism the parts are not independent
units having a nature of their own apart from their
place in the organism, but they derive their life
and character from their relation to one another
and to the whole. Hence it is that the condition
of one organ more or less affects all the other
organs. Now, the state, although its nature is not
fully defined by calling it an " organism,^' is more
of an organism than of a machine. For if, as
Hobbes says, the government is the soul, the
magistrates the joints, and reward and punishment
the nerves, none of these organs can discharge
their functions apart from the other organs that go
to make up the state, and any imperfection in one
organ must injuriousl}^ affect all the rest.

But more than this, the very nature of the mem-
bers of the political organism is dependent upon
their relation to one another. The statesman can-
not learn to rule, the judge to apply the law, the
teacher to educate, or the workman to exercise his
handicraft, unless through the express or uncon-
scious training of society. The individual, cut off
from the all-pervasive influence of society, has no
nature, because he is nothing. No doubt, the

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

capacities of the individual are not exhausted in
any of the functions which he discharges as a mem-
ber of the social organism, but his actual nature
is none the less developed, and made what it is
by the functions he fulfils in society. That being
so, the very idea of a ^' state of nature," in which
man is supposed to be what he is apart from
social influences, is a pure fiction of abstraction.
We can no more speak of what a man would be
apart from society than we can speak of an organ
as independent of the whole body. In the one
case, as in the other, the nature of the parts is
determined by the nature of the whole, as the
nature of the whole is determined by the nature
of the parts.

(b) As Hobbes has misconceived the nature of
the parts, he naturally misconceives the nature of
the whole. The state is the product of an artificial
arrangement, being at first made, set together, and
united by pacts and covenants." Like a machine,
its construction depends on the arbitrary will of
its maker. For his own interest man has chosen
to put it together, but had he thought otherwise
he might have chosen differently. The notion of
the state as an organism might have prevented
Hobbes from taking this external view had the
organic unity of society not been an idea entirely
foreign to his age. The mere juxtaposition of

HOBBES

parts will form a heap or aggregate, but it will not
make an organism. An organism is not made, but
grows, and it grows only out of that which is
already organized. No man can make an animal
by an artificial combination of parts, nor is it pos-
sible to make a state by artifice. The state de-
rives its character from the sum of conditions of
the age, and it cannot change its character, much
less come into existence, by the fiat of any man
or body of men. The notion that the state derives
its authority from the arbitrary will of the indi-
viduals composing it is as unphilosophical as it is
unhistorical.

(3) The imperfection of Hobbes' doctrine is
even more apparent when we see that the state
is not only organic, but, is a unity in which each
of the parts of which it is composed is self-
conscious. If we think of an organism not only
as made up of organs, each of which is dependent
upon the others, but each of which is conscious
of its own activity and of the activity of the other
organs, we shall get some idea of the nature of the
state. It is this fact of self-consciousness that
makes human society possible. No doubt there are
gregarious animals, but they have not the power
of comprehending what is implied in their social
instincts, and so they do not invent new forms of
association as man does. The power of reflecting

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

on the existing forms of society, of holding it at
arm's length and contemplating it as a foreign
object, is the condition of progress. Hence it is
that the history of man has been in large measure
the history of the changes in the form of social
organization.

And just in proportion as each member of the
state is not only conscious of his own special
sphere of operations, but is able to grasp in his
thought the whole complex functions of the
society in which he lives, and to distinguish from
it alien forms of society, and even to form ideals
of society as it may yet be, in that proportion
is the state living and progressive. It is for this
reason mainly that all the members of a free state
ought to have an education that shall fit them
not only for their more limited functions, but for
the comprehension of the meaning of the state in
its relation to the destiny of man. From this
point of view we can see how imperfect is the
Hobbist notion of the state, as a despotic power
set over them by the individuals composing it.
From pure individualism we pass at a bound
to pure universalism. For if the state of nature
is one of absolute anarchy, there is no remedy
but a remedy of force. If, on the other hand, we
look at the actual fact, we see that the same
faculty of self-conscious reason which enables a

HOBBES

man to be selfish also enables him to be un-
selfish.

Hence (4) Hobbes' conception of the natural
state of man as one of unmitigated selfishness is
as false as his idea that the state is merely an
iron band connecting together a number of indi-
vidual parts that otherwise would for ever repel
each other. The state of nature is one that never
existed or could exist. The nearest approach to
it must be sought in the lowest form of society
of which we have any knowledge. But in the
lowest form of society that we can conceive the
unselfish must be as developed as the selfish
tendencies ; otherwise the society could not hold
together for an hour. These two tendencies are
strictly correlative. Where the capacity for the
one is strong, so also is the capacity for the other.
" Great criminals," as Plato says, " are perverted
heroes." Gigantic selfishness is possible only to
men of vast ability.

By " nature," then, as we must say, man is
both selfish and unselfish, i.e. " nature " is merely a
term for those unrealized capacities which in their
fruition become good or evil according as they
are directed. These considerations apply to the
forms assumed by the state in its transition from
the lowest to the highest. In no age is there
pure selfishness, in none is there pure unselfishness.

go HEDONISTIC THEORIES

Selfishness and unselfishness are terms expressing
harmony or discordance with the ideal. Speaking
generally, the ideal, so far as it has been developed
by a people, is embodied in the various forms
of organization which together form the state as
a whole. Thus, the morality of a civilized people
expresses itself partly in the unwritten laws of the
popular conscience, and partly in the written laws
of the state.

But neither of these bodies of law is stationary,
because it is the nature of human reason per-
petually to revise and elevate its ideal of life.
The new ideal first exists in the mind of some
choice spirits more than usually responsive to
reason, and gradually permeates the whole people,
and is embodied in their laws and customs. At
each stage of this continuous process of evolution
it is possible for the individual members of the
community to come up to the ideal standard of
their age, or, in the case of men of progressive
conscience, to the ideal standard in advance of
their age ; but it is also possible for them to fall
below the standard. In the one case we say that
a man leads a selfish life, in the other that he
leads an unselfish life.

But observe that he could not be selfish were
he not capable of unselfishness. A man cannot
fall below his ideal if he has no ideal. We do

HOBBES

not call a dog selfish, because we do not believe
that a dog frames ideals. Hobbes, therefore, in
speaking of the primitive state of man as one
of pure selfishness, was really forming an abstract
man that could not possibly exist ; for a being of
unrelieved selfishness would have no consciousness
of unselfishness, just because he would have no
consciousness of an ideal self

(5) We reach the same conclusion by examining
Hobbes' analysis of the individual soul. The
natural man is dominated by the love of gain and
the love of glory, which are virtually identified
with pure appetite. They are desires which are
" born with a man," and as their aim is the good
of the individual at the expense of others they
are selfish in their nature. That the natural
desires are selfish in their nature is a view which
inevitably arises from the notion of men as pure
individuals. For if men exist out of relation to
society, and if in this independence of others
they possess promptings to action, these prompt-
ings must be regarded as tending to promote the
continuance of the isolated individual.

But this whole way of thinking is vicious. Man
is not a mere individual, and he has therefore no
purely individualistic tendencies. The desire of
self-preservation is not selfish, because life is the
primary condition of action, and therefore of moral

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

action. The love of wealth is not in itself a selfish
propensity, for wealth is the symbol of the pro-
ducts of that industrial activity without which our
modern life would be stripped of what makes
it the minister of the higher activities. There is
nothing selfish in the love of esteem, which is
simply the reasonable desire to have the approba-
tion of one's own reason reflected in the good
opinion of others. Hobbes, in calling these desires
selfish, has confused their perversion with their
exercise. The love of life only becomes selfish
when it leads a man to neglect his duty, or to
barter his higher conscience for the sake of exist-
ence. The love of wealth may be selfish when it
is made an end in itself, or when it leads a man
to forget that wealth is a trust held for the good of
others as well as for himself The love of esteem
may be selfish when it takes the form of an unhal-
lowed ambition that sacrifices the public good in
order to climb into place or power. But in all
these cases the natural desires are perverted from
their end. The man tramples on his ideal, and
becomes immoral. But to be moral is not to
eradicate the natural inclinations, but to idealize
and spiritualize them. Then the love of life takes
the shape of due care for health, the condition of
all the higher activities ; the love of wealth is
merged in the desire to advance the well-being of

HOBBES

all ; and the love of honour becomes the noble
activity of the statesman, the scholar, and the
reformer.

(6) We are now in a position to see how false
it is to say that society is simply a roundabout
way of securing one's own selfish pleasure. No
doubt, men may seek to turn the various forms of
social organization to their own advantage, but
they do so at the peril of their spiritual nature.
Society, as the more or less perfect embodiment of
the ideal nature, is an expression of what is rational,
and therefore of what commands the assent of
reason. In obeying law we are giving assent to
no tyrannical power, but to our own higher nature.

It is for this reason that one is compelled to
doubt the honesty of the man who is indifferent to
the every-day morality of the family or the civic
community. We refuse to put confidence in the
man who is a bad husband or father, or who is
not scrupulous of commercial morality, rightly feeling
that he who offends in these things offends in all.
Nor can we have much faith in the profession of
religion of the man who is indifferent to the tender
charities of husband, son, and brother. The spirit
of genuine morality is one, however diverse may
be its applications, and that spirit is not inaptly
expressed in the command to love one's neighbour
as oneself The doom of the man who makes his

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

own selfish gratification his end is in himself. No
man can get rid of the ideal self, because it is his
very nature as a rational being to construct such
an ideal, and having constructed it, to be con-
scious of failure, even in outward success, when he
falls short of it.

The state, then, is not an organized selfishness,
as Hobbes assumes, but the means of freeing men
from selfishness. The end is not one's own pleasure,
but ideal goodness, an ideal which secures the indi-
vidual good in and through the good of the whole.
True self-satisfaction is not to be found in aiming,
however indirectly, at one's own pleasure, but in
aiming at the realization of the higher self partially
manifest in society, and in seeking to make society
conform completely to our ideal of what it should
be. In satisfaction of this type, the individual and
the universal coincide ; in seeking the common good
a man secures his own good ; but the good which he
attains cannot without perversity be called pleasure,
nor can his motive be called selfish. The true
satisfaction of the spirit is the blessedness of him
who seeks first the realization of an objective good,
knowing that all other things will be added to him.

CHAPTER V
LOCKE

In his passion for clearness and consistency Hobbes
" cuts things in two with an axe." Admitting no
qualifications he carries out his theory to its conse-
quences. Men seek their own pleasure, and therefore
all their actions, however disinterested they may
seem, are selfish ; society rests upon contract and
the terms of the contract must be fulfilled to the
letter ; religion exists for the common good, and
no religion can be allowed except that which is
imposed by the state.

Locke is in all things the reverse of his prede-
cessor. He is the most perfect embodiment of that
spirit of compromise and that practical sagacity,
which are main features in the English character.
The idea which rules all his thoughts is that
human knowledge is narrowly limited in its range,
and yet that the " candle of reason " throws enough
light on a man's path to keep him from stumbling.

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

"If we will disbelieve everything because we can-
not certainly know all things, we shall do much as
wisely as he who would not use his legs, but sit
still and perish because he had no wings to fly."

Hence Locke begins his Essay concerning Human
Understanding by saying that he proposes to in-
quire into the limits and origin of knowledge.
" Were the capacities of our understanding well
considered," he says, the extent of our knowledge
once discovered, and the horizon found which sets
the bound between the enlightened and the dark
parts of things, between what is and what is not
comprehensible by us, men would perhaps with less
scruple acquiesce in the avowed ignorance of the
one and employ their thoughts and discourse with
more advantage and satisfaction on the other." For
" the light of reason shines bright enough for all
our purposes."

It is quite in keeping with this method of com-
promise that Locke does not, like Hobbes, regard
society and individual rights as the creation of
contract, but assuming both already to exist, he
holds that a contract is made between society and
the government for the protection of the rights
which already exist. Nor does he maintain that
the contract is absolute ; as proceeding originally
from the will of the people, it is subject to per-
petual revision as circumstances may require ; a

LOCKE

view which manifestly afifirms and denies contract
in the same breath. For if, as Locke says, the
grossest absurdities must be the issue of ^' following
custom when reason has left the custom," we are
really affirming that the constitution of the state is
the product of reason, and not of the arbitrary
agreement of individuals.

Locke is a strong advocate of toleration in
matters of religion ; but he bases it on the prin-
ciple that, as absolute certainty is not obtainable in
such matters, but only probability, no sect may
reasonably assume that it has a monopoly of truth.
This latitudinarian doctrine does not hinder him
from maintaining that from this toleration must be
excluded the atheist, because " the taking away of
God dissolves all," and the Roman Catholic, who
swears allegiance to a foreign potentate.

A like inconsistency runs through the whole of
his theory of knowledge. In the Essay he brings
forward a host of reasons to show that there are
in the human mind no innate ideas — no ideas, that
is, which are possessed by all men as a sort of
original stock of which they can give no further
account. In this denial Locke, no doubt, meant to
strike a blow at the theory that there are notions
which will not yield up their meaning to the
reason of man but must be accepted on authority.
But so little grasp had he of the principles implied

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

in his own criticism that he makes all knowledge
consist in the passive reception of ideas of reality
of which nothing can be said but that they " ob-
trude themselves on our minds." For it is Locke's
doctrine that all knowledge is derived from our
own immediate feelings, and that of things in them-
selves we have, strictly speaking, no knowledge.
Now, if we apply this principle thoroughly and
consistently, it is plain we can have no real know-
ledge, not even probable knowledge, of anything.

Again, Locke distinguishes between primary and
secondary qualities of body, maintaining that the
former we know just as they are in external things,
while the latter are but sensations in us to which
some changes in bodies probably correspond, but of
a nature incomprehensible to us. Here it is
asserted on the one hand that there are changes in
things of which we can know nothing, and, on the
other hand, that certain of our sensations reveal to
us the properties of things as they actually are.
But, manifestly, incomprehensible changes are
changes that we cannot know to exist, and no
class of sensations can give us a knowledge of the
properties of things, if, as Locke says, a sensation
is a purely subjective state of the individual mind.
Further, Locke by reducing actual knowledge to
what is directly present to sense is finally led to
" suspect a science of nature to be impossible,"

LOCKE

although, as he characteristically adds, our know-
ledge of bodies is " sufificient for our purpose."

Such being the character of his political creed
and his theory of knowledge, Locke's ethical doc-
trine, as we might expect, is, like all systems of
compromise, essentially self-contradictory.

(i) Locke begins by affirming the freedom of
man to act, but the account which he gives of the
relations of will, freedom, and desire, is in essence
the same as that which is now known as Deter-
minism, or the theory that human actions, like
other events, are bound in a chain of necessary
causation.

{a) Will is said by Locke to be simply the
^' power of preference." When left to himself a
man never does anything which he does not
choose to do in preference to something else. It
is not correct to say that will is the power of
acting on preference. A man has the power of
preferring to do one thing rather than another,
but he has not always the power of acting as he
prefers. For there are actions over which we have
no control. A man cannot stop the beating of
his heart, or the circulation of the blood, and " a
palsy or the stocks hinder his legs from obeying
the determination of his mind if it would thereby
transfer his body to another place." So there are
ideas over which we have no control. " A man on

lOO

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

the rack is not at liberty to lay by the idea of
pain, and divert himself with other contempla-
tions." Will or choice is, therefore, wider in its
range than freedom. ,

(U) Freedom is the power of acting on pre-
ference. A man may prefer what he has no power
to execute, as when the paralytic endeavours to
walk, but finds himself unable to do so. There
can be no freedom where there is no power of
choice, but there may well be power of choice
where there is no freedom. But freedom, properly
speaking, has no meaning except in application to
action. An action is either free or compulsory,
but we cannot in strictness say that the will is
free. A man is free when his action is voluntary,
but there is no meaning in saying that the will
is free. It is as insignificant to ask whether
man's will be free, as to ask whether his sleep be
swift, or- his virtue square." Will being just
a man's power of choosing belongs to the man,
as does also freedom to act where there is no
compulsion ; hence, while we can say that, under
certain circumstances, a man is free to act, it is
absurd to say that will, the power of choice,
possesses freedom, the power of acting upon choice.
The two powers are quite distinct, although both
belong to the agent. Powers belong only to
agents, and are attributes only of substances, and

LOCKE lOl

not of powers themselves." So that to ask
" whether the will be free " is " in effect to ask
whether the will be a substance, an agent." We
may as properly say that there is a singing faculty
which sings, or a dancing faculty which dances, as
to say that the will chooses or the understanding
thinks, or that the will directs the understanding,
or the understanding obeys or obeys not the will.

So far, Locke seems to be defending human
freedom, and defending it on thoroughly reasonable
grounds. But how little he comprehended the true
force of his own contention becomes apparent in
his account of desire.

{c) Desire is distinct in nature from will. An
act of will is simply the act of preferring or
choosing to do one thing rather than another.
But a man never wills without being prompted to
will by some desire. Not only so, but he always
wills in accordance with the desire which is
strongest. Desire is a feeling of " uneasiness," in
other words, a sense of want or craving, and,
where there are various conflicting desires, that
which is most urgent determines what the man
prefers. In more familiar language, the will is
determined by the strongest motive.

(2) Having thus distinguished desire from will,
and figured them after the manner of the external
impact of one material object on another, Locke

102

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

goes on to inquire into the nature of the motives
by which the will is determined. The motive is
in all cases either a desire for pleasure or an
aversion from pain.

{a) The pleasure desired, as Locke distinctly
tells us, is no pleasure in the abstract, no imper-
sonal conception of pleasure, but the imagination
of some particular pleasure which to the individual
at the time appears desirable.

ip) The pleasure which is a motive is therefore
what to the man at the time see^ns the greatest
pleasure. A man " knows what best pleases him,
and that he actually prefers." To say anything
else, in fact, would be to deny the basis of Locke's
theory of motives, viz., that the '' most urgent
uneasiness " always is the motive which causes a
man to prefer one action to another. A man's
motive is determined by his susceptibility to certain
pleasures. The epicure will admit that there is
great pleasure in the pursuit of knowledge, the
studious man that there is pleasure in the grati-
fication of the senses, but, unless the one is
moved by the uneasiness of shame or some
other motive he will not devote himself to study,
nor will the other seek to satisfy his appetite until
the desire for food arises in his mind.

What a man wills, then, is always what appears
to him at the time to be fitted to bring pleasure.

LOCKE

103

Happiness in the abstract moves no one, but
" only that part, or so much of it, as is considered
and taken to make a necessary part of his happi-
ness." It would seem, then, that every one always
desires what for him is the greatest good at the
time. How then, we naturally ask, can any one
be blamed for what he does ? If the will is
always moved by the most pressing uneasiness,
must not a man act in every case as alone he is
capable of acting ?

(3) To this Locke answers that sometimes we
mistake imaginary for real happiness. We are
able " to suspend the satisfaction of our desires in
particular cases," until we have duly examined
whether that which appears good has a tendency
to our real happiness. Herein consists the liberty
of intellectual beings. The very desire for happi-
ness is a motive to " take care not to mistake or
miss it, and suggests caution, deliberation, and
wariness in the direction of their particular actions,
which are the means to obtain it." We cannot
prevent certain pleasures from appearing desirable
that may not really bring happiness, but we can
suspend our desires and " stop them from deter-
mining our wills to any action till we have duly
and fairly examined how far they are fitted to
bring happiness." This explains why we can say
that a man justly incurs punishment. When a

104

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

man has once chosen a particular course of action
it becomes part of his happiness and raises desire,
which again determines his will ; but " by a too
hasty choice " he may have " imposed on himself
wrong measures of good and evil." Hence he is
" answerable to himself for what follows. But
how, we ask, is there any need for such a sus-
pension of the desires ?

(4) To this Locke answers that present
pleasure, just because it is present, assumes an
importance that does not properly belong to it.
No doubt a man can make no mistake as to
what seems to him the greatest pleasure, but in
the comparison of present with future pleasure we
often make wrong judgments Of them." Hence
the necessity of deliberation and suspension of the
desires. Were the pleasure of drinking accom-
panied, the very moment a man takes off his
glass, with that sick stomach and aching head
which, in some men, are sure to follow not many
hours after, I think nobody, whatever pleasure he
had in his cups, would, on these conditions, ever
let wine touch his lips ; which yet he daily
swallows, and the evil side comes to be chosen
only by the fallacy of a little difference in time."
It is this mental parallax that has to be carefully
guarded against. The great use of freedom, there-
fore, is to " hinder blind precipitancy."

LOCKE 105

So far, Locke seems to make the end the secur-
ing of the greatest pleasure to oneself. But the
objection may be made that the resolution of all
motives into the desire for individual pleasure does
not explain those actions which at least seem to
be done purely out of regard for morality, and not
because of the pleasure they bring.

C5) Hence Locke tries to reconcile the hedon-
istic basis of his ethics with the obligation to obey
moral law. Moral good and evil consist in the
" conformity or disagreement of our voluntary
actions" to a law imposed upon the individual by
some law-maker ; and the motive to obey this law
is the pleasure or pain attending its observance
or breach." Of these moral rules or laws there
are three sorts, with their three different enforce-
ments " or " sanctions." Wherever there is a law
there must also be some reward or punishment
annexed to it, for it would be in vain to impose
a law unless the law-giver had the power to reward
obedience and to punish disobedience by some
good and evil that is not the natural product and
consequence of the action itself

The three forms of law are : (i) divine law,
(2) civil law, (3) the law of reputation, or the
force of public opinion. By divine law is meant
the rules which God has set to the actions of
man, whether these are discovered by the light of

I06 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

nature or are disclosed in revelation. The sanction
in this case is the rewards and punishments of
another life, and the motive to obedience in this
as in the other two kinds of law is the pleasure
that is imagined as following from compliance
with it. The civil law, or rule set by the state to
the actions of those who belong to it, enforces its
commands by legal penalties, having " power to
take away life, liberty, or goods from him who
disobeys." Lastly, philosophical law, or the law of
public opinion, acts on men by the praise or blame
which it tacitly attaches to different actions, accord-
ing to the judgments, maxims, or fashions of the
time.

