Utilitarianism by John Stuart Mill
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7 UTILITARIANISM
BY
JOHN STUART MILL
REPRINTED FROM 'FRASER'S MAGAZINE'
SEVENTH EDITION
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1879
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. GENERAL REMARKS
CHAPTER II. WHAT UTILITARIANISM IS
CHAPTER III. OF THE ULTIMATE SANCTION OF THE PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY
CHAPTER IV. OF WHAT SORT OF PROOF THE PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY IS
SUSCEPTIBLE
CHAPTER V. OF THE CONNEXION BETWEEN JUSTICE AND UTILITY
UTILITARIANISM.
CHAPTER I.
GENERAL REMARKS.
There are few circumstances among those which make up the present
condition of human knowledge, more unlike what might have been expected,
or more significant of the backward state in which speculation on the
most important subjects still lingers, than the little progress which
has been made in the decision of the controversy respecting the
criterion of right and wrong. From the dawn of philosophy, the question
concerning the _summum bonum_, or, what is the same thing, concerning
the foundation of morality, has been accounted the main problem in
speculative thought, has occupied the most gifted intellects, and
divided them into sects and schools, carrying on a vigorous warfare
against one another. And after more than two thousand years the same
discussions continue, philosophers are still ranged under the same
contending banners, and neither thinkers nor mankind at large seem
nearer to being unanimous on the subject, than when the youth Socrates
listened to the old Protagoras, and asserted (if Plato's dialogue be
grounded on a real conversation) the theory of utilitarianism against
the popular morality of the so-called sophist.
It is true that similar confusion and uncertainty, and in some cases
similar discordance, exist respecting the first principles of all the
sciences, not excepting that which is deemed the most certain of them,
mathematics; without much impairing, generally indeed without impairing
at all, the trustworthiness of the conclusions of those sciences. An
apparent anomaly, the explanation of which is, that the detailed
doctrines of a science are not usually deduced from, nor depend for
their evidence upon, what are called its first principles. Were it not
so, there would be no science more precarious, or whose conclusions were
more insufficiently made out, than algebra; which derives none of its
certainty from what are commonly taught to learners as its elements,
since these, as laid down by some of its most eminent teachers, are as
full of fictions as English law, and of mysteries as theology. The
truths which are ultimately accepted as the first principles of a
science, are really the last results of metaphysical analysis, practised
on the elementary notions with which the science is conversant; and
their relation to the science is not that of foundations to an edifice,
but of roots to a tree, which may perform their office equally well
though they be never dug down to and exposed to light. But though in
science the particular truths precede the general theory, the contrary
might be expected to be the case with a practical art, such as morals or
legislation. All action is for the sake of some end, and rules of
action, it seems natural to suppose, must take their whole character
and colour from the end to which they are subservient. When we engage in
a pursuit, a clear and precise conception of what we are pursuing would
seem to be the first thing we need, instead of the last we are to look
forward to. A test of right and wrong must be the means, one would
think, of ascertaining what is right or wrong, and not a consequence of
having already ascertained it.
The difficulty is not avoided by having recourse to the popular theory
of a natural faculty, a sense or instinct, informing us of right and
wrong. For--besides that the existence of such a moral instinct is
itself one of the matters in dispute--those believers in it who have any
pretensions to philosophy, have been obliged to abandon the idea that it
discerns what is right or wrong in the particular case in hand, as our
other senses discern the sight or sound actually present. Our moral
faculty, according to all those of its interpreters who are entitled to
the name of thinkers, supplies us only with the general principles of
moral judgments; it is a branch of our reason, not of our sensitive
faculty; and must be looked to for the abstract doctrines of morality,
not for perception of it in the concrete. The intuitive, no less than
what may be termed the inductive, school of ethics, insists on the
necessity of general laws. They both agree that the morality of an
individual action is not a question of direct perception, but of the
application of a law to an individual case. They recognise also, to a
great extent, the same moral laws; but differ as to their evidence, and
the source from which they derive their authority. According to the one
opinion, the principles of morals are evident _a priori_, requiring
nothing to command assent, except that the meaning of the terms be
understood. According to the other doctrine, right and wrong, as well as
truth and falsehood, are questions of observation and experience. But
both hold equally that morality must be deduced from principles; and the
intuitive school affirm as strongly as the inductive, that there is a
science of morals. Yet they seldom attempt to make out a list of the _a
priori_ principles which are to serve as the premises of the science;
still more rarely do they make any effort to reduce those various
principles to one first principle, or common ground of obligation. They
either assume the ordinary precepts of morals as of _a priori_
authority, or they lay down as the common groundwork of those maxims,
some generality much less obviously authoritative than the maxims
themselves, and which has never succeeded in gaining popular acceptance.