This theory of Locke was somewhat modified
by Shaftesbury and Hutcheson, but these thinkers,
though they carried the analysis begun by Locke
a little further, can hardly be said to have added
any new principle. Without giving up the prin-
ciple that pleasure in some form is the end,
Shaftesbury held that, besides the desire for his
own pleasure, there is in man a desire that others
also should have pleasure. But the two apparently
diverse tendencies are virtually reduced to one, in
the view that we seek the good of others because
the contemplation of their pleasure yields pleasure
to ourselves. Moral good to Shaftesbury is that
well-balanced desire for our own and others' plea-

LOCKE 107

sure which is the mark of a " gentleman," and
hence this courtly moraHst is the foe to all excess,
either in the pursuit of one's own or of the public
good. Evil is for him very much " bad form." He
displays a mild and genial spirit, but he has no
comprehension of great moral difficulties.

Hutcheson advances very little on Shaftesbury.
Accepting the distinction between the desire for
one's own good and the desire for public good,
between the " egoistic " and " altruistic " impulses,
as it is now the fashion to call them, he further
distinguishes between the blind " and the calm "
affections, the former being defined as immediate or
natural tendencies, and the latter as mediate
tendencies dependent on reflection. The blind or
natural desires are such appetites as hunger and
thirst on the one hand, and the emotions of
sympathy and pity on the other, while the calm
or reflective desires are self-love and benevolence.
The " egoistic " desires, whether blind or calm, are
useful but not moral, because every one naturally
seeks his own good ; only the altruistic " tendencies
are morally good and need reinforcement by the
moral sense," by means of which we instinctively
recognize good and evil.

In his ethical doctrine, as in other parts of his
philosophy, Locke's intentions are good, but the
form in which he reflectively grasps and states

I08 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

his theory is invariably contradictory of the truth
which he beheves and asserts. Nothing else indeed
could come of a philosophy of compromise. A few
of the contradictions which beset his doctrine may
be pointed out.

(i) Locke is strong in the belief that man is
a free agent, and yet his account of the relations
of desire, will, and freedom is one which is de-
structive of that belief

{a) He protests against the prevalent fallacy
of endowing the will with an activity of its own,
and of regarding freedom as belonging to this
self-acting power. It is the man who is free, not
the man's will. But when we ask, what then is
will ? all that Locke has to tell us is that it is
not freedom to act, and that it is a power or
attribute of a substance or agent. It never
occurred to him that to make will simply the
property of a thing or substance is to destroy the
whole meaning of will and personality. To call
this willing thing a man, as he elsewhere calls
him a thinking thing, is to leave out just that
which gives man his distinctive character. For
how does this thing called man differ from any
other thing ? The only difference in Locke's view
is that the properties of the thing called man are
not the same properties as the thing which we
call material. A material thing Locke also sup-

LOCKE

109

poses to have " powers," the sun, for example, as he
tells us, having the power to melt wax.

So far, therefore, as the possession of power
goes there is nothing in man to distinguish him
from anything else. As a matter of fact the sun
has the power of melting wax, and a man has the
power of choice, but unless we can show that
I choice is related to man in a totally different way
\ from that in which the power of melting wax is
related to the sun, we cannot draw any real dis-
tinction between man and any other thing in
nature. That will or choice is a power attaching
only to a thinking thing does not make man
different in essence from things that do not think
but merely act. For in Locke's view to think is
simply to have one power, to will is to have another
power, but these two powers, while they belong to
the one substance, man, are distinct and separate
powers. Will, then, is just a peculiar mode of
action, not different in kind from the action of
the sun in melting wax. Man acts in the way of
choice, the sun acts in the way of melting wax,
but the one act is no more free than the other.

{U) This becomes still more manifest when we
look at Locke's account of freedom. Freedom, as
he describes it, is simply the fact of acting in a
certain way in the absence of external compulsion.
Now, when we isolate a man's action from his

no HEDONISTIC THEORIES

will it becomes nothing more than a mode of
motion. When a man chooses to walk, the
physical movement will take place if his bodily
functions are in a normal state, and if he is not
withheld from moving by physical compulsion.
Certainly, and so the sun will melt wax if no
atmospheric or other obstacle interpose to prevent
its action. But we do not therefore attribute
freedom of action to the sun, and no more can
we attribute it to the man. The man has no
more power over his body than the sun over the
wax. The body moves in certain cases after the
man exerts his act of choice, in other cases, as in
that of the paralytic, it does not ; but in the one
case as in the other all that we can say, from
Locke's point of view, is that sometimes the move-
ment takes place after the choice, sometimes it
does not. Freedom in any sense of the man's
power over the physical movement there is not.
The movement is as much determined, inde-
pendently of the man, as the movement of a
stone.

{c) According to Locke's account of the matter,
then, man is free, in any significant sense, neither
in his action, nor in his will. Nor is he free in his
desires. For desire, as he explains it, is simply
the susceptibility to pleasure and pain, and that
susceptibility is but another attribute of a thinking

LOCKE

thing. What a man desires is what his nature
makes him desire. The student, as he tells us, is
peculiarly susceptible to the pleasure which
accompanies the pursuit of knowledge, the epicure
to the pleasure of the palate, but a man cannot
make or unmake himself, and so he cannot give
to any desire either more or less power than it has
for him as he finds himself to be. The cat takes
pleasure in catching mice, and the scholar in
amassing knowledge, but the one pleasure like the
other springs from the peculiar susceptibility of
each. There can, therefore, b^ no freedom in
desire any more than in will or in action ; that
is, there is in man, on Locke's showing, no free-
dom at all.

{d) We are forced to the same conclusion when
we examine the account of the relation of desire
and will. Why does the same man will differently
on different occasions ? The reason is to be
sought in the character of desire as the imagina-
tion of pleasure. To different persons, or to the
same person under different circumstances, one
pleasure presents itself in his imagination as pre-
ferable to another. Under the impulse for know-
ledge one man will forget his bodily wants until
hunger drives him to his meals, another man will
neglect study, and live for the pleasures of sense,
unless he is driven to change his course by the

112

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

stronger impulse of shame. But as each man's
desire is determined not by him but for him, and
the desire determines his will, what he prefers in
any case is that which alone he can prefer, and
freedom is a word without meaning. The strongest
" uneasiness " determines the will, and the uneasi-
ness itself is simply the desire for pleasure that at
the time is for him, constituted as he is, the
strongest ; hence a man's actions are as unalter-
ably determined as if he were an automaton.
Until we get rid of the fiction that man can be
properly spoken of as a thinking, or desiring, or
willing thing, and that thought is one power,
desire another, and will a third, while all three are
distinct from action ; until we see the fallacy of
this mechanical idea of human nature, the freedom
of man must remain at the most an ineradicable
belief, not a reasoned truth.

(2) I may be reminded that Locke tries to
preserve freedom by saying that, although a man
cannot prevent certain desires from springing up
in his mind, yet he may have the power of " sus-
pending " his desires, and of choosing that course
of action which an enlightened reason sets before
him as best. That Locke has here expressed what
we all feel to be in some sense true there can be
no possible doubt, but it is just as certain that here
as always his theory will not allow him to prove

LOCKE

113

what he affirms. For, as Hume afterwards pointed
out, granting that the will is always determined by
some form of feeling, nothing can produce a sus-
pension of any desire but some other desire. If
the mind has the power to prevent desire from
acting on the will it must also be able to move
the will of itself in the absence of all desire. The
suspension of desire, on Locke's principles, must
be due to a power or force acting contrary to the
desire, and such a power is plainly itself competent
to move the will.

But, once admit that the motive to action is
something different from a feeling of pleasure, and
what becomes of the assertion that the only
motive is a feeling of pleasure ? Either we must
abandon the account of will as due to the " most
pressing uneasiness " or we must deny to man the
power of suspending desire, as we have denied to
him the power of originating action without desire.

(3) In his account of moral good and evil Locke
displays a union of good intention and futile per-
formance similar to that displayed in the other part
of his theory. He feels that there is a radical dis-
tinction between good and evil, but the hedonistic
basis of his system will not permit of any justifi-
cation of that feeling. A good action, he tells us,
is one which conforms to law, divine, civil, or
philosophical. This law he regards, although he

114

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

professes to discard all authority but that of a
man's own reason, as externally imposed by a law-
giver.

What, then, gives to the law its power over the
individual ? How does he come to take it into
himself and make it the motive of his action ?
The answer is, that the obligation to obey law
means for the agent the pleasure which he believes
will result from obedience, and the^ pain which he is
likely to experience should he violate it. But men
are not always deterred from running counter to law
by the anticipation of the pain that may ensue.
Why not ? Because to some men the gratification
of their immediate desires is a stronger motive,
i.e. appears as more desirable, than the possible
future pain of punishment. But on Locke's own
theory the pleasure which acts as a motive is what
appears to the man at the time to be most
pleasant, and this pleasure he cannot make more
or less pleasant than it appears ; nor as we have
seen can he prevent it from determining his will ;
how then can a man be blamed for not doing
what he has no power to do ? If criminal pleasure
is to his mind more desirable than lawful pleasure
surely he must will it. To say that he ought to
prefer obedience to law is merely to say that he
does not do that which in the long run will bring
him most pleasure ; but while this may be a

LOCKE

IIS

matter for regret it cannot properly be a matter
for blame. The man has done what his nature
alone permitted him to do, and he can no more
be called morally guilty than the pointer dog
which does not point, or the terrier when it does
not catch rats. The outcome of Locke's hedon-
istic theory of morality is thus the destruction of

all morality.

CHAPTER VI

HUME

In David Hume we have a thinker who displays
none of that disposition to compromise which is
characteristic of Locke. Not only is all direct
knowledge of things confined to the transient
states of one's own consciousness, but it is im-
possible for us to show that there is any reality
distinct from those states. The " substance " of
things, which to Locke seemed so mysterious,
is only mysterious because it is a fiction of the
imagination.

Substantiality just means the reappearance in
our consciousness of impressions similar to those
which we have formerly had ; but the recurrence
of the same impression, or bundle of impressions,
does not entitle us to say that there is a self-
dependent substance " which continues to exist
when we do not perceive it. And as we can
never prove the existence of things beyond the

HUME

117

moment of their appearance in our consciousness,
it is absurd to speak of the connection of things.
As there are no " substances " to connect, they
cannot be connected. We commonly say that
one thing is the cause of another, as, e,g. that a
fire produces heat in us when we hold our hand
to the blaze; but, from the point of view of
knowledge, all that we can properly say is that
never have we had the feeling of heat without
finding it accompanied with the impression or
remembrance of fire. The fact that the one
feeling has so often been associated with the
other raises in us the expectation, when we have
the one, that we shall have the other also. This
expectation has never been disappointed, but we
are not therefore entitled to infer that the uni-
form relation between the two feelings of fire and
heat which has hitherto prevailed might not be
broken. No amount of repetition can entitle us
to affirm necessary connection in things ; all that
we can properly affirm is customary association
or uniformity in the succession of our own ideas.

Another thing which Hume sees to follow from
Locke's theory of knowledge, when it is developed
to its consequences, is that what we call our-
selves is not any ^' substance " or " agent " distinct
from the train of feelings that make up our mental
life. A man shall in vain search in his con-

Il8 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

sciousness for anything but the vivid impressions
of sense or their less vivid copies in memory
and imagination. What he really means when he
says "I/' is the series of ideas which have occurred
one by one in his experience. From moment to
moment he is conscious of a new feeling, and
what he calls himself is just this perpetually
changing consciousness.

In his account of the nature of knowledge
Hume, as it will be admitted, is not kept from
setting his axe to the root of the tree by any
sentiment of reverence for the fair growth of man's
beliefs. Locke had said that our real knowledge
is of our own feelings, and Hume will have no
half-hearted measures. If I have a consciousness
only of my own feelings, away with your unknow-
able substances," material and mental ! Let us
at least be consistent with ourselves. We may in
fact regard Hume as having given the finishing
stroke to the individualistic theory of knowledge
which began with the sensationalism of Protagoras,
was continued by Aristippus and Epicurus, adopted
by Hobbes, and formulated by Locke. If any
theory has shown itself historically to carry in
itself the seeds of its own destruction, it is the
theory of sensationalism, that knowledge is of
immediate states of feeling.

The watchword of Hume is Thorough," in his

HUME

119

ethical doctrine as in his theory of knowledge.
He will have no oscillation between freedom and
necessity, desire and reason, individual pleasure and
objective law.

I. Locke denied that there is any propriety in
calling the will free ; but he seemed to himself
to be defending human freedom in saying that the
man is free although his will is not. Hume will
have no such subterfuge. You may call " spon-
taneity," i.e. action done without compulsion,
" freedom " if you please, but the act is in the
strictest sense of the term necessitated. What
do we mean by " necessity " but uniformity in the
succession of events, or rather in the order of our
ideas ? Tried by this test a man's actions are as
necessary as the law of gravitation.

Given two men of exactly the same character
and temper, placed in exactly the same circum-
stances, and they will do exactly the same acts.
It is true that sometimes men seem to act without
any motive, but this is only because it is difficult
to find out what the motive is. Were we
perfectly acquainted with every circumstance of
their situation and temper, we should see that
their act is as rigidly bound in the chains
of necessity as those acts the spring of which
is open and manifest. That there is a constant
union between motives and actions " is not only

120

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

recognized in our ordinary judgments, but all
human laws as founded on rewards and punish-
ments assume that ^' these motives have an influ-
ence on the mind, and both produce the good and
prevent the evil actions."

2. Having stripped off the disguise in which
Locke concealed from himself and others the
necessarian character of his doctrine of freedom,
Hume completes the work by showing that as
the sole motive by which our action is determined
is desire for pleasure, reason can have no more
power to hinder a desire from acting than to
initiate an action of itself This objection has
already been stated, but it may be worth while
considering it more fully.

{a) Reason alone can never be a motive to any
act of the will. In what form is reason exer-
cised ? (a) It may take the form of the appre-
hension of such abstract relations as those with
which mathematics is concerned. But no one would
say that a knowledge of the multiplication table,
or of the elements of Euclid, or of the differential
calculus, has of itself any influence on a man's
action. No doubt it is important to know that
7 + 5 = 12, when you wish to pay an account,
but that important piece of knowledge will not
determine you to pay the account. Abstract
or demonstrative reasoning, therefore, never in-

HUME

121

fluences any of our actions, but only as it directs
our judgment concerning causes and effects." (/3) Is
reason as concerned with the causal relations of
things a motive to action ? It is obvious enough
that our desires bring the reason into play.
If a merchant is afraid of bankruptcy he will
naturally cast about in his mind for some means
of escape from so grave a calamity. But this
act of reason, by which the relation of means
to ends is grasped, does not give rise to any
impulse to action ; but, on the contrary, the
impulse to action gives rise to the act of reason.
The merchant would not trouble himself to
think out the possible causes of insolvency, were
it not that his feeling of aversion from pain is so
strong as to drive him to it. Where the objects
themselves do not affect us, their connection can
never give them any influence ; and 'tis plain that
as reason is nothing but the discovery of this
connection, it cannot be by its means that the
objects are able to affect us." Hence it is con-
cluded that neither in its scientific form as the
apprehension of abstract truth, nor in its practical
form as the knowledge of causes, can reason be
a motive to action.

{b) As reason alone can never produce any
action, it is incapable of disputing the pre-
ference with any passion or emotion." The only

122

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

way in which reason could prevent voHtion would
be by giving an impulse in a contrary direction
to our passion, and that impulse, had it operated
alone, would have been able to produce volition.
Nothing can oppose or retard the impulse of
passion, but a contrary impulse ; and if this
contrary impulse ever arises from reason, the
latter faculty must have an original influence on
the will, and must be able to cause, as well
as to hinder, any act of volition. But if reason
has no original influence, it is impossible that it
should withstand any principle which has such an
efficacy, or ever keep the mind in suspense for
a moment.

Thus it appears that the principle which opposes
our passion cannot be the same with reason, and
is only called so in an improper sense. We speak
not strictly and philosophically when we talk of the
combat of passion and of reason. Reason is, and
ought only to be, the slave of the passions, and can
never pretend to any other office than to serve and
obey them." The motive, then, to all action comes
from the desire for pleasure or the aversion from
pain, and the sole function of practical reason is to
show us the means by which we may best obtain
the one and avoid the other.

3. The desires, or passions," as he calls them,
Hume divides ostensibly into two classes, the

HUME

123

"direct" and the "indirect," but he virtually adds
to these a third class.

{a) The " direct " passions are those which at
once spring up in the mind on the contemplation
of an object. When a man sees or thinks of a
beautiful house, e.g. he cannot prevent the feeling
of its desirability from springing up in his mind.
If, again, there is a certainty or strong probability
that he will himself get possession of it, he feels
the emotion of joy. Should the likelihood of pos-
session somewhat preponderate, he experiences hope,
and if some exertion on his part is needed to secure
the house, there arises volition or will. These four
passions of desire, joy, hope, and volition, with the
opposite states of aversion, grief, and fear, constitute
the direct passions.

{U) The "indirect" passions of pride and humility,
love and hatred, involve the reference of the feeling
of pleasure to ourselves or others. Pleasure in con-
templating any beautiful object belonging to our-
self gives rise to pride, when the object belongs to
another it excites the feeling of love. The term
" love," it must be understood, is used by Hume to
cover all feelings for another's welfare, varying from
simple esteem to intense passion.

{c) The third class of " passions," not expressly
allowed for by Hume, but mentioned by him, are
those which take the form of a natural impulse or

124

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

instinct. Such are the bodily appetites, the in-
stinct for revenge, and the social instinct. These
do not so much proceed from the desire for pleasure
and pain, as give rise to pleasure and pain. This
distinction does not, however, prevent Hume from
speaking of them as if they were themselves desires
for pleasure.

4. The motive, then, which leads a man to act
is always one of the passions. The next question
is : How do we come to call some actions virtuous
and others vicious ? What is the source of moral
approbation and disapprobation? Locke's view was,
that action is morally good when it is done out of
regard for law. But this seems to place morality
in something entirely distinct from the desire for
pleasure. Hume cannot allow this discrepancy be-
tween the assertion that pleasure is the motive of
all actions, and the assertion that some actions are
done not from pleasure but from respect for law,
to pass unchallenged ; and so he seeks to show
that all actions called virtuous are so called because
of the pleasure which they give to one who con-
templates their general tendency.

{a) To explain the feeling of moral approbation,
the passion of sympathy is in some cases sufficient.
On this principle Hume accounts for the manner
in which we view benevolent actions. Because we
can put ourselves at the point of view of others?

HUME 125

we come to look away from the immediate effects
of actions on ourselves, and to sympathize with the
pleasure which they tend to produce in others. We
do not directly approve or blame our own actions.
A benevolent act done by ourselves calls up in us
the feeling of pride. Primarily, we sympathize with
the pleasure or pain of others, and by this constant
tendency to sympathy our own feelings are limited.

{b) Nothing more than sympathy is needed to
explain those acts which directly excite in us a
feeling of pleasure or pain. But what is to be said
of those acts the immediate effect of which is to
produce in us a feeling of pain, and which we yet
morally approve ? How, in other words, are we to
account for moral judgments in regard to laws of
justice ? Justice is an " artificial " virtue, i.e. it gives
rise to the pleasure of moral approbation, not
directly, but indirectly. But Hume endeavours to
show that the pleasure felt in just acts is developed
out of the pleasure of direct sympathy with bene-
volent acts, and rests on the same fundamental
desire for pleasure. Hume speaks of society as
resting upon contract, and as based upon self-
interest ; but he does not, like Hobbes, suppose
rights to be brought into existence by the contract,
nor does he adopt the view of Locke, that rights
exist before government, and are only confirmed by
it. His view is that rules of justice proceed from

126

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

the same source which causes men to keep their
promises.

Naturally, we desire our own good and the
good of those who are related to us by ties of
blood or by personal intercourse. Moreover, ex-
ternal goods are insufficient to satisfy the wants
of all. Hence, from the " selfishness and confined
generosity " of man, along with the scanty provision
nature has made for his wants, justice derives
its origin." Justice is thus not " natural," but
artificial." Reflection on the general loss caused
by the insecurity of property leads to a " tacit
convention," entered into by all the members
of a society, to abstain from each other's pos-
sessions.

But why is an observance of the rules of justice
called virtue, and their violation vice ? Certainly
not, as Locke thought, because they are imposed
by an external authority upon the individual.
The explanation must be sought in the desire
for pleasure, which leads to the establishment of
justice. Hume's explanation is that, so long as
the community is small, men can see at a glance
what is for their own interest, and hence self-
interest is a sufficient motive. But as society
expands, what is for one's interest is no longer
self-evident, and some other principle has to come
into play. That principle is sympathy ; by which

HUME

127

is to be understood the feeling of pleasure which
arises in a man's mind when he contemplates an
action done by another, the tendency of which is
to bring pleasure to the community.

The feeling of sympathy by which Hume explains
the artificial virtue of justice is thus a special
sort of pleasure differing from all other pleasures.
It is a feeling of pleasure that arises in our
mind when we look at an act apart from our own
interest, and view it in its general tendency. We
do not feel moral approbation for every act that
brings pleasure to another, but only for those acts
that have a general tendency to bring pleasure.
Sympathy with the joy of his wife and family
would naturally lead us to approve of a criminal's
escape from punishment, but when we reflect that
the tendency of his acts is to produce an excess of
pain to the community, our sympathy takes a
reverse direction and we approve of his condem-
nation. Thus moral approbation is a feeling in
the mind of one who adopts the attitude of an
impartial spectator ; it is that sympathetic pleasure
which arises from the perception of an action as
conducive to the interests of others.

5. Granting that we have explained the origin
of law and custom, and accounted for our moral
approbation of acts in accordance with them without
departing from the principle that all actions are

128

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

done from the desire of pleasure, the question still
remains to be answered : What is the motive to
virtue ? Why should I obey law ? Hume startles
us by saying that no action can be virtuous unless
it proceeds from some motive distinct from the
sense of its moral obligation. This paradoxical
conclusion follows from his premises. The motive
to any action must always be a desire of some
kind. Why do we blame a father for neglecting
his child ? Not because he disobeys law in neglect-
ing him, but because he shows a want of natural
affection. Why do we regard the philanthropist
as virtuous, if not because of his benevolent feelings ?
The father who takes care of his children, or the
man who does humane acts, merely because he
thinks that he ought to do so, is really moved
by the desire to become, or to appear to himself,
what he is not. In other words, a man's good
actions proceed either from " pride," i.e, the pleasure
which he takes in what belongs to himself, or from
" love," the pleasure accruing from that which is
pleasant to others. To the agent the motive is,
in plain words, desire for the good opinion of his
neighbours.

(i) Hume has presented with unexampled clear-
ness and force the individualistic theory of the
will. If the consciousness of man is just the series
of feelings that occur to him, there can be no

HUME

129

element in human action that is not equally mani-
fest in other events. A certain feeling of desire,
having a certain degree of intensity, arises in us,
the only account we can give of which is that
as a matter of fact it does occur and has the
intensity we find it to have ; and this feeling is
followed by another feeling which we distinguish
as volition. In reason, as simply the series of
feelings themselves, there can of course be nothing
but what is found in the feelings ; and hence
" reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the
passions," or, even more correctly, reason is itself
the passions. The only way to avoid the neces-
sarianism of Hume is to challenge the account
which he gives of the nature of the human mind.
Now the radical mistake in that account is in the
reduction of consciousness to a mere flow of feelings.
Were our mental life really of that nature, we should
not even be able, as Hume assumes we are, to
have the illusion that we ourselves are not merely
our own feelings. This may be shown by looking
at the connection of desire and will.

Suppose that in a man's consciousness there
suddenly springs up the craving of hunger, which
is followed by the impulse to eat, an impulse which
is succeeded by the physical movement of eating
food that chances to be within reach. Here plainly

there is no balancing of desires, no consciousness

I30 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

of different objects as desirable, and no willing
of one of those objects ; the succession of the feeling
of want, the impulse to eat, and the external series
of movements is of the same nature as the move-
ment of one billiard ball when it is struck by
another, which itself follows the motion of the cue
in the hand of the player. But, it may be said,
add to the original want of hunger other wants, and
a conflict will ensue between them. And no doubt
this is a fairly correct account of what takes place
in the case of some animals. A dog prompted by
hunger, it may be said, will steal a piece of meat,
unless the natural shrinking from a stick turns out
to be a stronger impulse. It is doubtful if this
is an adequate account even of the action of the
dog. If it is, we do not require to suppose more
than that a stronger feeling arises and repels the
weaker, which then has the field to itself, and
issues in physical movement as in the case of the
billiard ball. Whatever may be said of the animal,
such an explanation is quite inadequate when
applied to man, and yet this is the representation
of human action adopted by Hume and by in-
dividualistic moralists generally. But it does not
really exhaust all that is implied in volition.
When a man wills, he does not simply contemplate
the struggle of different desires, waiting until one
has established its superior strength over another :

HUME

131

a desire is his consciousness of a certain end as
seemingly fitted to satisfy him.

Now this idea of a possible satisfaction implies
the contrast of his actual self as he knows it at
the time of the desire and his ideal self as he con-
ceives that it will be after the series of acts by
which the desire has been carried into effect. The
force or intensity of the desire is thus the same
thing as the consciousness of himself as he may be.
But there is no one desire which exhausts that
consciousness. Hence the possibility of the repeated
comparison of different ideals of himself with one
another. What, then, takes place when the man
passes from desire to will ? Not a mere blind
struggle between opposing desires, ending in the
victory of the strongest. The act of will consists
in the man identifying his good for the time with
one of the different ideals of himself which he is
capable of forming. The ideal he could not have
without reason, nor could he will it without reason ;
hence reason, so far from being the slave of the
passions," is itself will. Will, in other words, is
just reason in that form in which it implies self-
identification with an end presented by reason to
itself. Only a rational being can think of ends,
and so think of them as to realize them in his
experience. The process of self-realization is will.

No true conception of the nature of human

132

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

action is possible until it is seen that passion and
reason, desire and will, are not abstract opposites.
Such an opposition implies that an unreflected feeling
of pleasure or pain, as it may exist in beings
that are not self-conscious, is the same in nature
with the emotions of thinking beings. Pleasure
as an immediate feeling, and the desire for pleasure,
are not the same thing. No man desires pleasure
purely for itself ; he desires it because he imagines
that, having obtained it, he will experience a satis-
faction of his ideal self The striving after satis-
faction thus implies a contrast between what is
and what ought to be. Every man in virtue of his
self-conscious nature must seek after complete self-
realization. There is therefore implied in the passions
or natural inclinations a striving after ideal perfection,
i.e. a man's acts are really directed towards a
rational end. The contrast of passion and reason
is therefore not an absolute one.

Similarly, when it is said that the strongest
motive or passion ^con s the will, motives are
conceived after the fashion of an external force
which push the will in different directions, the
volition being the resultant of their combined
action. That is to say, desire is one thing
and will another. Desire is related to will as an
external force to the object which it sets in
motion.

HUME

133

This whole mode of thought is unsound. Desire
is not the opposite of will, it is simply will before
it has issued in activity. When I desire to do a
certain act or series of acts, I set before myself the
end which I wish to achieve, and, having the con-
sciousness of that end, I am said to be in a state
of desire. Desire, therefore, involves a state of
tension between myself as I now am, and myself
as I think of myself as capable of becoming. This
contrast of the present and the possible self is of
the essence of desire. The end which I set before
myself is that which explains why it is that I act
in a particular way. What is the difference between
this condition of desire and the condition of willing
the act ? What takes place when I pass from the
desire of the end to the willing of the end? Does
the desire act externally upon the will ? That is
the ordinary conception, but it is plainly inadequate.
When I will the end which I have set before my-
self, I identify myself in consciousness with the end.
Such an identification would be impossible if I had
no consciousness of myself Were there no self-con-
sciousness there would be nothing but a blind im-
pulse followed by an unintelligent act. But I am
self-conscious ; I can conceive of this end as one
which to me it seems good to realize. I think the
end, and I identify myself in thought with the end,
and this peculiar form of thinking constitutes willing.

134

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

Willing is not the same thing as the mechanical
movement, which is its external expression ; it is
absolutely and entirely a form of thought, and as
such belongs to the realm of self-consciousness.

Desire, then, is the consciousness of an end, as
one which it is good to realize. Will is self-identi-
fication with that end. The difference is that what
in desire is conceived of as an end to be realized is
in will conceived of as an end now being realized.
Hence, desire and w^ill are just the same self-con-
scious being now as capable of realizing an end,
and again as realizing that end.

(2) As, then, man's passions " are not resolvable
into mere units of feeling, the distinction of ''direct"
and " indirect " passions is inadmissible. {a) No
passions enter into consciousness so as to become
motives without being transformed in the process.
Hence, all passions are " indirect," i.e. all imply de-
termination by the idea of the self as capable of
existing in a completed form. {b) Nor can we
distinguish pride and love as dealing respectively
with oneself and others. I cannot be conscious of
myself except in relation to other selves, and I
cannot relate any desirable object to myself with-
out also relating it to other persons. Hence pride,
as well as love, implies the relation of the individual
to others. No man would take pride in a fine
estate were it not that he values the good opinion

HUME

of others. There are in man no mere appetites

or instinctive feelings, or at least these do not
lead to acts which can be referred to the agent.
Appetite as it enters into consciousness is known
for what it is, its end is discerned by the thinking
being, and, being brought into relation with the
idea of himself, it takes the form of desire, which,
as we have seen, is incipient will.

(3) Hume tries to explain moral judgments b}'
means of sympathy. But he does not attempt to
explain sympathy itself Now, sympathy is not
really a feeling of pleasure in the pleasure of others ;
it is, properly understood, just reason itself If, like
Hume, we continue to regard it as a peculiar feel-
ing on the same level as other feelings, there is no
proper justification for moral judgments, except that
we cannot help having them. We contemplate the
action of one man who acts from the immediate
desire for his own pleasure, and, finding that his
acts tend to bring on the whole more pain than
pleasure, we cannot avoid having a disagreeable
feeling of moral disapprobation.

But, after all, this feeling may be, for aught Hume
can show, unreasonable. The only way in which
we can really show the absoluteness of moral judg-
ments is by basing them upon reason. Then sym-
pathy is raised into the form of the judgment that
an act is right or wrong, according as it does or

136

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

does not tend to the realization of the ideal or
spiritual nature. An act is not right because it is
felt to be so, but we feel it to be so because it is
right. Moral good thus means conformity to the
ideal standard set up by reason and willed by
reason. The true motive to a good action is there-
fore not, as Hume makes it, love of reputation, but
desire to conform to the ideal of reason. Hence, a
man is prepared to endure the ill opinion of his
neighbours, when that opinion conflicts with the
revelation of the higher life flashed upon him by
his own more sensitive conscience.

CHAPTER VII
BENTHAM

It may safely be said that no hedonistic system
subsequent to Hume has added anything to the
general doctrine, but has either introduced dis-
tinctions belonging to an earlier stage of its
devolopment or has ennobled it by the introduction
of conceptions that are inconsistent with its funda-
mental principle. That all actions are determined
by the desire for pleasure ; that the pleasure which
to the individual at the moment seems strongest
determines the will ; that reason has no power to
originate, to retard, or to prevent action, but is a
purely formal, or theoretical activity ; that there
is no " innate faculty " or " moral sense " belong-
ing to man in his natural state, but that moral
judgments are resolvable into a peculiar form of
pleasure ; that justice is a means of obtaining
security for life and property, and so of securing
the greatest pleasure of society as a whole ; and

138 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

that a man's motive in doing a benevolent or just
act is ultimately a regard for his own pleasure ; —
these are the main features of a hedonism that
is as self-consistent as hedonism can be made,
and they are all clearly set forth by Hume.

Jeremy Bentham is a thinker rather of the
t}^pe of Hobbes, than of the type of Hume.
His predominant interest is in the advancement
of social well-being, and keeping this end ever
before him, he presents us with a doctrine having
in it much higher elements than any of his pre-
decessors, but higher elements which logically have
no place in a hedonistic theory of conduct. Des-
titute of the speculative subtlety of Hume, he
tries not so much to reconcile his hedonism with
the principle that morality consists in doing actions
which secure the greatest good of the greatest
number, as to show how hedonism may be practi-
cally applied in the regulation of the actions of
private individuals, and to the improvement of
legislation. Especially in the latter respect his
writings have been of great practical value, a value
which, as it may be fairly said, is independent of
what he believed to be the motive of all actions,
the desire for one's own pleasure.

We shall, I think, best appreciate the strength
and the weakness of Bentham by viewing him as
a writer who above all things was interested in an

BENTHAM

139

analysis of the springs of human conduct, with
a view to finding the most effective means of
improving society by acting upon them. Hence
his elaborate classification of the various pleasures
which serve as motives, his endless divisions and
subdivisions, and his continual insistence on the
principle that " every one is to count for one and
no one for more than one." Bentham is really
attempting to construct a system of conduct that
shall serve as a guide in actual life. Whether
such a system can be constructed or not, we are
at least entitled to demand that it should not be
based upon inconsistent principles.

Let us look at the main points in Bentham's
doctrine.

I. He has no hesitation in rejecting as false
all other principles except that of " utility," the
principle which approves or disapproves of every
action whatsoever, according to the tendency which
it appears to have to augment or diminish the
happiness of the party whose interest is in ques-
tion." The adverse principles which he criticizes
are those of asceticism and sympathy and antipathy,

{a) Asceticism he defines as " that principle,
which, like the principle of utility, approves or
disapproves of any action, according to the tend-
ency which it appears to have to augment or
diminish the happiness of the party whose interest

I40

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

is in question ; but in an inverse manner, approv-
ing of actions in as far as they tend to diminish
his happiness ; disapproving of them in as far as
they tend to augment it." Such a representation,
or rather misrepresentation, of asceticism is a curious
instance of the extraordinary want of intellectual
sympathy which is characteristic of Bentham. That
the end of life is to get as much pain as possible
is a mere caricature of ascetic morality. What
has given that mode of thought a peculiar fascina-
tion to many minds is that it opposes the higher
or spiritual life to the lower, and maintains that
the former can only be obtained by the complete
sacrifice of the latter. The end is therefore from
the ascetic point of view, not the production of
pain, but the transcendence of the pleasures of the
flesh by means of self-mortification, which is believed
to be the only way to the blessed life."

(J? J Bentham is more successful in detecting the
weakness of the second principle to which he
objects. The principle of sympathy and anti-
pathy," is, as he contends, rather a principle in
name than in reality." To say that an action is
good merely because it is felt to be good is the
negation of all principle. One man says that a
thing is right because his " moral sense " tells him
so ; another appeals to common sense," and con-
veniently leaves out " the sense of those whose

BENTHAM

141

sense is not the same " as his own ; a third speaks
of an " eternal and immutable rule of right," but
when he comes to particulars you find that he
really means what he thinks to be right ; others
appeal to the law of nature " or " natural justice "
or " right reason." In all these cases recourse is
had to one's own feeling, which affords no standard
of conduct at all.

2. Having thus cleared away the rubbish, Bentham
goes to work with great energy to construct an
edifice of morals on the basis of hedonisnj.

The end is the securing of pleasure and the
avoidance of pain. It is necessary, therefore, if we
are to determine action in conformity with this
end, to know how pleasures vary in value. Con-
sidered by itself a pleasure or pain is greater or less
according to {a) intensity, {p) duration, (6) certainty
or uncertainty, {d) propinquity or remoteness ; to
which must be added, when we are estimating the
value of an act {e) fecundity, or the chance it has of
being followed by sensations of the same kind, (/)
its purity, or the chance it has of not being followed
by sensations of the opposite kind. When we are
estimating the pleasures of a number of persons,
we must add (^) extent, i.e. the number of persons
who are affected by it. To determine the general
tendency of an act, is to strike a balance between
the pleasures and pains associated with it. If the

142

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

pleasure is in excess the act is good, if the pain
is in excess the act is bad. As an illustration
of the method of determining value by a calcu-
lation of pleasures and pains, Bentham cites the
instance of a landed estate, which a man values
for the pleasures it will bring and the pain it
will enable him to avoid, while its value rises
according to the length of time he is to have
possession and the nearness of the time he is to
come into possession of it. The other circum-
stances which go to make up the quantity of the
man's pleasure, the intensity^ fecundity^ and pmdty
of the pleasures, are not considered beforehand
because they vary with the use which each person
may come to make of the estate. This process
of calculation is not pursued in every case, but
it may always be kept in view, and the more
fully it is carried out the nearer will it approach
to the character of an exact one.

Not only do pleasures differ in quantity, but they
are distinguished according to their exciting causes,
and these are subdivided into {a) single, {U) complex.
Fourteen different sorts or kinds of pleasure are
mentioned, viz., pleasures of sense, wealth, skill,
amity, good name, power, piety, benevolence, male-
volence, memory, imagination, expectation, associa-
tion, relief. A further division of even greater
importance is into (i) self-regarding, (2) extra-

BE NTH AM

143

regarding, the latter comprehending the pleasures of
benevolence and the pleasures of malevolence, all the
rest belonging to the former class. It is admitted
by Bentham that the quantity of pleasure and pain
is not excited by a given cause, is not the same
in different persons. One man may be most
affected by the pleasures of the taste ; another
by those of the ear. The various circumstances
which influence the sensibility are enumerated
by Bentham, and are such as health, strength,
hardness, bodily imperfection, knowledge, moral
sensibility, etc.

3. Bentham's next attempt is to determine what
enters into and constitutes the character of human
actions ; and here he distinguishes, {a) the act
itself, {b) the circumstances in which it is done,
ic) the intentionality that may have accompanied
it, {d) the consciousness that may have accom-
panied it, ie) the motive which gives rise to it,
(y) the disposition which it indicates.

The intention may regard either the act itself
or its consequences. The act may be intentional
but not the consequences, as when you may intend
to touch a man without intending to hurt him,
and yet as a matter of fact you may chance to
hurt him. But the consequences cannot be inten-
tional without the act being intentional. If you
do not intend the act, the consequences are not

144

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

intended. People often speak of a good or bad
intention, but this is an imperfect way of speaking.
Nothing is either good or bad but pain or pleasure,
or things that are the causes or preventives of
pain and pleasure. A man certainly intends his
act, but he cannot strictly speaking be said to
intend the consequences. He may be conscious
or not conscious of them, but he does not intend
them. If I take a prescription which is furnished
me. by a physician, I intend to take it, but I
cannot be said to intend the consequences ; I can
only know or not know what the consequences
will be. No intention therefore can be called
either good or bad, since goodness and badness are
dependent upon the consequences in the way of
pleasure or pain.

The motive to an act must be distinguished
from the intention. The only motives with which
we are concerned are those which act upon the
will. Now, to be governed by any motive a man
must look beyond his action to the consequences of
it. " A fire breaks out in your neighbour s house ;
you are under apprehension of its extending to
your own ; you are apprehensive that if you stay
in it you will be burnt ; you accordingly run out
of it. This then is the act, the others are all
motives to it." A motive is " substantially no-
thing more than pleasure or pain, operating in a

BENTHAM

certain manner." Now, " pleasure is in itself a
good ; nay, even setting aside freedom from pain,
the only good ; pain is in itself an evil ; and
indeed, without exception, the only evil. And this
is alike true of every sort of pain, and of every
sort of pleasure. It follows, therefore, that there
is no such thing as any sort of motive that is in
itself a bad one!' If motives are good or bad it is
only on account of their effects ; good, on account
of their tendency to produce pleasure, or avert
pain ; bad, on account of their tendency to produce
pain, or avert pleasure. The various motives corre-
spond to the different sorts of pleasure. Frequently
a man is acted upon by different motives at the
same time : one motive or set of motives, acting
in one direction ; another motive, or set of motives,
acting as it were in an opposite direction."

Is there nothing, then, about a man that
can properly be termed good or bad ? Yes, cer-
tainly ; his disposition. But the disposition is
good or bad according to its effects in the pro-
duction of pleasure and pain. When a man is
accustomed to do acts which bring more pleasure
than pain to the community, we say that he has
a good disposition.

4. Bentham, then, places goodness and badness
entirely in the disposition of the agent, as deter-
mined by the view which is taken of the tendency

146

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

of his act combined with his view of its conse-
quences. The question arises whether there is any
difference between pleasures such as entitles us
to speak of the disposition of a man as good or
bad in a moral sense. A man's disposition is good
when the tendency of his act is good, i.e, when
it produces pleasure, and when he acts from an
extra-regarding motive. But is the distinction of
motives into the two classes of self-regarding and
extra-regarding tenable ? Bentham virtually ad-
mits that it is not. The only motive that can be
brought to bear upon a man is his own pain and
pleasure." " On the occasion of every act he
exercises every human being is led to pursue that
line of conduct which, according to his view of the
case taken by him at the moment, will be in the
highest degree contributory to his own happiness."
Whether, therefore, the man's motive is called
self-regarding or extra-regarding, the motive is
ultimately a desire for his own greatest pleasure.

5. Bentham distinguishes, however, between "pri-
vate ethics " and the " art of legislation," endeavour-
ing to determine the limits of each. Ethics at
large may be defined as the art of directing men's
actions to the production of the greatest possible
quantity of happiness." Private ethics is the art
of self-government, or the art of directing a man's
own actions." Government or legislation is the art

BENTHAM

147

of directing the actions of other agents so as to
produce a maximum of pleasure in the whole
community. The quality which a man manifests
in discharging his duty to himself if duty it is to
be called") is that of p^'udence. In so far as his
behaviour may affect the interests of those about
him, it may be said to depend upon his duty to
others. To forbear from diminishing the happiness
of one's neighbour is probity ; to add something
to his happiness is beneficence. If it is asked, why
should I obey the dictates of probity and beite-
ficence} Bentham answers that, while " the only
interests which a man at all times and upon all
occasions is sure to find adequate motives for
consulting are his own," yet, " there are no occa-
sions in which a man has not some motives for
consulting the happiness of other men. In the
first place, he has, on all occasions, the purely
social motive of sympathy or benevolence ; in the
next place, he has, on most occasions, the semi-
social motives of love, of amity, and love of re-
putation. The motive of sympathy will act upon
him with more or less effect, according to the bias
of his sensibility ; the two other motives, according
to a variety of circumstances, principally according
to the strength of his intellectual powers, the firm-
ness and steadiness of his mind, the quantum of
his moral sensibility, and the characters of the

148

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

people he has to deal with." As private ethics
and legislation have the same end in view, viz.,
the happiness of every member of the community,
to a certain extent they go hand in hand. How
then do they differ ? They differ in so far as the
acts with which they are concerned are " not per-
fectly and throughout the same." " There is no case
in which a private man ought not to direct his own
conduct to the production of his own happiness, and
of that of his fellow creatures ; but there are cases
in which the legislation ought not to attempt to
direct the conduct of the several other members
of the community. Every act which promises to
be beneficial upon the whole to the community
(himself included) each individual ought to perform
of himself ; but it is not every such act that the
legislator ought to compel him to perform." There
are, then, actions with which legislation may not
interfere, but which are left to private ethics. What
are these cases ?

{a) Legislation should not interfere where punish-
ment would be inefficacious. It is useless, for
example, to punish a man for not obeying a law
that has not been duly announced beforehand ;
and yet, admitting the law to be a wise one, the
action prohibited is pernicious in its consequences,
and is, therefore, contrary to " private ethics."
Where no law would be of any efficacy, as in

BENTHAM

149

the case of an insane person, neither is there any
private law. But the main region in which private
ethics operates of itself is in cases where punish-
ment would be unprofitable. Thus, when the
guilty person will in all likelihood escape detection,
especially if the temptation to commit the offence
is very strong, or when there is danger of the
innocent being punished, the matter is one that
private ethics alone should deal with. An instance
of the latter is treachery or ingratitude.

ip) " Of the rules of moral duty, those which stand
least in need of the assistance of legislation are the
rules of prudence. It can only be through some
defect on the part of the understanding, if a man
be ever deficient in point of duty to himself" All
that the legislator can hope to do is " to increase
the efficacy of private ethics, by giving strength and
direction to the influence of the moral sanction.
With what chance of success, for example, would a
legislator go about to extirpate drunkenness and
fornication by dint of legal punishment? Not all the
tortures which ingenuity could invent would com-
pass it ; and, before he had made any progress worth
regarding, such a mass of evil would be produced
by the punishment, as would exceed a thousand-
fold the utmost possible mischief of the offence.
The great difficulty would be in the procuring evi-
dence ; an object which could not be attempted

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

with any probability of success, without spreading
dismay through every family, tearing the bonds of
sympathy asunder, and rooting out the influence
of all the social motives." Legislative interference
is even worse in matters of religion. Louis XIV.,
for example, out of pure sympathy and loving kind-
ness was led into coercive measures which produced

all the miseries which the most determined male-
volence could have devised."

{c) The rules of probity are those which stand
most in need of assistance on the part of the legis-
lator, and in which, in point of fact, his interference
has been most extensive. " There are few cases, if
any, in which it would not be expedient to punish
a man for injuring his neighbour." Here, in fact,

we must first know what are the dictates of legis-
lation, before we can know what are the dictates of
private ethics."

id) The rules of beneficence must necessarily be
left in great measure to private ethics ; for, as a
rule, the beneficial quality of the act depends upon
its being free and voluntary. To sum up : " Private
ethics teaches how each man may dispose himself
to pursue the course most conducive to his own
happiness, by means of such motives as offer of
themselves ; the act of legislation teaches how a
multitude of men, composing a community, may be
disposed to pursue that course which, upon the

BE NTH AM 151

whole, is the most conducive to the happiness of
the whole community, by means of motives to be
applied by the legislator." Bentham adds, that social
opinion and religion have also sanctions of their
own, but the former not infrequently runs counter
to the public good, while the influence of the latter
is weak and uncertain in its action.

Through the whole of Bentham's ethical theory
there runs an ambiguity which imparts to it a
delusive air of plausibility and consistency. The
founder of the modern school of Utilitarianism
has fixed for it the main outlines of the common
creed, and his doctrine, like that of his disciples,
rests upon two distinct and even contradictory
principles.

(i) Bentham's attempt to show that pleasures
and pains may be balanced against one another by
being separately summed up, rests upon a confusion
between pleasure and pain as feelings and as objects
of thought. Let us take Bentham's own instance
of the man who thinks of buying an estate. He
calls up in imagination the various pleasures which
are associated with it, and the quantity of each of
these he multiplies by the time he expects to en-
joy them, adding to the sum the extra amount
of pleasure connected with immediate possession.
Now, it is here implied that each of the pleasures
that go to form the whole sum has a certain precise

152

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

degree of intensity which can be, at least approxi-
mately, determined beforehand. But Bentham him-
self points out that pleasures vary according to the
susceptibility of the individual. Now, surely that
means that no pleasure has any quantity apart from
its relation to the idea of one's self as the subject
of the pleasure. Thus the quantity of the pleasure
means the thought of a certain object as a means of
bringing satisfaction to the man who anticipates it.
What the man really does is to compare different
means of self-satisfaction, and to pronounce that
certain objects will, as he believes, judging from his
own past experience, be a better means of realizing
himself than certain other objects. He is not con-
trasting feelings of pleasure as such, but he is
comparing himself in one ideal set of circumstances
with himself in another ideal set of circumstances.
Take away this conception of himself, and he is
unable to say that any one pleasure has more or
less quantity than another. Always, when he says
that one pleasure is greater than another, he tacitly
adds, greater for ine^ and for those of like nature
with me. But if the conception of himself as a
permanent subject capable of satisfaction in various
defined ways is what gives meaning to the supposed
calculus of pleasures, is it not plain that not pleasure
as a mere feeling, but pleasure as the possible satis-
faction of his ideal self, is what really determines

BE NTH AM

153

whether, in the case mentioned, he shall buy the
estate ?

(2) It follows from this that not pleasure, as
Bentham supposes, but the realization of man's
nature in its ideal perfection is the end of all action.
When we set aside as inconsistent with the highest
conduct anything with which a man may, as a
matter of fact, seek to satisfy himself, we can justify
our judgment only on the ground that it is incom-
patible with the idea of perfect manhood. The man,
we say, is trying to violate his true nature. The
idea of himself which he is seeking to realize is
incompatible with the idea of himself of which he is
at least obscurely conscious. The prodigal wastes
his substance in riotous living, but at last " he comes
to himself" Contrasting what he has been trying
to realize with the ideal of himself, he is visited
with repentance, as he becomes aware of how poor
is his real as compared with his ideal self Thus
arises the idea of what he ought to be, as contrasted
with what he is. At first the notion of moral
obligation is negative. " I have not done," he says,
what I ought to have done." And so he condemns
himself in the presence of the unrealized self But
this is only the beginning of a change of life. What
he ought to do is not merely the negative idea that
what he is is inconsistent with what he ought to be,
but in this negation there is already the " promise

154

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

and potency " of what he may become. Thus he
goes on to fill up the ideal of himself as he should
be, and he adds, I will arise and go to my father."

(3) Bentham's account of intentionality or will
is beset with a similar imperfection. A man in-
tends to do an act, but his intention has nothing to
do with the consequences of his act, to himself or
others. Now^, if we thus separate an act from its
consequences it ceases to have any moral character,
and hence Bentham naturally says that no intention
is either good or bad. The truth is that an act
which is isolated in this w^ay is not an act at all,
but is simply a physical movement. The act of
taking a physician's prescription, viewed in itself,
is not viewed as a distinctively human act. But
no one takes a prescription without some end in
view. He desires the removal of something which
interferes with the healthy discharge of the bodily
functions, and he desires health because that is in-
cluded in his idea of himself as he ought to be.
Thus the intention is properly the willing of a
certain act as the means to a given end. But there
can be no willing of an act as a means, unless there
is the consciousness of the end to w^hich it is the
means. The intention, therefore, is just the w^illing
of the means by which a preconceived end is sought
to be obtained.

(4) Bentham makes a similar separation between

BE NTH AM

motive and consequences. The motive, he says, is
always a desire for pleasure, and as pleasure is
always a good, no motive is in itself bad. Now, cer-
tainly if we separate a motive from the consequences
of an act, the motive is not bad, and neither is it
good ; it simply has no moral character. What
this shows is that a feeling of pleasure as such is
not a motive at all. The motive is always the de-
sire for the realization of one's self Apart from
such an ideal self, a motive can only be regarded
as a feeling that arises spontaneously in the mind,
and is followed by a certain external movement.
But no motive is of this character. When a man
acts from the motive of benevolence, he does so be-
cause he has set before himself this end as one of
the ways in which his ideal nature may be realized.
Thus from the very character of the motive, it
involves the consequences ; only the consequences
must not be conceived, as they are by Bentham, as
merely the relation of an external movement to
other external movements which follow as its effects.
The consequences which a man sets before himself
are consequences in the way of fulfilling his ideal of
himself, and which, therefore, enter into and form
his character ; and these are good or bad according
as they do or do not make for that end. Thus the
motive and the consequences are the same thing,
viewed, the former from the side of the willing

156

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

agent, and the latter from the side of the object
which he wills. So regarded, every motive has a
distinct moral character as good or bad.

(5) Bentham holds that the only thing that can
be called good is a man's disposition. By this he
means that a man's act is good if, on the whole,
his acts tend to produce more pleasure than pain.
This is another way of saying that no intention is
properly either good or bad. This is almost ex-
pressly said by Bentham when he tells us that a
man's disposition is ''the sum of his intentions," and
it is implied in his virtual definition of a ''good"
disposition as one which is "beneficial," and of a
" bad " disposition as one which is " mischievous."
Thus a man's disposition is not strictly good or bad
in any sense conveying moral praise or blame. That
this should follow from Bentham's view of the will
is not in the least surprising. It follows, as a
matter of course, from the doctrine that will is
merely the effect of certain motives that depend
upon " the degree of a man's sensibility."

(6) We now come to that part of Bentham's
system, in which his false analysis of human nature
exhibits itself in an almost open conflict of two
diverse principles. Granting that pleasure is at
once the end and the motive to action, the
question still remains : Whose pleasure ? Is the
end the production of the greatest amount of

BENTHAM

157

pleasure to each individual, or to the greatest
number of individuals ? Is the motive desire for
one's own pleasure, or desire for the pleasure of
the community as a whole ? Here Bentham plays
fast and loose with language in a way that makes
all clear thinking on the question impossible.

{a) Both private ethics and legislation have the
same end in view, the happiness of every member
of the community. Now there is here a manifest
ambiguity. If each man seeks his own good, no
doubt we may say that the good of every member
of the community is made the end. But it is the
good of each separately that is sought. The legis-
lator, on the other hand, does not seek the good
of any one man, or set of men, but the good of
all men ; and this good may involve the taking
pleasure from some that others may have more.

ib) To say that the motive of each man is
desire for his own pleasure is certainly to sa}-
that every member of the community acts out of
regard for pleasure. But the legislator is not
seeking the good of men individually but collec-
tively. How, then, is he to act upon individuals
so as to make them choose the good of all ?
Bentham admits that he can only do so by
convincing each man that his own good is bound
up with the good of others ; in other words, the
motive to action of the individual is always a re-

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HEDONISTIC THEORIES

gard for his own pleasure. Clearly, therefore, the
distinction of self-regarding and extra-regarding
motives is a distinction without a difference. All
motives are self-regarding.

(7) This objection is not one that can be got
rid of without completely recasting the whole
system. When we see that the aim is always the
realization of the higher self, we also see that the
opposition of self-regarding and other-regarding
motives is a false one. A man best realizes him-
self in seeking the good of others, and he cannot
truly seek the good of others without seeking to
realize himself There are not two discrepant sets
of motives. From the moral point of view the
distinction of self and others is annulled and
transcended ; and what popular language calls
selfishness is seen to be contradictory at once of
individual and of common good.

CHAPTER VIII
JOHN STUART MILL

In Bentham we have a man whose ethical theory
reflects his own benevolent disposition and practi-
cal type of character, but who has little perception
of the speculative difficulties attaching to the basis
of his theory. John Stuart Mill has none of the
limitations of his predecessor. In him the enthu-
siasm of humanity burns with as steady a flame
as in Bentham, but the flame itself is purer, and
sheds a clearer and broader light. To the specu-
lative subtlety of Hume he unites the ardour for
truth of Spinoza. The ethical doctrine of such a
man cannot but reflect his own largeness of nature.
But it may also reflect his subtlety and capacity
for self-deception. For reasons that can easily
be understood Mill to the last held in words to
the main principle of hedonism, that the end
and motive of action is pleasure, while yet he
introduced into his presentation of Utilitarianism

l6o HEDONISTIC THEORIES

elements that may be shown to be contradictory
of it.

I. As to the end of life Mill holds with all
hedonists, that it is pleasure. The theory of life
on which Utilitarianism is founded is that plea-
sure and freedom from pain are the only things
desirable as ends ; and that all desirable things
are desirable either for the pleasure inherent in
themselves, or as means to the promotion of plea-
sure and the prevention of pain." Hence actions
are right in proportion as they tend to promote
happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the
reverse of happiness. The happiness which is
the end of life is not, however, " the agent's own
greatest happiness, but the greatest amount of
happiness altogether." So far Mill agrees with
Bentham, but he diverges in one most important
particular when he denies that the only distinction
between pleasures is one of quantity. This was
a fundamental point in the doctrine of the earlier
thinker, and hence an attempt was made by him
to show that the goodness of an act can be, and
as a matter of fact is, determined by adding to-
gether intensity, duration, and other quantitative
differences of anticipated pleasures and pains, and
striking a balance between them.

This method of estimating the value of plea-
sure is virtually abandoned by Mill, and for it

JOHN STUART MILL l6l

^ he substitutes the comparison of pleasures and
pains by their differences of quality^ or, at least,
he retains the quantitative method only as a
means of arranging pleasures of the same kind
in a graduated scale of desirability. In many
minds the hedonistic theory of life, as he says,
produces inveterate dislike. " To suppose that life
has (as they express it) no higher end than plea-
sure, they designate as utterly mean and grovelling ;
as a doctrine worthy only of swine, to whom the
followers of Epicurus were, at a very early period,
contemptuously likened." But this charge supposes
human beings to be capable of no pleasures except
those of which swine are capable. The compari-
son of the Epicurean life with that of beasts is felt
as degrading, precisely because a beast's pleasures
do not satisfy a human being's conception of
happiness.

There is no known Epicurean theory of life
which does not assign to the pleasures of the
intellect, of the feelings and imagination, and of
the moral sentiments, a much higher value as
pleasures than to those of mere sensation. It is
quite compatible with the principle of utility to
recognize the fact, that some kinds of pleasure are
more desirable and more valuable than others.
It would be absurd that while, in estimating all
other things, quality is considered as well as quan-

l62

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

tity, the estimation of pleasures should be supposed
to depend on quantity alone. No doubt the
same pleasure is very differently estimated by
different persons, but the superiority of one plea-
sure over another must be determined by the
judgment of those who have had experience of
both. Mill goes so far as to say that there are
pleasures so intrinsically superior that they out-
weigh " any quantity of the other pleasure." This
is true of all the pleasures connected with the
higher faculties. No intelligent human being
would consent to be a fool, no instructed person
would be an ignoramus, no person of feeling and
conscience would be selfish or base, even though
they should be persuaded that the fool, the dunce,
or the rascal, is better satisfied with his lot than
they are with theirs." The sense of dignity "
prevents every human being from being willing to
" sink into what he feels to be a lower grade of
existence." It is better to be a human being
dissatisfied than a pig satisfied, better to be Socrates
dissatisfied than a fool satisfied."

The ultimate end, then, is an existence exempt
as far as possible from pain and as rich as pos-
sible in enjoyments, both in point of quantity and
quality. If it is objected that this end is unattain-
able, the answer is that by happiness is not meant
a " life of rapture," but moments of such in an

JOHN STUART MILL

existence made up of few and transitory pains,
many and various pleasures." Such a life all
might attain under a proper condition of society.

Unquestionably it is possible to do without happi-
ness : it often has to be done voluntarily by the
hero or the martyr, for the sake of something
which he prizes more than his individual happiness.
But this something, what is it, unless the happiness
of others, or some of the requisites of happiness ?
Self-sacrifice must be for some end ; it is not its
own end ; and if we are told that its end is not
happiness but virtue, which is better than happi-
ness, I ask, would the sacrifice be made if the
hero or martyr did not believe that it would earn
for others immunity from similar sacrifices ? " Utili-
tarian morality " only refuses to admit that the
sacrifice is itself a good. A sacrifice which does
not increase, or tend to increase the sum total of
happiness, it considers as wasted."

2. As the greatest happiness is the end, an
action to be good must tend to promote that end.
But, like Bentham, Mill holds that it is not neces-
sary that the individual should in all cases be
moved to act solely by regard for the general in-
terests of society. " The motive has nothing to do
with the morality of the action. He who saves a
fellow-creature from drowning does what is morally
right, whether his motive be duty, or the hope of

1 64 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

being paid for his trouble." To this it was objected,
that in that case a tyrant, who saved a man from
drowning with the motive of inflicting upon him
more exquisite torture, would be doing a morally
right action. Mill's answer is, that the act in this
case is done not merely with a different motive
from duty or benevolence, but from a different
intention^ and that it is this difference of intention
which gives to the act its moral character. What
is really intended is to put the man to torture, and
saving him from drowning is merely ^' the necessary
first step of an act far more atrocious than leaving
him to drown would have been." The morality
of the 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 estimation of the agent,
especially if it indicates a good or bad habitual
disposition — a bent of character from which useful,
or from which hurtful actions are likely to arise."
An act, then, is morally good when the agent in-
tends to do it, and when it tends to produce as
its consequences more pleasure than pain to the
community. If I do not intend or will an act it
is not mine, but, granting the act to be mine, its
goodness depends entirely upon its effects in pro-

JOHN STUART MILL

moting the general good. The disposition, again,
is judged to be good if we have reason to suppose
that it will lead to the willing of acts that will
produce an excess of pleasure on the whole.

3. What are the motives to promote the general
happiness ? These are either external or internal.

id) The external sanctions are " the hope of
favour and the fear of displeasure from our fellow-
creatures, or from the Ruler of the Universe, along
with w^hatever we may have of sympathy or
affection for them, or of love and awe of Him,
inclining us to do His will independently of selfish
consequences."

{U) The internal sanction is " a feeling in our own
mind, a pain, more or less intense, attendant on
violation of duty." This feeling is not innate but
acquired. The desire to be in unity with our
fellow-men is a powerful natural sentiment," and
tends to become stronger with advancing civiliza-
tion. But society between equals can only exist
on the understanding that the interests of all are
to be regarded equally." Hence people grow up
unable to conceive as possible to them a state of
total disregard of other people's interests. And
even if a man has none of this sentiment him-
self, he is as greatly interested as any one else
that others should have it. Consequently, the
smallest germs of the feeling are laid hold of and

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

nourished by the contagion of sympathy and the
influences of education.

4. But it may still be objected that, while it
has been shown that there are powerful motives
to seek the common good, it has not been shown
that men ought to seek it. " The Utilitarian doc-
trine is, that happiness is desirable, and the only
thing desirable as an end ; all other things being
only desirable as means to that end." What is
the proof of this doctrine ? " The sole evidence it
is possible to produce that anything is desirable,
is that people do actually desire it. No reason
can be given why the general happiness is desir-
able, except that each person, so far as he believes
it to be attainable, desires his own happiness.
This, however, being a fact, we have not only
all the proof which the case admits of, but all
which it is possible to require that happiness is a
good ; that each person's happiness is a good to
that person, and the general happiness, therefore, a
good to the aggregate of all persons."

But it may be said that this proof fails to show
that people never desire anything but happiness.

They desire, for example, virtue, and the absence
of vice no less really than pleasure and the absence
of pain." If then there are " other ends of human
action besides happiness, how can happiness be
proved to be the sole criterion?"

JOHN STUART MILL

167

Mill admits that " to the individual " virtue may
be a good in itself." But he holds that virtue,
although it is not " naturally and originally part
of the end," has become so " in those who love
it disinterestedly," and is desired and cherished, not
as a means to happiness, but as a part of happi-
ness. What was originally a means may by
association with what it is a means to, come to be
desired for itself" Thus money is in many cases
desired in and for itself From being a means
to happiness, it has come to be itself a principal
ingredient of the individual's conception of happi-
ness." Virtue is a good of the same description.
" There was no original desire of it, or motive to
it, save its conduciveness to pleasure, and especially
to protection from pain. But through the associa-
tion thus formed, it may be felt a good in itself,
and desired with as great intensity as any other
good." In reality nothing is desired except happi-
ness. " Those who desire virtue for its own sake,
desire it either because the consciousness of it is
a pleasure, or because the consciousness of being
without it is a pain, or for both reasons united."

5. One other question remains, the connection
between Justice and Utility.

{a) What do we mean by justice ? What is the
distinctive quality which causes us to speak of an
action as just or unjust ? In the first place, it is

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

considered unjust to " deprive any one of his
personal liberty, his property, or any other thing
which belongs to him by law." A just act is here
one which respects legal rights. But sometimes law
does not recognize the rights which individuals may
claim on reasonable grounds ; and hence, secondly,
justice consists in assigning to persons those things
to which they have a moral right. Thirdly, it is
considered just that each person should obtain his
deserts. Speaking in a general way, a person is
understood to deserve good if he does right, evil if
he does wrong. Fourthly, it is unjust to break faith
with any one. Fifthly, it is inconsistent with jus-
tice to be pa7^tial ; to show favour or preference to
one person over another, in matters to which favour
and preference do not properly apply. Lastly, the
idea of equality in some sense is implied in justice,
although in practice it comes to mean rather equal
protection to the rights which exist than their equal
distribution among all members of the community.
Even in slave countries the rights of the slave
have been theoretically respected, although those
rights could hardly be said to exist. What is
common to these various ideas is that justice im-
plies something which it is not only right to do,
and wrong not to do, but which some individual
person can claim from us as his moral right. No
one has a moral right to our generosity or benefi-

JOHN STUART MILL 1 69

cence, because we are not morally bound to practice
these virtues towards any given individual.

{U) How then are we to account for the sentiment
of justice, for the feeling which accompanies the
idea ? The two essential ingredients in the senti-
ment of justice are the desire to punish a person
who has done harm, and the belief that there is
some definite individual to whom harm has been
done. The desire to punish a person who has
done harm is the spontaneous outgrowth of two
natural feelings, the animal impulse of self-defence,
and the feeling of sympathy. It is natural to
resent, and to repel or retaliate, any harm done
or attempted against ourselves, or against those
with whom we sympathize. This sentiment is
found among all animals, for every animal tries
to hurt those who have hurt itself or its young.
Human beings differ from other animals in two
particulars, first, in being capable of sympathizing
with all human, and even with all sentient, beings ;
secondly, in having a more developed intelligence,
in virtue of which a human being is capable of
apprehending a community of interest between
himself and others. The desire to punish is thus
the natural feeling of retaliation, rendered by intellect
and sympathy applicable to those injuries which
wound us through society. In itself this sentiment
is not moral, but it becomes moral when it allies

170

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

itself with the social sympathies. The natural
feeling makes us resent indiscriminately whatever
any one does that is disagreeable to us ; when
moralized by the social feeling it resents what is
hurtful to society, although it may not otherwise
be a hurt to ourselves, and it does not resent a
hurt to ourselves, however painful, if it is not of
the kind which society has a common interest in
repressing. The sentiment of justice, then, derives
its peculiar energy of self-assertion from the animal
desire to repel or retaliate a hurt ; but its morality
is due to enlarged sympathy and intelligent self-
interest.

{c) This explains how as a matter of fact we
do approve of just acts, and reprobate unjust acts.
But why ought justice to be practised ? What
gives it its binding force ? The only reason is
because the observance of rules of justice is most
conducive to the public good. But no form of
utility is so important The interest involved in
the protection of rights is that of security^ to every
one's feelings the most vital of all interests. Nearly
all other earthly benefits we can forego, if necessary ;
but on security we depend for all our immunity
from evil, and for the whole value of all and every
good. Nothing but the gratification of the instant
would be of any worth to us, if we could be deprived
of everything the next instant by whoever was

JOHN STUART MILL

171

momentarily stronger than ourselves. The intense
feeling which gathers round the idea of justice
causes it to appear different in kind from those
concerned in the more common cases of utility.
The moral obligation to respect the rights of others
is thus in the last resort reducible to utility. In
no other way can the same amount of pleasure
be secured, while every violation of justice strikes
at the very life of society itself, and threatens the
destruction of the indispensable condition of all
happiness.

Even from this hurried and imperfect summary
of Mill's book on Utilitajnanisni^ it must be evident
that the conception of life which it embodies is of
the highest and noblest character. We have tra-
velled a long way from the animal absorption in
the moment recommended by Aristippus, from the
refined selfishness of Epicurus, and from the low
conception of human nature of Hobbes. In its
practical application the hedonism of Mill, as he
says himself, does not differ from the golden rule
of Jesus of Nazareth " to love one's neighbour as
one's self" But an ethical doctrine must be tried,
not simply by the principle which it assumes, but by
the principle which it formulates. The philosopher
and the preacher must submit to a different test.
The perfection of a speculative doctrine lies in
the success with which it expresses in the articulate

1/2

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

language of reflection that which is impHed in the
common consciousness of men. It is by this
standard, therefore, that Mill's utilitarian theory
of conduct must be judged, and I think it may
be shown, as in the case of Bentham, that only
by removing its hedonistic foundation, and reinter-
preting it from the point of view of an ideal system
of ethics, can the higher aspects of Mill's ethical
doctrine be consistently retained.

(i) Mill denies that the only difference in plea-
sures are those of quantity ; the more important
distinction is quality. This divergence from the
earlier form of the theory is a virtual abandonment
of its hedonistic basis. We have seen that no
guide to action can be extracted from the purely
quantitative balancing of pleasures and pains,
because each pleasure and pain is what it seems
to the individual at the time, and the individual
is continually changing in his mood. At the same
time Bentham was right in saying that a pleasure
or pain taken by itself differs from another only
in quantity. Mill assigns to " the pleasures of the
intellect, of the feelings and imagination, and of
the moral sentiments, a much higher value as
pleasures than to those of mere sensation." But
as pleasures " they cannot have a higher value."
The source of a pleasure does not enter as an
ingredient into the pleasure itself. Pleasure is

JOHN STUART MILL

173

pleasure whether its source is in the palate or the
intellect, the ear or the conscience. If it is really
pleasure that is desired, and not the cultivation of
^ the intellect, the development of the taste, or pro-
gress in morality, there can be no distinction in
quality between pleasures connected with different
modes of activity. Assuming pleasure to be the
object aimed at, it cannot make any real difference
that one pleasure is obtained through the channel
of the intellect, another through the imagination,
and a third by means of the moral sense.

When the question arises as to which of tw^o
pleasures is more desirable, the difference must be
sought in the greater intensity, or duration, or pro-
ductiveness of the one as compared with the other.
Mill in rejecting this criterion practically admits
that not pleasure as such, but the development of
all the faculties of man in due subordination to one
another, is the true end of life. To say that "it is
better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig
satisfied " is to say that, human nature being in-
finitely higher than pig nature, the man who makes
pleasure his end is ignoring the necessity that is
laid upon him to strive after the standard of per-
fection of which his nobler nature is capable. And
the same principle holds good when we compare
different men with each other. The man who pre-
fers the pleasures of sense to the pleasures of intel-

174

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

lect or imagination does not violate the rule, "Seek
greatest pleasure"; what he violates is the command,
Seek that which is noblest."

(2) As Mill cannot consistently classify pleasures
as lower or higher, but only as more or less intense,
enduring or productive, he is not entitled to say
that the end of action is the common good. The
common good, as described by Mill, is identical with
the complete development of the powers of all mem-
bers of the community. This noble ideal of life is
too weighty to be borne by the frail substructure
of pleasure. " Good " for the consistent hedonist
must mean the experience by the sum of beings of
the greatest pleasure of which they are capable.
But this end will be equally subserved whether the
pleasures are low or high, provided that an equal
quantity of enjoyment is obtained. If it is said
that equal enjoyment cannot be obtained from the
pleasures of sense as from the pleasures of intellect,
or imagination, or virtue, we answer that this de-
fence rests upon the assumption that pleasures
may differ in kind, and that assumption carries
with it the denial of pure hedonism, and the sub-
stitution of an ideal humanity as the end.

(3) The "proof" of Utilitarianism on which Mill
relies is unsatisfactory. " No reason can be given,"
he says, " why the general happiness is desirable,
except that each person, so far as he believes it

JOHN STUART MILL

175

to be attainable, desires his own happiness/' What
has to be proved by the utilitarian is that every man
ought to seek for his own happiness by aiming
at the happiness of all. The " general happiness "
is " desirable" in the sense that it ought to be
desired. This is what Mill has to prove. How
does he prove it? He says that every one 'desires
his own happiness." That is to say, as a matter
of fact every one desires his own happiness. The
implied inference is that, as a man is aware that
he is seeking his own happiness, he must grant it
to be reasonable for others to seek their happiness,
and hence he must admit that the end of society
is to secure the happiness of all its members. As
Mr. Sidgwick puts it, " The fact that ' I am I '
cannot make my happiness intrinsically more desir-
able than the happiness of any other person." Now
here we have the same sort of equivocation as we
have found to be implied in Mill's distinction of
pleasures on the ground of their quality, and in
the double sense which he attaches to such terms
as " common good " and " general happiness." It is
certainly unreasonable to seek for " our being's end
and aim" apart from the good of others, because
the highest form of self-realization cannot be found
in that way. Individual good is identical with
universal good. The fact that every one from his
very nature is striving after completeness of being

176

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

is a valid reason for the exclusion of self-seeking.
As the end which is desired is proved to be un-
attainable in that way, it is a reasonable demand
that it should be sought in the only way in which
it can possibly be found. But if the desire for one's
own happiness means only the desire for a surplus
of agreeable feeling, how can we logically pass to
the conclusion that we ought to promote not a
surplus of such feeling in ourselves, but in the com-
munity as a whole ? Granted that I desire my own
greatest pleasure, that is no reason why I ought to
desire the greatest pleasure of other people, unless
my own pleasure is bound up with theirs. Let us
assume it to be admitted that this is the case ;
then our conclusion must be this, that we ought
to desire the pleasure of others because only in
that way can we secure our own pleasure. This
consideration may have force as a rule of prudence
or self-interest, but it carries with it no obligation
to practise rules of virtue.

When, therefore, any one objects that he prefers
his own pleasure to the pleasure of others, I do
not see how he is to be convinced of the error
of his ways by those who begin by admitting the
reasonableness of seeking for one's own pleasure.
To every appeal in favour of making the pleasure
of the greatest number his aim he may give the
unanswerable retort, " Let others make their own

JOHN STUART MILL

177

pleasure a means to the pleasure of all ; as for
me I prefer to make others a means to my
pleasure." It is no answer to say, " But you
cannot get pleasure in that way," because the man
may reply, I do not see how you can tell that ;
you get your pleasure in benevolence, I get mine
in selfishness ; we are both satisfied, and nothing
more need be said." The real force, then, of Mill's
proof" of utilitarianism is in its tacit assumption
that the end and standard of action is not pleasure
but the perfect realization of a man's nature, as
possible only in and through the identification of
his personal good with the universal good.

(4) Mill's account of the sentiment of justice,
and of our obligation to obey rules of justice, differs
very little from the similar account of Hume. The
feeling of approbation at the doing of a just act
has its source in the natural impulse to retaliate a
hurt, and the social instinct as broadened and
widened by the growth of sympathy. It may be
pointed out that the instinct of retaliation and the
social instinct cannot be a desire for pleasure, but
must precede the pleasure of which they are the
cause. But, waiving this objection, it is plain that
Mill's account of the sentiment of justice presupposes
the idea of human perfection as the moving force
in its evolution. Why is it that as time goes on
there is a gradual widening of sympathy so as at

178

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

last to include all men in its comprehensive em-
brace, if not that man learns by the development
of his nature that nothing short of complete union
with the universal good can bring satisfaction? The
animal instinct of retaliation does not simply take
a new direction, but its very nature is changed and
transformed as there dawns upon the conscience of
man the worthier end of public well-being. In
itself that instinct subserves the existence of the
being endowed with it, but the meaning of the
instinct is apprehended when, on the rise of self-
consciousness, existence is seen to be valuable only
as a means to the higher end of perfect existence.
It is this consciousness of the meaning of his
individual life that leads a man to rise above
the immediate desire to revenge a hurt. Justice
as the means of securing to each what is necessary
to the development of his nature is thus different
in kind from the instinct of retaliation. The exten-
sion of sympathy to all men is more than a mere
extension, because the recognition of the claims
of all men to respect involves the apprehension of
the end of life as the union of all men in a common
brotherhood, and therefore the elevation of every
man to the perfection of an ideal humanity. The
justification of all forms of rights is in fact their
tendency to minister to the spiritual nature. The
true defence of justice is therefore not advanced

JOHN STUART MILL 179

by Mill when he reduces it to the promotion of
more pleasure than pain, unless by pleasure we
understand what Mill is only too ready to identify
with it, viz., complete perfection of nature ; and the
laws and customs of a nation coincide with justice
just in so far as they coincide with the ideal of
perfection.

CHAPTER IX

HERBERT SPENCER

Like Bentham and Mill Mr. Herbert Spencer
holds that the ultimate end of life is the pro-
duction of the greatest pleasure to all, but he
differs from them in connecting hedonism with
the doctrine of evolution. All previous moralists
he accuses of being " unscientific," and he seeks to
construct a system of ethics which shall recognize
throughout that actions are good or bad purely as
it is their intrinsic nature to produce good or bad
consequences in the way of preserving living beings
in the fulness of their activities. To understand
" scientifically " what conduct results in the most
complete life we must take a survey of all forms
of life, from the simplest to the most complex,
in the order of their evolution. Hence Mr.
Spencer seeks to deduce the rules of perfect con-
duct from a consideration of that perfect form of
life towards which evolution tends. Now, human

HERBERT SPENCER

l8l

conduct is but one form in which the universal law
of all existence manifests itself All existence is
a unity, and is pervaded by a single principle.
That principle is that the changes through which
the world passes are from the indefinite to the
definite, the incoherent to the coherent, the homo-
geneous to the heterogeneous. The forms of being
which we find around us have not been created as
they are, but have developed from a much simpler
condition. Our earth itself, along with the other
bodies which form the solar system, was originally
part of an attenuated nebulous matter, almost
homogeneous in density, temperature, and other
properties. How heterogeneous it now is ! Ig-
neous rocks, metallic veins, mountains, continents
and seas, differences of climate, combine to form a
whole so complex as to defy complete description.
The same development from simplicity to com-
plexity is shown in animal life. Speaking gener-
ally, the most complex organisms are also the
latest, and have been evolved from the earlier and
less complex. So man, who even in his least
developed state, displays in his organism more
differentiation than any other animal, himself
exhibits in his development the same law. The
various races of men exhibit greater complexity of
physical structure according to the stage of develop-
ment which they have reached. And what is

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

true of the bodily life also holds good of the
social life. In primitive society there is little or
no division of labour : every man is a warrior, a
hunter, a fisher, and a workman. Contrast with
this the minute subdivision of labour that is
found in modern industrial society, and the law
of evolution will be seen to apply here also.

The whole of existence is thus governed by a
single law. In particular, we must cease to separ-
ate between mental and bodily life, or between
animal and human life. No line can be drawn
between them that is otherwise than arbitrary.
" It is not more certain that, from the simple
reflection by which the infant sucks, up to the
elaborate reasonings of the adult man, the pro-
gress is by daily infinitesimal steps, than it is
certain that between the automatic actions of the
lowest creatures, and the highest conscious actions
of the human race, a series of actions displayed
by the various tribes of the animal kingdom may
be so placed as to render it impossible to say of
any one step in the series, — Here intelligence
begins." Mr. Spencer's method, then, will con-
sist in tracing the process by which conduct is
gradually evolved, and in seeking to extract from
this survey " scientific " rules of conduct. It must
be added, that with the results of this method
Mr. Spencer tries to connect the hedonistic theory

HERBERT SPENCER

183

which finds in pleasure the ultimate end of con-
duct. How this is attempted we shall afterwards
see. In the present chapter I propose to give a
statement only of the evolutionist part of Mr.
Spencer's doctrine.

(i) To determine the goal towards which all
things tend we must ask what has as a matter
of fact occurred. Or rather, since in ethics the
problem is in regard to the ultimate form which
conduct may be expected to assume when the
process of evolution is complete, we may limit our
inquiry to the nature and tendency of conduct.
It is true that ethics does not directly deal with
all conduct, but only with a part of it ; but it is
impossible to understand the part without under-
standing the whole. Just as an arm or a leg
cannot be known for what it is, by one who has
no knowledge of its relation to the other parts of
the body, so that part of conduct with which
ethics deals can only be apprehended as it trul}^
is by viewing it in relation to the remainder of
conduct.

{a) What, then, is to be included under conduct
in general? We must not include such purposeless
actions as those of an epileptic in a fit ; but we
must include all purposive actions, — all acts which
are adjusted to ends. Conduct in its full accep-
tation must be taken as comprehending all adjust-

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

ments of acts to ends, from the simplest to the
most complex." But moral conduct, the conduct
which we pronounce to be right or wrong, is
much less extensive than conduct in general. For
there are many acts which have no moral character.
It is morally indifferent whether I walk to the
water-fall or ramble along the sea-shore ; whether,
if I decide to go to the water-fall, I go over the
moor or take the path through the wood. But
the transition from indifferent acts to acts which
are good or bad is gradual." Thus the direction
of my walk, which in ordinary cases is of no
ethical importance, becomes important when, by
taking a longer route, I fail to keep an appoint-
ment. To have a complete comprehension of
moral conduct we must therefore view it as coming
by insensible degrees out of conduct which is not
moral. And not only so, but to form a truly
scientific conception of conduct we must examine
the conduct, not only of human beings, but of all
living creatures. The actions of man differ from
the actions of the lower animals only in their
relative complexity; but all actions, animal as well
as human, imply the adjustment of acts to ends.
To understand the complex we must first under-
stand the simple ; in other w^ords, we must look
upon human conduct as a part of that larger whole
which comprehends the conduct of all living beings,

HERBERT SPENCER

185

and we must seek to interpret the former by
tracing the process by which it has been gradually
evolved from the very simple conduct of the lowest
forms of being.

ib) Purposeless actions, as we have seen, are not
conduct, but only those actions which are adjusted
to ends. But, just as actions which are morally
indifferent pass by degrees into actions which are
good or bad, so purposeless actions merge insen-
sibly in purposive actions. An infusorium swims
about at random, and apparently by chance it
finds the food which prolongs its life. Here there
is hardly any adjustment of acts to ends, and the
conduct may be called on the whole purposeless.
The rotifer again, although it is a very low form
of living being, does display palpable adjustments
of acts to ends : sucking in food by its whirling
cilia, fixing itself by its prehensile tail to some
fit object, and in other ways adapting itself to its
environment, and so preserving itself for a longer
period than the infusorium. We find the same
law pervading the whole of the lower animals ;
always there is a greater complexity of adjust-
ments to ends, the result of which is greater pro-
longation of the life of the creature. And when
we pass from the animals to man, " we not only
find that the adjustments of acts to ends are both
more numerous and better than among lower

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

animals ; but we find the same thing on comparing
the doings of higher races of men with those of
lower races." Food is obtained more regularly, in
greater variety, and better prepared ; clothing is
much better adapted to give w^armth in all the
variations of temperature from day to day, and
from hour to hour ; and how great is the contrast
between the shelter of boughs and grass which the
lowest savage builds, and the mansion of the
civilized man. So the ordinary activities of the
civilized man are much more varied and complex
than those of the savage. And " along with this
greater elaboration of life produced by the pursuit
of more numerous ends, there goes that increased
duration of life which constitutes the supreme end."
But it must also be observed that the increase in
complexity implied in improved adjustments of
acts to ends, not only tends to increase the length
of life, but also to add to its breadth. The life of
the civilized man is not only longer than that of
the savage, but it is infinitely fuller and richer.

So far we have spoken only of preservation of
life, and increase in the complexity of life ; but
we must now note, that as conduct evolves,
and there is a greater adjustment of acts to ends,
the preservation and development of the species
is better secured. In the lowest forms of living
being there is no conduct which can, strictly

HERBERT SPENCER 187

speaking, be said to conduce to the preservation
of the species. " Protozoa spontaneously divide
and subdivide, in consequence of physical changes
over which they have no control." Here there is
no conduct, because no purpose. But as we
ascend in the scale of animal life, we find greater
and greater complexity in the adjustment of acts
to ends. Birds build nests, sit on the eggs, feed
their broods for considerable periods, and give
them aid after they can fly. Thus the conduct
which furthers race-maintenance evolves hand in
hand with the conduct which furthers self-main-
tenance. In man the development is still more
marked. A larger number of the wants of
offspring are provided for ; and parental care,
enduring longer, extends to the disciplining of
offspring in arts and habits which fit them for
their conditions of existence." And, as we ascend
from savage to civilized man, we find conduct of
this order, equally with conduct of the first order,
becoming evolved in a still greater degree. " The
adjustments of acts to ends in the rearing of
children become far more elaborate, alike in number
of ends met, variety of means used, and efficiency
of their adaptations ; and the aid and oversight
are continued throughout a much greater part of
life." Speaking generally, then, the evolution
of conduct is such that it tends to the simul-

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

taneous preservation of the individual and the
species.

But conduct cannot be perfectly evolved until
the adjustments are such as may be made by all
creatures without interference of one creature with
another. In the case of man this implies per-
manently peaceful societies. In the savage state,
individual life is prematurely cut short, the fostering
of offspring is incomplete even when it does not fail,
and the individual and the species are preserved by
the destruction of other beings. Finally, in the
most evolved form of conduct the members of a
society give mutual help in the achievement of ends,
either indirectly by industrial co-operation, or
directly by volunteered aid. From this survey of
conduct we learn that ethics " has for its subject-
matter that form which universal conduct assumes
during the last stages of its evolution."

(2) The conclusion, so far, is that the best con-
duct is the most evolved, ix. is best adapted to the
end of securing completeness of life to each and
all. Now, the most evolved conduct is that which
is manifested by human beings dwelling together
in society ; and hence a description of the most
perfect form of society ought to enable us to see
what are the forms assumed by completely evolved
or perfect conduct. The rules of this ultimate form
of society will be absolutely true rules, and hence

HERBERT SPENCER

ethics as laying down those rules may be called
absolute ethics. The conduct with which morality
is concerned conforms to the laws of evolution, i.e. to
those fundamental truths which are common to the
special sciences — physical, biological, psychological,
and sociological. What are the data furnished by
each of these sciences ?

{a) From the physical point of view conduct is
made up of external movements of the body and
limbs, the facial muscles, and the vocal apparatus.

Concentrating our attention on these movements
we find that (a) they are more coherent the higher
the form of being. " The random movements which
an animalcule makes have severally no reference
to movements made a moment before." Birds,
again, show us in the building of nests, the sitting
on eggs, the rearing of chicks, and the aiding of
them after they fly, sets of motions which form a
dependent series." But it is in man that we find
the most coherent combination of motions. And of
human conduct, that is the most coherent which we
call moral. A man of high principles acts in fixed
ways : he pays the money he owes, he keeps his
appointments to a minute, he tells the truth. Thus
his life is made up of a coherent system of move-
ments.

(j8) In moral conduct there is also a definite co-
ordination of movements. " The conscientious man

I90 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

is exact in all his transactions. He supplies a
precise weight for a specified sum, he gives a de-
finite quality in fulfilment of understanding, he pays
the full amount he bargained for." His statements
correspond accurately to the facts. He observes the
terms of the marriage contract, and, as a father, he
adapts his behaviour carefully to the nature of each
child.

(7) Moral conduct is more varied or hetero-
geneous than immoral conduct. The better a man
fulfils every requirement of life the more varied do
his activities become. In the matter of social
obligations, for example, the man who is helpful to
inferiors, who takes part in politics, and who aids
in diffusing knowledge, differs in the complexity of
his movements from the man who is a slave to
one desire or group of desires.

((5) The evolution of conduct is towards equili-
brium^ or the perfect harmony of internal and
external relations. Men who lead an immoral life
continually interrupt this harmony by excesses
which tend to shorten life, whereas " one in whom
the internal rhythms are best maintained, is one by
whom the external actions required to fulfil all needs
and duties, severally performed on the recurring
occasions, conduce to a moving equilibrium that is
at once involved and prolonged." This perfect
harmony of the individual and his environment is

HERBERT SPENCER

only possible in a perfect society. Progress in
morality, therefore, consists in a continual advance
towards that condition of society in which there is
perfect coherence, definiteness, and variety of move-
ments, and, as a consequence, perfect harmony of
the individual with his environment.

(F) Expressed in terms of biology^ this means
that the moral man is one in whom the functions
of all kinds are duly fulfilled. It is immoral so to
treat the body as in any way to diminish the fulness
or vigour of its vitality. Hence, one test of actions
is. Does the action tend to maintenance of complete
life for the time being ? and does it tend to pro-
longation of life to its full extent ? To answer Yes
or No to either of these questions, is implicitly to
class the action as right or wrong in respect of its
immediate bearings, whatever it may be in respect
of its remote bearings. This conclusion, however,
refers only to " that highest conduct in which evolu-
tion terminates." Further, a feeling of pleasure to
a certain extent even now, and absolutely in an
ideal state of society, accompanies the healthy dis-
charge of each and every function, while a feeling
of pain indicates, or, at least, will indicate, that the
function is not sufficiently exercised, or is exercised
in excess.

(<r) In his psychological view of moral conduct
Mr Spencer gives us his analysis of the conscious-

192

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

ness of the agent, and traces the growth of social
institutions and of the sentiment of moral obligation.
What is the mental process by which the adjustment
of acts to ends is effected ? There is (a) the rise
of a feeling constituting the motive, and (/3) the
thought through which the motive is shaped and
finally issues in action. Now, just as moral conduct
consists in the perfect adjustment of acts to ends,
so the state of mind of the moral man is dis-
tinguished from the state of mind of the immoral
man by its complexity ; in other words, the motive
and the thought which gives form to the motive are
very remote from the simple presentations of the
senses. Thus a conscientious man is restrained
from taking his neighbour's property by the thought
of the claims of the person owning the property, and
of the pains which loss of it will entail on him,
joined with that general aversion to acts injurious
to others, which arises from the inherited effects of
experience. Hence, as guides, the feelings have
authorities proportionate to the degrees in which
they are removed by their complexity and their
ideality from simple sensations and appetites. So,
with the development of intelligence, the ends
to which acts are adjusted cease to be exclusively
immediate. Present ends become increasingly sub-
ordinate to future ends.

Now, the restraints properly distinguished as

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193

moral are those which concern the intrinsic effects
of actions. ''The truly moral deterrent from murder
is not constituted by a representation of hanging as
its consequence, or by a representation of the horror
and hatred excited in fellow-men, but by a repre-
sentation of the necessary natural results, the in-
fliction of death agony on the victim, the destruction
of all his possibilities of happiness, the entailed
sufferings to his belongings." At the same time
the feeling of moral obligation has been gradually
evolved. As man passes into the social state, to
the restraints constituted by the idea of the intrinsic
effects of actions, there are added the external
sanctions in the shape of political, religious, and
social penalties. With the evolution of society men
come to see that acts proscribed by authority have
in themselves bad consequences, and so there grow
up moral aversions and approvals. Thus the notion
of obligation has come to be associated with acts, the
intrinsic consequence of which is the true motive
to do them. This sense of obligation will disappear
entirely when the individual mind is completely , ac-
commodated to the social environment. The higher
actions required for the harmonious carrying on of
life will be as much matters of course as are those
lower actions which are prompted by the simple de-
sires. "If some action to which the special motive is
insufficient is performed in obedience to the feeling

194

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

of moral obligation, the fact proves that the special
faculty concerned is not yet equal to its function,
has not acquired such strength that the required
activity has become its normal activity, }'ielding its
due amount of pleasure. With complete evolution,
then, the sense of obligation, not ordinarily present
in consciousness, will be awakened only on those
extraordinary occasions that prompt breach of the
laws otherwise spontaneously conformed to."

{d) From the sociological point of view, ethics
is " an account of the forms of conduct that are
fitted to the associated state in such wise that
the lives of each and all may be the greatest
possible, alike in length and breadth." At the
outset the preservation of the individual is not
harmonious with the preservation of society. But
as fast as the social state establishes itself, the
preservation of society is a means to the preservation
of its units. Hence social preservation comes to
be set above individual preservation. But this is
only a transitory state of things and is necessitated
merely by the presence of antagonistic societies.
The ultimate end is the furtherance of individual
lives, and when the existence of the society is no
longer in danger, the welfare of the units, no longer
needing to be postponed, becomes the immediate
object of pursuit. At present the individual man
is sometimes called upon to be regardless of the

HERBERT SPENCER

lives of those belonging to other societies than his
own. Hence the incongruous rules by which he
governs his life. " Hate and destroy your fellow-
man is now the command ; and then the command
is, Love and aid your fellow-man." So also the
sentiments corresponding to the militant and the
industrial forms of society are contradictory ; the
former taking the shape of the feeling of loyalty,
the latter of antagonism to external authority.
" The leading traits of a code under which complete
living through voluntary co-operation is secured,
may be simply stated. The fundamental require-
ment is that the life-sustaining actions of each shall
severally bring him the amounts and kinds of
advantage naturally achieved by them ; and this
implies, firstly, that he shall suffer no direct aggres-
sion in his person or property, and secondly, that
he shall suffer no indirect aggression by breach of
contract. Observance of these negative conditions
to voluntary co-operation having facilitated life to
the greatest extent by exchange of services under
agreement, life is to be further facilitated by ex-
change of services beyond agreement : the highest
life being reached only when, besides helping to
complete one another's lives by specified reciprocities
of aid, men otherwise help to complete one another's
lives." The sociological view, in other words, enables
us to deduce the reasons for fulfilling contracts.

196 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

and assigning benefits in proportion to services,
which is justice ; and, further, for the rendering of
gratuitous services, which is beneficence.

(3) From the whole course of his argument it
is manifest that the rules which Mr. Spencer seeks
to place on a scientific " basis are the rules
which apply to conduct in the ideal state of society.
Accordingly, we are told that absolute ethics lays
down the rules that " formulate normal conduct
in an ideal society." Absolutely good conduct
is perfectly pleasurable, and, where there is any
concomitant of pain, the conduct can only be called
relatively right. In the transition towards the ideal
form of society, the acts of men are in most cases
not absolutely right, but only least wrong. Let
us take as an example of absolutely right conduct
the relation of a healthy mother to a healthy infant
— one of the best examples, because the harmony
arose before social evolution began. Here the
mother receives gratification, while the child, in
satisfying his appetite, is at the same time further-
ing his own life, growth, and increasing enjoyment.
The act as absolutely pleasurable is absolutely
right. It is difficult to find instances in the inter-
course of adults. But there are cases in which
the energies are so abundant that pleasure is the
concomitant of work. When such services are paid
for by a man of like nature, the relation is pleasur-

HERBERT SPENCER 197

able on both sides. Now, as the evolution of
society is towards the industrial as distinguished
from the militant form of society, we are entitled
to expect that ultimately men's activities at large
will assume this character. Even at present the
artist of genius — poet, painter, or musician — is one
who obtains the means of living by acts that are
directly pleasurable to him, while they yield,
immediately or remotely, pleasures to others. Again,
there are certain benevolent acts which, as yielding
pure pleasure to the doer and receiver, are absolutely
good. Now, by eliminating perturbing or con-
flicting factors we may form an ideal of conduct
which, as absolutely pleasure-giving, is absolutely
right. Having reached this system of ideal ethical
truths, we shall then have a standard which " will be
applicable to the questions of our transitional state
in such ways that, allowing for the friction of an
incomplete life and the imperfection of existing
natures, we may ascertain with approximate correct-
ness what is the relatively right." " An ideal social
being may be conceived as so constituted that his
spontaneous activities are congruous with the con-
ditions imposed by the social environment formed by
other such beings." Now, man has been " changing
in the direction of such an ideal congruity." Hence
"the ultimate man is one in whom the process
has gone so far as to produce a correspondence

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

between all the promptings of his nature and all
the requirements of his life as carried on in society."
Absolute ethics, then, " formulates the behaviour of
the completely adapted man in the completely
evolved society." There are two main divisions of
ethics, personal and social.

ia) There is a class of actions directed to personal
ends which are to be judged in their relations to
personal well-being, considered apart from the well-
being of others. These must be classed as intrin-
sically right or wrong according to their beneficial
or detrimental effects on the agent himself A code
of perfect individual well-being can never be made
definite. But certain general requirements must be
fulfilled. By connecting conduct with physical
necessities a partially scientific authority may be
given to ethical requirements. Absolute ethics has
to point out that conduct is good which preserves
the due relation between expenditure of energy and
the repair of waste by proper sustenance ; between
activity and rest ; between the rate of mortality
and the rate of increase of individuals : hence the
practical rule, to consider what kind of conduct will
fulfil these ends as well as may be.

{b) The second division of ethics is that which
deals with the effects of one's conduct on others,
(a) The first set of regulations are those of justice.
Here we have not only to define the equitable

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199

relations among perfect individuals, but to determine
the relations between each man and the aggregate
of men. Hence the limits of state interference must
be pointed out. Beneficence has two sub-

divisions, the negative and the positive. In an ideal
society the former has only a nominal existence,
for as no one will have feelings which prompt acts
that disagreeably affect others, there can exist no
code of restraints. But absolute ethics is of value
in enforcing the consideration that inflicting more
pain than is necessitated by proper self-regard, or
by desire for another's benefit, is unwarranted. As
to positive beneficence, " the desire for it by every
one will so increase, and the sphere for exercise
of it so decrease," that there will be as much
competition in rendering services as there is at
present in exacting them. The difficulty will in
fact be to find scope for the altruistic cravings.
This will be found chiefly in (i) family life, in
which the care of children by parents and of parents
by children will be better fulfilled, and (2) in the
improvements of the social state.

CHAPTER X
HERBERT SPENCER (Continued)

In the last chapter I gave an outline of Mr.
Spencers ethical theory in its evolutionist as dis-
tinguished from its hedonistic aspect. I now
propose to consider how far the theory can be
accepted. Before we enter upon an express exam-
ination of Mr. Spencer's doctrine, a word may
be said upon the idea of evolution to which it
appeals.

The theory of Evolution or Development is
associated in the popular mind with the theory
first clearly propounded by Darwin, that all the
living beings that have existed, or do exist, have
come by way of natural descent from one or
more primordial forms. What had previously been
regarded as distinct species, having no connection
with one another in the way of origin, Darwin
maintained are really varieties of a single species ;
or, rather, the distinction of species is simply one

HERBERT SPENCER

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of classification, not of origin. The theory is not
that one species changed into another species, but
that the differences between what we call distinct
species have been gradually produced by minute
changes accumulating upon one another during vast
periods of time. Just as the skilful gardener can
produce new varieties of a flower by taking advan-
tage of any peculiarity which presents itself, so
any differences in a living being which were favour-
able to its preservation were naturally transmitted
to its descendants, and thus in course of ages
arose all the varieties of life which have appeared
on our earth. This theory, it will be observed,
relates only to vegetable and animal life, and it
only gives us an account of the manner in which
the different species of living beings have as a
matter of fact come into existence. It does not
tell us how the " one or more primordial forms "
of living being came to exist, nor does it show
that one species of being is higher or lower than
another. Denying that there has been any creation
of distinct species, either at the same time or
at different times, it does not deny that the original
forms from which all the rest have sprung may
have been created. Hence, supposing the Darwin-
ian theory of the origin of species accepted, there
are still two distinct explanations of the origin of
the primitive types of living being ; we may say

202

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

either id) that they were directly created, or {b)
that they arose out of non-living things. And,
further, granting that all living beings are connected
by the chain of natural descent, the Darwinian
theory does not tell us whether we are entitled to
distinguish different species as higher and lower.

Two questions therefore arise : first, did living
things arise from non-living things, in the same
way as the different species of organized beings
have descended from one or more original forms ?
Second, are all living beings essentially the same
in nature, or are there differences between them
which entitle us to speak of them as lower and
higher? Xow to the first of these questions Mr.
Spencer, as we have seen, answers in the affirm-
ative. He denies that there was any special
creation of the primary forms of life, and maintains
that life appeared on our planet in accordance with
ordinary natural laws. So far as the question of
natural descent goes, we must therefore hold that
just as the infinite variety of living beings have
all descended from a few original types, so those
types are themselves the natural product of inor-
ganic nature, and may be traced back to the
nebulous matter originally diffused through vast
stretches of space. With this inclusion of all
forms of being, and not simply of living beings,
within the process of development, the second

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question connected with the idea of development
takes a wider and more comprehensive form. We
must now ask not merely : are all living beings
the same in kind ? but, are all things, living and
non-living, the same in kind ? For, if all the
varieties of life that have existed or do exist have
come down by natural descent from the atoms
which composed the original nebulous vapour, must
we not hold that all things are at bottom essen-
tially the same in nature? If so, then a stone,
a flower, a dog, and a man, differ not in kind
but in degree. On the other hand, it may be said
that the difference in nature between the stone
and the flower, the dog and the man, is not in
any way affected by the fact of their common
descent. Just as a man may be more intelligent
than his father, and just as in every individual
the processes of nutrition and even of sensation
precede consciousness, w^hile yet consciousness is
higher in kind ; so it may be said, living beings
may as a matter of fact have originated from
non-living things, and man from some lower form
of being, while at the same time the living is
higher than the non-living, and the rational than
the irrational.

The question then is this : Granting the truth
of the Darwinian account of the origin of species,
and granting even the wider doctrine of evolution

204 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

of Mr. Spencer, can we, from a general view of
the course of evolution, extract a principle which
shall explain at once the changes of inorganic
nature, of life, and of consciousness ? This ques-
tion Mr. Spencer tacitly answers in the affirmative.
The law of development, applicable alike to the
evolution of the solar system, the evolution of
animal life, and the evolution of human society,
is that the transition is from an " indefinite inco-
herent homogeneity to a definite coherent hetero-
geneity."

Now, it lies upon the surface that such a
formula does not allow us to say that there is
any fundamental distinction between the different
orders of existence which for our own convenience
we separate from one another. An animal whose
structure is more definite, coherent, and hetero-
geneous than another is not different in kind from
one that is less definite, coherent, and hetero-
geneous ; nor is a society which displays more
definiteness, coherence, and heterogeneity, for that
reason of a higher type than one which displays
these characteristics in a less degree. It may be
that the more complex animal or society is higher
than the less complex, but to prove this we must
be able to show why it is that the more complex
is also the higher. I am told, for example, that
a dog is a more developed or higher being than

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a worm, because it shows in its structure and
conduct greater definiteness, coherence, and variety.
But when I ask why the dog is held to be more
developed I am told that it is because it displays
greater power of adaptation to external circum-
stances. Here the formula of evolution, by being
specified, has completely changed its nature. It
is not the mere fact of complexity which entitles
us to call the dog higher or more developed than
the worm, but the fact that, as a living being,
it is capable of self-adjustment to the varying
circumstances in which it is placed. So when I
am told that the most complex society is the
most perfect, I answer, Yes, but it is not the
complexity which makes it more perfect, but the
perfection which makes it more complex. The
more perfect the society the greater is the division
of labour and the more cultured and intelligent
the citizens ; but the complexity of a civilized
society is the result and not the cause of the
perfection. No principle applicable to human life
can be extracted from the formula that evolution
is from an " indefinite incoherent homogeneity to
a definite coherent heterogeneity." Like all per-
fectly abstract principles, it may mean anything
we choose to make it mean.

I. Mr. Spencer tells us that ethics deals with
that part of conduct to which we apply moral judg-

206

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

ments, and that, as the part cannot be understood
except in relation to the whole, we must view
moral conduct as an evolution from non-moral con-
duct. It is true that not all actions are conduct,
but only those which are adjusted to ends ; but
the difference between moral and non-moral conduct
is a difference in relative simplicity and complexity.
Here, therefore, the general formula of evolution
applies. Moral conduct is more coherent^ because
the moral man acts according to a system and not
from caprice ; it is more definite, because he is
exact in all his transactions ; it is more hetero-
geneous, because he takes an interest in all that
concerns the general well-being ; and hence moral
conduct tends towards equilibrium, or the complete
harmony of the individual with his environment.

Now, I think it may easily be shown that the
distinction between conduct and the wider sphere of
action, and between moral and non-moral conduct,
are distinctions which cannot be made without suc-
cessive changes in the interpretation of the general
formula of evolution, and that Mr. Spencer has failed
to see the ground of those distinctions, because he
has attempted to explain them by means of his
purely abstract formula.

(i) If we ask what formula will apply to the
changes of all forms of being, from the aggregation
of atoms to the formation of human societies, we

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must manifestly drop all the differences which dis-
tinguish one class of being from another. And
when we go on to apply our formula in explanation
of different kinds of being, we must take up again
the differences which we had let drop. If I am
asked, What is common to the fall of a stone and
the action of a man ? I must answer. Both are
movements. But if I am asked, Do you mean
that there is no difference in kind between the
movement of the stone and the movement of the
man ? I answer, There certainly is a difference,
and a very great difference, but it is not one
which applies to them as movements. Now, the
charge which I have to make against Mr. Spencer
is that his formula of evolution applies to the
conduct of human beings only in the sense in which
we can say that the actions of human beings are
movements. Certainly they are movements ; but
it is not the fact that they are movements which
constitutes their essential nature. There can be no
conduct without movement, but movement is no
adequate characterization of conduct. I cannot
think without a brain, but it does not follow that
my thought is nothing but a molecular movement
of my brain. So there can be no conduct, moral
or non-moral, which does not take outwardly the
form of movement ; but it by no means follows
that conduct may be identified with movement.

2o8

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

When, therefore, Mr. Spencer tells us that from
the physical point of view human conduct is made
up of the movements of the body and limbs, the
facial muscles, and the vocal apparatus, we have
no objection to make except on the score of irrele-
vancy and omission. So regarded, such movements,
we say, are not conduct at all, because they do
not differ from any other movements. Hence the
formula of evolution may very well apply to con-
duct regarded as movements, without helping us in
the least to understand the distinction between one
kind of conduct and another. Atoms move towards
one another, and form aggregates of matter, and
men combine with one another in society ; but,
while there are physical movements in both cases,
the one kind of movement is different in kind from
the other. It is this difference of nature, whatever
it is, that entitles us to separate between the move-
ments of unconscious atoms and the movements of
conscious beings.

(2) It may be said, however, that Mr. Spencer
recognizes the difference between the movements of
dead matter and of living beings, when he says
that not all actions, but only those which are
adjusted to an end, come under the head of " con-
duct." And no doubt Mr. Spencer does distinguish
between random movements, such as those of an
infusorium or of an epileptic in a fit, and purposive

HERBERT SPENCER 209

movements. But what I wish to point out is that
in drawing this distinction he has so interpreted the
general formula as practically to introduce a new
law. The coherence, definiteness, and variety of
which he now speaks is not that of movements
regarded simply as movements, but of functions, ix.
of acts adjusted to ends. Now, certainly acts which
are adjusted to ends imply movements. If, seeing a
man drowning, I leap into the water to rescue him,
my leaping into the water, swimming towards the
man, and bringing him ashore, are all movements.
But they receive their character, not from the fact
that they are movements, but that they are move-
ments done with a purpose. It was my inte?itio7i
to go through those movements in order to secure
the end I had in view, and it is this fact of intention
that makes my conduct what it is. The movements
of an epileptic in a fit are not intentional, and hence
they are rightly excluded by Mr. Spencer from the
rank of actions which are conduct. But if we apply
the formula in the sense in which it is applicable to
the movement of atoms, there is nothing to dis-
tinguish purposive conduct from any other class of
movements. No doubt, looking at those movements
which are done purposely, we may find greater
coherence and system in them than those which
are not done purposely, but until we shift our point

of view from the outer to the inner side of actions,

2IO

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

we can find no difference in kind between them.
Mr. Spencer's separation of purposive from non-
purposive action is therefore the introduction of a
new principle which transcends and includes the
old. It is true that purposive conduct is more
coherent than non-purposive conduct, but the reason
why it is more coherent is that it is purposive.

(3) But we have been going somewhat too fast.
Mr. Spencer does speak of conduct as that action
which is purposive, but we find when we look more
closely that he applies the term conduct not
only to that action which is intended to secure
an end, but also to action which secures an end
without any intention on the part of the agent. In
birds, for example, which build nests, rear chicks,
and teach them to fly, there is an adjustment of
acts to ends, just as in human beings, who provide
food and shelter for their children, and give them
a physical and moral training. Fixing his atten-
tion upon the fact that the lower animals as well
as man do acts which tend to the preservation of
themselves and their offspring, Mr. Spencer tells
us that the transition from the very simple adjust-
ments of lower forms of being to the complex
adjustments of civilized society, is made by insens-
ible degrees. The development of conduct, it would
seem, consists only in the fact that, as we rise
in the scale of animal life, the adjustments become

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more definite, coherent, and varied. All minor ends
are comprehended in the one end of the preserva-
tion of life, or rather of completeness of life, or
the development of all the functions of which a
living being is capable. Now, it is plain that the
formula of evolution has here received a new inter-
pretation. The evolution of the solar system con-
forms to the formula that evolution is an advance
from simple to complex movements. But it does
not correspond to the new interpretation of the
formula, that the advance consists in the more
perfect adjustment of acts to ends. The atoms
composing the original nebulous vapour when they
aggregated into masses did not display in them-
selves any adjustment of acts to ends. It is only
in organized beings, and, according to Mr. Spencer s
account, only in animals of a certain degree of
structural complexity, that there is any adjustment
of acts to ends. Hence, while it is no doubt true
that animals exhibit movements, and that the
movements are more and more complex as we trace
the successive forms of life, we require, in order to
describe the movements of animals, to say that
they are movements which secure an end. Thus
the movements which are called " conduct " differ
in kind from the movements which are not called
conduct.

(4) Is there not a similar distinction when we

212

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

pass from the biological to the psychological point
of view ? The actions which we call human, and
which a man calls his own, do not simply secure an
end, but they are intended to secure an end. They
are " purposive " in a sense in which the actions of
at least some of the lower animals are not purposive.
No one thinks of calling an action his which he
did not intend ; it is the consciousness of a purpose
that connects the act with the individual who does
it. The " formula" must therefore once more submit
to receive a new meaning. Those movements which
are intended to secure the end of the complete
development of life are the conduct with which
ethics has to deal. This is virtually admitted by
Mr. Spencer when he says that ethics deals with
the form which conduct assumes in its later stages ;
for, unless on the ground that human conduct is
different in kind from other conduct, the restriction
is perfectly arbitrary.

Now, when it is admitted that ethics has to do
only with that conduct on which moral judgments
are passed, and, therefore, that there is a kind of
conduct on which no moral judgments are passed,
how can it any longer be said that to understand
moral conduct it is necessary to consider conduct
as a whole, and that the distinction between moral
and non-moral conduct is one of degree, and not
of kind ? What is there in the conduct of beings

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lower than man that is not exhibited more fully
in human conduct? Admittedly, human conduct
may be viewed from the physical point of view as
a series of movements, and in its biological aspect
it implies the due exercise of all the functions
which minister to completeness of life. Hence it
is difficult to see how any new factor can be learned
from a consideration of life as a whole that cannot
equally be learned from a consideration of human
life. Surely it cannot be said that to discover the
development of conduct from simplicity to com-
plexity, we must trace it from its simplest to its
most complex form ; for this law of human develop-
ment was discovered before the evolution of man
from lower forms of being was ever thought of,
and after its discovery we have still to show that
the law applies to man. If it is said that we can-
not understand human conduct without viewing it
in relation to the simpler conduct of the lower
animals, because the former has evolved from the
latter, the answer is that on the same ground an
ethical treatise ought to view human conduct in
relation to the movements of nature which preceded
animal movements, and out of which these were
developed. The conclusion, then, to which we are
led is, that, so far as the earlier forms of conduct
go, nothing positive is to be learned in regard to
the later forms, and hence that in an ethical treatise

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HEDONISTIC THEORIES

the consideration of those earlier forms is a mere
impertinence. But it is more than this ; for the
external point of view which leads Mr. Spencer to
apply the same formula to the evolution of matter,
of plants, of animals, and of men, tends to obscure
the true nature of human conduct. Hence we find
him at one time trying to find the value of human
conduct by regarding it merely as a relatively com-
plex series of movements, and again as the adapta-
tion of the organism to its environment as the
means of preserving life. In reality, we have not
in either way of viewing it reached the special
characteristic of conduct which makes it the sub-
ject of moral judgments, viz., that it consists of
movements which not only subserve an end, but
which are intended by the agent to subserve an
end. To call human conduct later, or more com-
plex, or better adapted, does not tell us why we
pass moral judgments upon it. The first condition
of such judgments being passed at all is, that the
actions should be intended by the agent, and so
should be attributed to the agent. It is for this
reason, and not because they do not secure an end,
that the movements of an epileptic in a fit cannot
properly be called conduct. In the same sense,
and for the same reason, the movements of a bird
in building a nest for its young are not entitled
to be called conduct, unless we hold that the

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bird is conscious of seeking the well-being of its
young.

2. We have seen, then, that we do not learn the
true nature of human conduct by viewing it in
relation to the conduct which, as less complex, is
held to be that out of which it has gradually been
evolved. But perhaps we may learn more by
looking to the goal towards which conduct is pro-
gressing, and which, according to Mr. Spencer, it
will finally assume. It is this final form of con-
duct, we are told, with which alone ethics properly
has to deal, or which, at least, must first be deter-
mined before we can tell how we are to act in that
imperfect form of society which at present exists.
Unfortunately, Mr. Spencer has not given us a
positive description of the final form of society, but
has contented himself mainly with negative state-
ments. In its ultimate form conduct will be per-
fectly definite, coherent, and heterogeneous ; there
will be a complete adaptation of the individual to
society ; there will be no external restraints ; and
there will be no pain. But none of these predi-
cates tells us anything except that, in its final form,
conduct will be different from what it now is.

To show how little is to be learned from such
an abstraction as a perfectly developed form of
society, let us take one or two of the predicates
by which Mr. Spencer characterizes it. In the

2l6

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

ultimate form of society conduct will be perfectly
" heterogeneous." Does this mean that there will
be even a greater division of employments than
exists at present ? If so, will the conduct of the
individuals composing society not be less hetero-
geneous than it now is, although society as a w^hole
will be more heterogeneous ? Is it meant, on the
other hand, that each man will discharge more
functions than he now discharges, that while the
individual w^ill be more heterogeneous in his con-
duct, society will be less heterogeneous ? Again,
when it is said that there wall be a perfect adapta-
tion of the individual to society, will this adaptation
result from a simpler form of society, or from the
greater development of the individual? If the
latter, how can we put a term to that development
and view any form of society as final ? Must not
every step in the evolution of society make greater
and greater claims upon the individual, and make
it impossible for all individuals to adapt themselves
to the high level of intelligence reached by the
few ? Once more, w^ill the development of society
arise from an increased authority of the state, or
from a superseding of the authority at present
exercised ? Mr. Spencer, as we learn from some
of his other waitings, would say that there w^ill in
the ideal state of society be less governmental in-
terference with the individual than now prevails.

HERBERT SPENCER ' 217

There will be no state education, or factory acts,
or public works, the sole function of the state
being apparently to give advice to the citizens.

It would take us too far out of our way to
examine this conception of the state. But this,
at least, we may say, that Mr. Spencer's ideal of
the state is one that cannot be deduced from the
abstract notion of society as perfectly heterogeneous,
and as implying the perfect adaptation of the indi-
vidual to society. It is quite conceivable that by
providing for the better satisfaction of the lower
wants, and preventing the tyranny of one class
over another, the individual members of the state
would be better able to develop intellectually and
morally than if all were left to the play of indi-
viduality. In short, not having the gift of pro-
phecy, no man can tell what form society will
finally assume ; the most that he can do is to
imagine a condition of things in which some of the
inequalities of society as it now exists would be
done away with. Now, if we cannot foretell the
final form of society, the code of conduct which
Mr. Spencer sets forth under the head of Absolute
Ethics has no value except as a reminder that
society has not reached its final form. The aim
of all action is, in short, the attainment of per-
fection ; but this must be an ideal which can only
be gradually realized in the progress of humanity

2l8

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

itself. Thus, as the result of Mr. Spencer's " scien-
tific method/' we have as residuum that very idea
of perfection which he refuses to accept as the
ultimate end.

3. Mr. Spencer's account of action, viewed from
the side of the agent, seems to me imperfect. The
question here is : Granting that we know the end
of conduct, what is the motive vvhich causes the
individual to seek it ? And as men may be acted
upon by various motives, what is a truly good
motive ? All motives, according to Mr. Spencer,
consist of mental presentations or representations
combined with pleasurable or painful feelings. "The
essential trait in the moral consciousness is the
control of some feeling or feelings by some other
feeling or feelings." And here, again, the formula
of evolution is called into play, and we are told
that motives are simple in the lowest animals and
become more complex as evolution proceeds. The
primary impulse is that of self-preservation. But
experience shows that the actions to which it
prompts are sometimes accompanied by pain.
Hence when these actions are mentally pictured,
they call up an idea of the attendant pains. The
association becomes embodied in nervous structure,
and is transmitted to the animal's offspring. As
mind develops motives become more and more
complex, the simpler being, as a rule, less authori-

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tative than the more complex. This explains the
virtue of prudence. A prudent man abstains from
immediate gratification or submits to immediate
pain, that he may secure a greater pleasure, or
escape from a greater pain hereafter. And the
results of his self-control and sagacity may be
transmitted to his descendants. The same class of
motives partly explains why the good of others is
sought. The natural impulse to self-assertion is
held in check by four prudential restraints : ( i ) fear
of retaliation, (2) fear of legal punishment, (3) fear
of divine vengeance, (4) fear of public opinion.
The last three go on evolving as society evolves.
These are not, however, truly moral sanctions.
But the moral are evolved from them. How, then,
is the transition made from enlightened self-interest
to morality proper, involving when necessary the
sacrifice of self? The moral restraints differ from
the non-moral in this, that they refer not to the
extrinsic effects of actions, but to their intrinsic
effects." Experience, then, teaches us the conse-
; quences of our actions, and the knowledge of them
t prompts us to refrain from the bad and to per-
\ form the good.

The essential weakness in this account of the
origin of the moral sentiment is its failure to
explain the idea of moral obligation. It seems
that an action is not done from a right motive

220

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

unless that motive is the foresight of the natural
consequences of the act. The motive is not moral
when it consists in the representation of the punish-
ment extrinsically connected with the act, but only
when the act is done because of the consequences
intrinsically connected with it. Suppose that a
man is tempted to commit murder. If there arises
in his imagination a picture of the unpleasant
consequences connected with being hung, and he
refrains from murder, his act is not moral. But if
he pictures to himself the bad consequences which
naturally flow from murder — the agony of the
victim, the destruction of all his possibilities of
happiness, the sufferings of all who belong him —
and if there thus arises in his mind painful emo-
tions which cause him to desist from his project,
then his motive is a moral one.

Now, it is difficult to see how the one motive is
any more moral than the other, so far as the agent
is concerned. Mr. Spencer tells us that " the essen-
tial trait in the moral consciousness is the control of
some feeling or feelings by some other feeling or
feelings." But it is also Mr. Spencer's view that the
feelings which arise in a man's mind are the con-
comitant of his modified nervous structure, and are
received by him in the way of hereditary character.
As then the more complex feelings, by the natural
process of evolution, come to control the less com-

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221

plex, why should it be said that one motive is
more or less moral than another? One man, from
inherited structure and from the peculiar environ-
ment in which he is placed, responds differently
from another ; but he has no power of making or
unmaking the feelings which arise in his mind.
How, then, can any motive be called either moral
or immoral ? Hume saw clearly that if an action
is always determined by the feeling of pleasure
which, to the individual, is strongest, no action can
for the agent be either good or bad ; and the elder
utilitarians were consistent in saying that an act is
good if it is done by the agent and brings good
consequences, whatever may have been the motive
by which it has been dictated. Mr. Spencer carries
out neither side of his theory to its logical con-
sequences. When he is comparing the actions of
man with those of the lower animals, he makes
the distinction one merely of degree, because both
kinds of action tend to promote life. Good con-
duct he therefore regards as that which is fitted to
produce the most perfect form of life. But when
he passes to a consideration of conduct as viewed
from the side of the agent, he begins to see that
not only must an act be done purposely to have
any moral character, but it must be done from a
good motive. His imperfect analysis of the moral
consciousness leads him to say that all action is

222

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

the consequence of the control of one feeHng by
another feeling " ; in other words, all action follows
the strongest motive. The only difference, there-
fore, between men's actions is as to the kind of
motive that to them is strongest, and as that de-
pends upon their inherited disposition and the
nature of the environment, what a man does is
what he alone can do, and the distinction of moral
and immoral motives is meaningless.

It is quite in accordance with this conclusion
that Mr. Spencer regards the feeling of moral obli-
gation as belonging only to an imperfect form of
social development. For as the result of evolu-
tion is to supersede the external sanctions by the
moral motive connected with a representation of
the natural consequences of our conduct, a time
will come when no one will have any desire to do
what will bring unpleasant consequences with it.
What is meant, of course, is, that as moral obligation
implies the tendency to act contrary to the " con-
stitution of things," the feeling of obligation must
disappear when no one desires to do acts of that
kind. Here Mr. Spencer is contemplating ideal
men in an ideal society. But, as we have seen, it
is not possible to form any definite notion of this
golden age, and we must be content to deal with
men as they now are. I think, however, that it
may be shown that the idea of moral obligation

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223

must always be retained by men of like nature
with ourselves. Mr. Spencer's reason for rejecting
the external sanctions — the religious, legal, and
social — is because they are external. They oper-
ate, he thinks, purely by calling up in the indi-
vidual the idea of pleasurable or painful consequences
to himself. Now, there can be no doubt that if
we represent religion as acting through the " repre-
sentation of tortures in hell," the motive is a
thoroughly immoral one. But neither religion nor
any other of the external sanctions need act on
the individual in that way. It is certainly possible
for a man to conform outwardly to the forms of
religion, and even to refrain from crime by the
vivid representation of future punishment. Whether
even such a man is not actuated by something
higher than desire for his own freedom from pain,
I shall not stay to inquire. But at least the
religious sanction as it exists in the consciousness
of the truly religious man is not dread of future
punishment, but that " perfect love which casteth
out fear." To call this identification of oneself
with the infinite love a " dread of tortures in hell,"
is a gross caricature. Similarly, there are no
doubt individuals who are deterred from doing
wrong actions by the dread of legal punishment,
or unwillingness to lose the esteem of their neigh-
bours ; but whatever we may say of such persons.

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HEDONISTIC THEORIES

the good citizen does not obey the laws of his
country because he pictures the unpleasant conse-
quences to himself of disobedience, but because he
regards obedience to them as a duty commanded
by his own reason. And here we come upon the
true origin of the idea of moral obligation. That
idea is not, as Mr. Spencer supposes, a late pro-
duct of the natural evolution of conduct. Man,
even at the lowest stage of society, has had the
consciousness of moral obligation. The essence of
this consciousness is not the " control of one feel-
ing by another feeling," but the consciousness that
there is something which his own reason com-
mands him to do. How otherwise could any
authority command the assent of the community ?

Mr. Spencer says that the truly moral motive is
the feeling accompanying an idea of the natural
consequences of an action. To this we entirely
agree. But by " consequences " he means feelings
of pleasure and pain, and from this we dissent.
The consequences which must be taken into con-
sideration are the influence of actions in tending to
promote the complete development of man's nature.
To the individual man the consequences of different
acts are viewed in relation to the end of self-
realization, and those acts which, as he believes,
will lead to that end are pronounced to be morally
right. To do a good act the following things are

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necessary: (i) the conception of an object to be
gained, or the idea of the self as in a more de-
veloped state than that in which it now exists ;
(2) the conception of the means towards the realiza-
tion of that object ; (3) the determination of oneself
to the doing of the acts which constitute the means
to the end. It is plain from this that, so long as
there remains for man anything to be realized in the
way of self-development, so long there must be the
idea of moral obligation. Even granting, therefore,
that the most perfect form of social organization
were realized, the notion of moral obligation could
not disappear. For if the individual man is to act
at all, it must be because he contrasts his ideal with
his real self, and this contrast implies the idea of
duty. The notion of moral obligation is thus
essential to the action of man, and its disappear-
ance would at the same time be the disappearance
of self-consciousness.

CHAPTER XI

HERBERT SPENCER (Concluded)

We have now to see how Mr. Spencer connects
evolutionism with hedonism.

(i) Like other hedonists, he regards pleasure
as the ultimate end. It is the only thing desired
for its own sake. The pessimist as well as the
optimist assumes that pleasure is intrinsically desir-
able, and he condemns life because the pleasure
which is sought cannot be obtained. Life is thus
regarded as desirable or undesirable according as
it does or does not bring a " surplus of agreeable
feeling." Conduct must be judged to be good or
bad relatively to its consequences in the way of
pleasure or pain. If gashes and bruises caused
pleasure, should we regard assault in the same
manner as at present? Would theft be counted
a crime if picking a man's pocket excited in him
joyful emotions ? Conversely, should we regard
ministering to the sick, or caring for the orphan

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227

as good, if the result was to bring pain to the
object of benevolence ? Unquestionably, our ideas
of goodness and badness originate from our con-
sciousness of the certainty or probability that they
will produce pleasures or pains somewhere.

(2) Granting pleasure to be the ultimate end,
how is it to be obtained ? Not by directly aiming
at it, as the older utilitarians held, but by conforming
to those principles which indirectly lead to it.

The goal of evolution is that perfect form of
life in which there is a complete adjustment of
acts to the end of the preservation of all living
beings in the fulness of their activities. That this
is the true end of life is confirmed by a glance at
the leading moral ideas men have otherwise reached.
How do we ordinarily distinguish between good
and bad conduct ? {a) A knife is said to be good
which will cut, a good gun is one which carries
far and true, a good house is one which yields
the shelter, comfort, and accommodation sought
for. {b) So in human actions which are morally
indifferent, we call acts good or bad according to
their success or failure. In all these cases we apply
the term good and bad to what is well or ill adapted
to achieve prescribed ends, {c) Why do we call
conduct which calls forth moral judgments good
or bad ? Here also, although the truth is somewhat
disguised, we pronounce an action to be good which

228

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

is adjusted to an end, and an action to be bad
which is not adjusted to an end.

(a) Actions which tend to self-preservation are
said to be good. The goodness ascribed to a man
of business as such is measured by the activity and
abiHty with which he buys and sells to advantage.

(^) So acts which are adapted to the preservation
of offspring are good. A mother is called good
who, ministering to all the physical needs of her
children, attends also to their mental health ; and
a bad father is one who either does not provide
the necessaries of life for his family, or otherwise
acts in a manner injurious to their bodies or minds.

(7) But it is especially to acts which further or
hinder the complete living of others that we com-
monly apply the terms good and bad. " Goodness,
standing by itself, suggests, above all other things,
the conduct of one who aids the sick in re-acquiring
normal vitality, assists the unfortunate to recover
the means of maintaining themselves, defends those
who are threatened with harm in person, property,
or reputation, and aids whatever promises to improve
the living of all his fellows." An act is called good,
then, which is well adapted to fulfil a certain end.
No doubt we call an act good from one point of
view, and bad from another. But the discrepancy
arises from our viewing the action relatively to
different ends. A good man of business may be

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229

condemned because of his hard treatment of de-
pendents : his conduct, that is, is good relatively to
the end of self-preservation, bad relatively to the
end of the preservation of others. Looking back
to our former study of the evolution of conduct,
we see that the use of the terms good and bad
is quite consistent. Good conduct is relatively
more evolved conduct ; bad conduct that which
is relatively less evolved. The tendency of evolution
is to secure more and more the preservation of the
individual and the species, and to further complete-
ness of life in others ; while the most evolved
conduct is that which simultaneously achieves the
greatest totality of life in self, in offspring, and in
fellow-men. Thus the ordinary judgments of men
agree with the results reached by the independent
study of conduct as a whole, and in its evolution.

To the method of egoistic hedonism there is
the objection that a man's own pleasures and pains
are incommensurable ; and to the method of uni-
versalistic hedonism there is the much more decided
incommensurability of the pleasures and pains
experienced by innumerable other persons, all
differently constituted from one another. But al-
though happiness is not the immediate aim of con-
duct, it is the ultimate aim, and there is a method
by which it may be indirectly reached. The course
of evolution is at once towards the most perfect

230

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

life and the greatest happiness, and hence it is
possible " to deduce from the laws of life and the
conditions of existence, what kinds of action
necessarily tend to produce happiness, and what
kinds to produce unhappiness." The correspondence
between greatest pleasure and completeness of life
is proved in this way. Before the rise of con-
sciousness, we find that the movements of living
beings are such as tend to their self-preservation.
A plant which gets moisture by enveloping a buried
bone with a plexus of rootlets, a potato which directs
its blanched shoots towards a grating through which
light comes into the cellar, and a polype which
attaches itself by its tentacles to some animal
substance, all exhibit movements which tend to
their own preservation. Thus the beneficial act,
and the act which there is a tendency to perform,
are originally two sides of the same thing. Now>
when consciousness arises, we cannot suppose that
there is a sudden change in the kind of acts done ;
the only difference is that the acts which formerly
were reflex movements are now done because the
creature desires to do them. The pleasurable
sensation is now the stimulus to the act.

The defect of all previous ethical systems seems
to Mr. Spencer to be the entire absence or the in-
adequate presence of the idea of causation. The
theological moralist, in saying that actions are right

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231

or wrong simply in virtue of divine enactment,
ignores the fact that by the very nature of things
the result of certain acts is to increase the well-
being of man, and of others to decrease that well-
being. The political moralist holds that conduct
is made good or bad by Act of Parliament, not
seeing that conduct cannot be made good or bad by
law, but that its goodness or badness is determined
by its effects as naturally furthering, or not further-
ing, the lives of citizens. The intuitional moralist
again, who affirms that we have an innate faculty
or moral sense which directly tells us what actions
are right or wrong, tacitly denies that there is any
other way of knowing right from wrong, and thus
denies any natural relations between acts and results.

But surely the utilitarian moralist cannot be
accused of neglecting the ideal of natural causation !
Bentham and Mill, for example, regard it as the
distinguishing feature of utilitarianism that it values
an action purely for its felicific consequences. Mr.
Spencer finds, however, that even the utilitarian
moralist does not recognize causation as com-
pletely as could be wished. For he bases his rules
of conduct simply on the observation of the kinds
of effects produced by certain actions in what he
regards as a sufficient number of instances. But
this at the most can only tell us what are the
consequences of certain actions in society as at

232 HEDONISTIC THEORIES

present constituted. We wish however to know
more than this ; to know " what kinds of action
necessarily tend to produce happiness, and what
kinds to produce unhappiness " ; and such absolute
rules of conduct must be deduced from the laws
of life and the conditions of existence." The
question therefore is : What conduct must be bene-
ficial, and what conduct must be detrimental ?
This question cannot be answered without showing
that the good and bad results of conduct are not
accidental, but are " necessary consequences of the
constitution of things."

In illustration of the difference between the " em-
pirical " method of utilitarianism and the " scientific "
method of evolutionism, take the case of a man who
suffers from want of proper nourishment. Suppose
the man to be robbed of the fruits of his labour. The
utilitarian would say, with Mill, that this violation of
justice is found by experience to lead to an excess
of pain over pleasure, and is therefore wrong. But
the utilitarian does not trace the wrong back to
its source in the constitution of things." The
true reason is to be found in the fact that the
man in being robbed is prevented from getting
proper food, and so suffers in health. The special
cause which prevents a man from making up for
the expenditure of energy by adequate nourishment
is of no importance. What is important is the

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233

fact that he is compelled to suffer in this way.
If a labourer is paid partly in bad coin, or if his
food is adulterated ; if unjust laws prevent him
from enforcing his claim, or if a bribed judge gives
a false verdict ; in all these cases the cause is to
be found in the want of proper sustenance, just
as much as if the man should be enfeebled from
loss of blood, prevented from taking food on account
of cancer of the oesophagus, deliberately starved
to death, or insufficiently fed at the same time as
he is forced by the whip to labour. And not only
does injustice prevent the individual himself, but
it may result in the injury or death of his children
from under-feeding and inadequate clothing, and
thus indirectly it tends to lower the life of society
at large, which is damaged by whatever damages
its units.

It would seem, then, that what Mr. Spencer
means by charging all other moralists with neglect
of the law of causation is, that they have not
shown that an action is good or bad according as
it does or does not minister to the preservation
of self, of offspring, and of society in general.

That there must be this connection between life-
preserving and pleasure-giving acts is plain, if we
consider that only those races of beings can have
survived in which on the whole pleasure is a con-
comitant of acts that tend to maintain life. For

234

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

if those acts which are done from desire for pleasure
should result in injuring the agent, 4t must quickly
disappear. The very existence of a race of beings
is therefore a proof that on the average the pleasure-
giving are also the life-sustaining acts. No doubt
this is contrary to the current view, which rather
regards unpleasant acts as good, and pleasant acts
as bad. But the reason why people have thus
divorced pleasure from goodness is because the
striking exceptions to the rule have forced them-
selves on their notice. The drunkard, the gambler,
and the thief, it is said, seek pleasure, and yet
their actions are wrong ; while the self-sacrificing
relative, the worker who perseveres through weari-
ness, and the honest man who stints himself to
pay his way, do acts which are beneficial and yet
are disagreeable.

It must, however, be remembered that even
these undergo pain in consideration of remote and
diffused pleasure, and that the severance of pleasure
and goodness is but incidental and temporary.
The reason why pleasure and morality are not
always conjoined is that in the transition from one
stage of social development to the next the adjust-
ment of the feelings to the requirements is apt
to be incomplete. Thus in the transition from the
military to the industrial form of society, it is only
natural that the conflict between the old and the

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235

new feelings should give rise to pain. But in the
ideal form of society the harmony between pleasure
and beneficial action will be so perfect that every
one will do what is right because he will spon-
taneously desire to do it. We conclude, then, that
while the ultimate end is greatest pleasure, the
practical rule is to do that which tends to further
completeness of life. The difference between Mr.
Spencer and other utilitarians is not in the object
aimed at, but in the manner in which the object
is sought to be attained.

(3) Granting that pleasure is the end, and that
this end will be best furthered by aiming at com-
pleteness of life, we have to ask whether the
pleasure which is the end is the agent's own
greatest pleasure, or the greatest pleasure on the
whole. Mr. Spencer virtually answers that these
two are ultimately identical. We cannot have the
perfect man except in the perfect state. But while
the good of all, including the agent, is the end,
we may still ask whether that end will be best
realized by the individual directly seeking his own
good, or directly seeking the common good. Mr.
Spencer lays great stress on the importance of
every man seeking for the most complete life for
himself. The man who neglects his own well-
being is really decreasing the sum of happiness
in the community as well as his own. A man

236

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

cannot cut himself off from others. The pursuit
of individual happiness within those limits pre-
scribed by social conditions is the first requisite to
the attainment of the greatest general happiness."
After balancing the claims of egoism and altruism,
Mr. Spencer comes to the conclusion that " general
happiness is to be achieved mainly through the
adequate pursuit of their own happiness by indi-
viduals " — a conclusion which concides with that
of Bentham and other utilitarians.

One or two remarks may be made on the
hedonism of Mr. Spencer.

(i) In his proof that completeness of life is
aimed at as a means to the ultimate end of
pleasure, Mr. Spencer appeals to the ordinary
judgments of men as shown in their use of the
terms " good " and bad."

[a) Things and actions are called good when
they secure an end, bad when they do not secure
an end, and they are called morally good when
they further completeness of life in self, offspring,
or fellow-men. Now, in thus assimilating things
and actions, the characteristic difference of human
action is left out of account. No doubt we call
a thing good which is fitted to secure an end,
but we never call an action morally good unless
it not only secures an end, but was intended to
secure an end. So far as Mr. Spencer's account

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237

of the matter goes, the cutting of bread by a
knife ought to come under the head of " conduct "
since it achieves the purpose for which it was in-
tended. But if such unconscious movements are
not actions, our reason for calling the actions of
men conduct must be because, as done by the
individual with a certain end in view, they proceed
from his will and are to be attributed to him.
Nor is it enough to distinguish between uncon-
scious and conscious movements ; but to get the
full meaning contained in the word good," as
popularly applied in the way of moral praise, we
must add that not only is it applied exclusively to
purposed actions, but it is applied solely to pur-
posed actions which are the means to a good
end. It is not correct to contrast good and bad
conduct as respectively conduct which attains or
does not attain an end. The burglar, who is an
artist in his vocation, may achieve the end he
has in view better than the honest but bungling
mechanic. It is therefore not the fact of achieving
what is aimed at that constitutes the character of
a moral action. What, then, is it ? Mr. Spencer
tells us that it is completeness of life. If this
means that the end is the realization of all a
man's capabilities, it may be accepted as the end.
But we must observe that this end is not one
which can be attained unless it is made the end

238

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

by the agent. Not only must the end be good,
but it must be sought because it is good. A man
who does an act because it is customary is not
morally on the same level as the man who does
the same act because he judges it to be right.
For it is not possible that there should be com-
plete realization of the man's nature unless he has
negated his individual self, and identified his good
with the higher or ideal self The man who lives
a life of custom is still in bondage to the flesh,
just because he has not reached up to the liberty
of reason. The motive to an action must be good
as well as the end which is sought. A motive in
fact is just the good end taken up into the
consciousness of the individual and made his end.
Now this is what Mr. Spencer, like other utili-
tarians, cannot admit. Not seeing that the true
end of all action is the development of the rational
or self-conscious nature, he seeks for an explanation
of morality in something external.

Hence {])) we find Mr. Spencer saying that
completeness of life is not the ultimate, but only
the proximate end. The true end is pleasure,
and life is valued, as even the pessimist is con-
strained to admit, not for itself but for the pleasure
it brings.

Now, in the first place, it is not necessary for
the pessimist to admit that pleasure is the end.

HERBERT SPENCER

because it may be shown that it is not the end.
Pessimism merely affirms that on the whole life
brings more pain than pleasure, but it does not ne-
cessarily affirm that life exists purely for the sake
of pleasure.

Secondly, when Mr. Spencer tells us that life
is a means to pleasure, he is evidently thinking of
life in the narrow sense of sentient existence.
Well-being, as Aristotle said, presupposes being ;
a man cannot live well unless he lives. But Mr.
Spencer has now forgotten that the end at which
we are directly to aim is not physical being, but
completeness of life." Just consider what is
implied in the latter. To live a complete life "
is to have all the bodily functions in perfect order
and efficiency; to have the intellect trained and
disciplined : to have the will under control of
reason and always determining itself to good ends.
All this, according to Mr. Spencer, is merely the
means to an end lying beyond it ; it is not per-
fection of nature but the securing of pleasure,
w^hich is the end. At the same time it is admitted
that not every pleasure is a good, but only that
pleasure which comes as the result of aiming at
the good of all. In other words, the only genuine
pleasure is that which accompanies the moral life.
If so, manifestly in aiming at completeness of life
or morality, pleasure, in the only sense in which

240

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

it is worth having, is an invariable accompaniment.
But it cannot be obtained unless we aim at com-
pleteness of life. Now, that which is an accom-
paniment of action directed to another end than
itself, and which cannot be secured if it is aimed
at, cannot be called the ultimate end of action.
The moral man does not aim at it ; and the
immoral man who does aim at it cannot obtain
it ; hence it cannot be the end which ought to be
aimed at. Completeness of life includes the only
truly desirable pleasure as a part, and it is mani-
festly absurd to say that we aim at the whole
merely in order to obtain the part. The axiom
that the whole is greater than the part is a
fundamental law of thought.

(2) Mr. Spencer would of course reply, that
while pleasure cannot be obtained by being directly
sought, it is none the less the only desirable end.
And to this view he gives plausibility by seeking
to connect pleasure-giving with life-preserving
actions. In this argument he simply assumes
pleasure to be the end, and then goes on to infer
that that conduct which, on the whole, yields
most pleasure is at the same time the conduct
which tends to completeness of life. But this is
to confuse the desirable with the pleasurable.
That which is desirable must no doubt bring
satisfaction with it, but the satisfaction is simply

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241

the reflex of the doing of actions which, as making
for the development of the higher nature, are
regarded by the agent as morally good. When
a man desires to obtain health, or culture, or
goodness, he values these not as means to pleasure,
but as means to self-realization. To make the
pleasure accompanying the realization of self the
end, is to open the way to selfishness more or less
refined. Nothing can be more immoral than to
make all things in heaven and earth the means of
securing agreeable sensations. No man who adopts
that point of view — and it is the only consistent
point of view for the pure hedonist — will really
further the truly moral end of self-development.
What Mr. Spencer really proves is, not that in
the ideal form of society, men in aiming at plea-
sure will be led to do acts morally good, but
that in aiming at moral goodness they will at
the same time obtain happiness.

(3) When Mr. Spencer says that the good of
the individual is ultimately identical with the good
of all, he enunciates a most important truth. But
when he identifies good, special and general, with
pleasure, he makes the former proposition unin-
telligible. Mill found it necessary to give a
"proof" of the utilitarian end, intended to show
how we may pass from the pleasure of the indi-
vidual to the pleasure of all. Mr. Spencer does

242

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

not seem to have even seen the necessity of such
a proof. Hence he assumes that greatest pleasure
on the whole is the end, and merely asks how
best it may be attained. Egoism he therefore
regards as the kind of conduct which, indirectly
aiming at universal pleasure, directly aims at
individual pleasure ; altruism, as the kind of con-
duct which, directly aiming at the good of others,
secures the good of the agent as well. But the
question is not how universal good may best be
obtained, but whether it is the end that ought to
be sought. Now the only reason the hedonist
can give for his assumption is that each man
desires his own pleasure ; and from this, as we
saw in examining Mill's proof, we cannot infer
that he ought to desire the pleasure of all. Grant-
ing pleasure, and pleasure alone, to be what is
sought, we cannot show that, where individual and
common good conflict, a man ought to prefer the
greater pleasure of all to greater pleasure for
himself Such a distinction introduces an order
of considerations that have no place in a con-
sistent hedonism. When we interpret general good
as equivalent to complete realization of human
nature, we are entitled to say that a man must
not seek his own good to the exclusion of the
general good, since to do so is to fail in the
realization of his higher self But, unless on the

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243

supposition that no man can get more pleasure
for himself by selfish than by unselfish action, to
make pleasure the end is to destroy the idea of
common good. Now Mr. Spencer does not hold
that, under present conditions, it is impossible to
obtain more pleasure for oneself by neglecting the
pleasure of all, but only that in an ideal society
this will be the case. As, however, we have not
to do with ideal men but with men as they are,
he cannot show that a man will now get more
pleasure by self-sacrifice than by selfishness, and
hence his ethical doctrine fails in the cardinal
point of showing how conduct subserving the
universal good is binding upon us.

REFERENCES TO AUTHORS.

CHAPTER I.

PAGE

5 Such a critical account of hedonism." — Spencer's Data of Ethics^
§ 10, p. 27.

CHAPTER n.

31 "No reason," he says, "can be given." — Mill's Utilitarianism^
ch. 4, p. 53.

CHAPTER HI.

58 "When the stranger," says Seneca, ''comes." — Wallace's Epi-
cureanism^ ch. 3, p. 48.
63 " The giver should not expect. " — Bain's Emotions and Will^ p. 299.

CHAPTER IV.

77 "His aim was ... to 'pass between the points.'" — Hobbes'

Works ^ in., Dedication.
77 " That great Leviathan." — Ibid.^ Introduction, p. ix.
77 " The weakest has strength enough." — Ibid.^ ch. 22, p. no.
81 " The savage people in many places." — Ibid., ch. 22, p. 114.

CHAPTER V.

96 "If we will disbelieve everything." — Locke's Essay, I., § 5.
96 " Were the capacities of our understanding." — Ibid,, I., § 7.
99 " Will is said by Locke."— II., ch. 21, § 15.

REFERENCES TO AUTHORS 245

PAGE

99 "A palsy or the stocks." — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 11.

99 "A man on the rack." — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 12.

100 *' It is as 'insignificant.'" — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 14.

100 ''Powers belong only to agents." — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 14.

101 " So that to ask ' whether the will.' " — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 16.

101 " Desire is a feeling of uneasiness." — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 31.

102 "A man ' knows best what pleases him.' " — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 58.

103 " Happiness in the abstract." — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 43.

103 "We are able to 'suspend the satisfaction.'" — Ibid., II., ch. 21,
§ 47.

103 "The very desire for happiness." — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 52.

103 "When a man has once chosen." — Ibid., 11. , ch. 21, § 56.

104 " No doubt a man can make no mistake." — Ibid., II., ch. 21, § 63.

105 " Moral good and evil consist. "—/^/(^. , II., ch. 28, § 5.
105 "Of these moral rules or laws." — Ibid., II., ch. 28, § 6.
105 "The three forms of law. "— /^z^/. , II., ch. 28, §§ 8-10.

CHAPTER VI.

119 " That there is a ' constant union.' " — Hume's Treatise,^ H* ? 191.

120 "Abstract or demonstrative reasoning." — Ibid., II., p. 194.

121 "Where the objects themselves." — Ibid., II., p. 194.

121 "As reason alone can never produce." — Ibid., II., p. 194.

122 "We speak not strictly and philosophically." — Ibid., II., p. 195.

123 " (^z) The 'direct ' passions." — Ibid., II., p. 214.
123 "(<?') The 'indirect' passions." — Ibid., II., p. 77.

123 "(<:) The third class of 'passions.'" — Ibid., II., p. 215.

124 "(a) To explain the feeling of moral approbation." — Ibid., II.,

p. 247.

125 " (b) Nothing more than sympathy is needed." — Ibid., II., p. 270.

126 "Hence, from the 'selfishness and confined generosity.'" — Ibid.,

II., p. 267.

127 "Granting that we have explained." — Ibid., II., p. 253.

CHAPTER VII.

139 " He has no hesitation. " — Bentham's Morals and Legislation,-^ p. 2 .
142 " As an illustration of the method." — Ibid., p. 30.

* Green and Grose's edition,
t Clarendon Press edition.

246

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

PAGE

142 "This process of calculation." — Ibid.^ p. 31,

142 " Pleasures differ in quantity . . . are distinguished." — Ibid.^ ch. 5.

143 " It is admitted by Bentham." — Ibid.^ ch. 6.

143 " Bentham's next attempt." — Ibid.^ ch. 7.

144 "A fire breaks out." — Ibid.^ p. 100.

144 "A motive is * substantially.' " — Ibid.^ p. 102.

145 " If motives are good or bad." — Ibid.^ p. 102. *
145 " Frequently a man is acted upon." — Ibid,^ p. 127.

145 ''Is there nothing, then, about a man?" — Ibid,^ p. 137.

146 " Ethics at large may be defined." — Ibid.^ p. 310.

147 '' If it is asked, Why should I obey." — Ibid.^ p. 313.

148 " They differ in so far as the acts." — Ibid.^ P- 313-

149 "Of the rules of moral duty." — Ibid.^ p. 319.

149 "All that the legislator can hope." — Ibid.^ p. 320.

150 "The rules of probity." — Ibid.^ p. 321.

150 " Here in fact ' we must first know.' " — Ibid.^ p. 322.

150 " To sum up : ' Private ethics teaches.'" — Ibid., p. 323.

CHAPTER VIII.

160 " The theory of life on which Utilitarianism." — Mill's UHlitaiian-
zsni,* ch. I., p. 10.

160 " Hence 'actions are right in proportion.'" — Ibid., ch. i, p. 9.

161 " To suppose that life has . . . no higher end." — Ibid.,c\\. i,

p. 10.

161 "The comparison of the Epicurean life.'" — Ibid., ch. I, p. 11.

162 " No intelligent human being." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 12.
162 " It is better to be a human being." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 14.

162 "The ultimate end." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 17.

163 " Unquestionably it is possible." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 22.
163 " Utilitarian morality only refuses." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 24.

163 " The motive has nothing to do with the morality." — Ibid., ch. i,

p. 26.

164 "What is really intended." — Ibid., ch. i, p. 27 n.

165 "The external sanctions." — Ibid., ch. 2, p. 40.
165 "The internal sanction." — Ibid., ch. 2, p. 41.
165 "The desire to be in unity." — Ibid., ch. 2, p. 46.
165 "But ' society between equals.'" — Ibid., ch. 2, p. 47.

* Longmans, 4th edition.

REFERENCES TO AUTHORS

PAGE

165 " And even if a man has none." — Ibid.^ ch. 2, p. 48.

166 The sole evidence it is possible to produce." — Ibid. , ch. 2, p. 52.

167 Mill admits that * to the individual.' " — Ibid., ch. 3, p. 54.
167 " But he holds that virtue." — Ibid.., ch. 3, p. 55.

167 There was no original desire of it." — Ibid.., ch. 3, p. 56.

167 Those who desire virtue for its own sake." — Ibid.^ ch. 3, p. 57.

167 "In the first place, it is considered unjust." — Ibid.., ch. 5, p. 65.

168 What is common to these various ideas." — Ibid.., ch. 5, p. 75.

169 " It is natural to resent." — Ibid.., ch. 5, p. 76.

CHAPTER IX.

183 "Conduct in its full acceptation." — Spencer's Data of Ethics.,

ch. I, § 2, p. 5.

184 " But * the transition from indifferent acts.' " — Ibid.., ch. i, § 2, p. 6.

185 "And when we pass from the animals." — Ibid.., ch. 2, § 4, p. 13.

186 "And 'along with this greater elaboration.'" — Ibid.., ch. 2, § 4,

p. 14.

187 " Protozoa spontaneously divide." — Ibid.., ch. 2, § 5, p. 15.

187 "A larger number of the wants." — Ibid.., ch. 2, § 5, p. 16.

188 " From this survey of conduct." — Ibid., ch. 2, § 7, p. 20.

189 "The random movements which an animalcule makes." — Ibid.,

ch. 5, § 25, p. 65.

189 "The conscientious man is exact." — Ibid., ch. 5, § 26, p. 68.

190 " Men who lead an immoral life." — Ibid., ch. 5, § 27, p. 73.

191 "This conclusion however, refers." — Ibid., ch. 6, § 31, p. 77.
193 "The truly moral deterrent from murder." — Ibid., ch. 7, § 45,

p. 120.

193 "If some action to which the special motive." — Ibid., ch. 7, § 47,

p. 130.

194 " Ethics is ' an account of the forms.' " — Ibid., ch. 8, § 48, p. 133.

195 " Hate and destroy your fellow-man." — Ibid., ch. 8, § 50, p. 135.

195 " The leading traits of a code." — Ibid., ch. 8, § 55, p. 149.

196 "Absolutely good conduct." — Ibid., ch. 15, § 102, p. 266.

197 " Having reached this system." — Ibid., ch. 15, § 104, p. 271.

197 "An ideal social being." — Ibid., ch. 15, § 104, p. 275.

198 "There is a class of actions." — Ibid., ch. 16, § 107, p. 281.

198 "The second division of ethics." — Ibid., ch. 16, § 109, p. 284.

199 "As to positive beneficence." — Ibid., ch. 16, § no, p. 287.

248

HEDONISTIC THEORIES

CHAPTER XI.

PAGE

226 "Life is thus regarded as desirable." — Spencer's Data of Ethics^
ch. 3, § 10, p. 27.

226 "Conduct must be judged good." — Ibid.^ ch. 3, § 11, p. 31.

227 " A knife is said to be good." — Ibid., ch. 3, § 8, p. 21.
227 "So in human actions." — Ibid., ch. 3, § 8, p. 22,

227 " Why do we call conduct." — Ibid., ch. 3, § 8, p. 22.

228 " Goodness, standing by itself, suggests." — Ibid., ch. 3, § 8, p. 24.
230 "The correspondence between greatest pleasure." — Ibid., ch. 5,

§ 33, p. 79.

230 "The theological moralist." — Ibid., ch. 4, § 18, p. 49.

231 "The political moralist." — Ibid., ch. 4, § 19, p. 51.
231 "The intuitional moralist." — Ibid., ch. 4, § 20, p. 55.

231 " But surely the utilitarian moralist." — Ibid., ch. 4, § 21, p. 56.

232 " We wish, however, to know more than this." — Ibid., ch. 4, § 21,

p. 57.

232 " In illustration of the difference." — Ibid., ch. 4, § 22, p. 59.

233 " That there must be this connection." — Ibid., ch. 6, § 33, p. 79.

234 " No doubt this is contrary." — Ihid., ch. 6, § 34, p. 83.
234 "But the reason why people." — Ibid.^ ch. 6, § 35, p. 85.

234 "The reason why pleasure and morality." — Ibid., ch. 6, § 35,
p. 86.

PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO.

HEDONISTIC THEORIES, BY PROFESSOR WATSON.

ERRATA.

Page 8, line 4 from ioo\.,for " Attica" read "allies."
Page 13, line 6 from top, /or "god " read " gods."
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Page 21, line 14 from top,/(?r " prove" read " provide."
Page 43, line 10 from top,ybr " pleasure" read "pleasures."
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Page 132, line 8 from foot, /or "means " read " moves."
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