Yet to support their pretensions there ought either to be some one
fundamental principle or law, at the root of all morality, or if there
be several, there should be a determinate order of precedence among
them; and the one principle, or the rule for deciding between the
various principles when they conflict, ought to be self-evident.
To inquire how far the bad effects of this deficiency have been
mitigated in practice, or to what extent the moral beliefs of mankind
have been vitiated or made uncertain by the absence of any distinct
recognition of an ultimate standard, would imply a complete survey and
criticism of past and present ethical doctrine. It would, however, be
easy to show that whatever steadiness or consistency these moral beliefs
have attained, has been mainly due to the tacit influence of a standard
not recognised. Although the non-existence of an acknowledged first
principle has made ethics not so much a guide as a consecration of men's
actual sentiments, still, as men's sentiments, both of favour and of
aversion, are greatly influenced by what they suppose to be the effects
of things upon their happiness, the principle of utility, or as Bentham
latterly called it, the greatest happiness principle, has had a large
share in forming the moral doctrines even of those who most scornfully
reject its authority. Nor is there any school of thought which refuses
to admit that the influence of actions on happiness is a most material
and even predominant consideration in many of the details of morals,
however unwilling to acknowledge it as the fundamental principle of
morality, and the source of moral obligation. I might go much further,
and say that to all those _a priori_ moralists who deem it necessary to
argue at all, utilitarian arguments are indispensable. It is not my
present purpose to criticise these thinkers; but I cannot help
referring, for illustration, to a systematic treatise by one of the most
illustrious of them, the _Metaphysics of Ethics_, by Kant. This
remarkable man, whose system of thought will long remain one of the
landmarks in the history of philosophical speculation, does, in the
treatise in question, lay down an universal first principle as the
origin and ground of moral obligation; it is this:--'So act, that the
rule on which thou actest would admit of being adopted as a law by all
rational beings.' But when he begins to deduce from this precept any of
the actual duties of morality, he fails, almost grotesquely, to show
that there would be any contradiction, any logical (not to say
physical) impossibility, in the adoption by all rational beings of the
most outrageously immoral rules of conduct. All he shows is that the
_consequences_ of their universal adoption would be such as no one would
choose to incur.
On the present occasion, I shall, without further discussion of the
other theories, attempt to contribute something towards the
understanding and appreciation of the Utilitarian or Happiness theory,
and towards such proof as it is susceptible of. It is evident that this
cannot be proof in the ordinary and popular meaning of the term.
Questions of ultimate ends are not amenable to direct proof. Whatever
can be proved to be good, must be so by being shown to be a means to
something admitted to be good without proof. The medical art is proved
to be good, by its conducing to health; but how is it possible to prove
that health is good? The art of music is good, for the reason, among
others, that it produces pleasure; but what proof is it possible to give
that pleasure is good? If, then, it is asserted that there is a
comprehensive formula, including all things which are in themselves
good, and that whatever else is good, is not so as an end, but as a
mean, the formula may be accepted or rejected, but is not a subject of
what is commonly understood by proof. We are not, however, to infer that
its acceptance or rejection must depend on blind impulse, or arbitrary
choice. There is a larger meaning of the word proof, in which this
question is as amenable to it as any other of the disputed questions of
philosophy. The subject is within the cognizance of the rational
faculty; and neither does that faculty deal with it solely in the way
of intuition. Considerations may be presented capable of determining the
intellect either to give or withhold its assent to the doctrine; and
this is equivalent to proof.
We shall examine presently of what nature are these considerations; in
what manner they apply to the case, and what rational grounds,
therefore, can be given for accepting or rejecting the utilitarian
formula. But it is a preliminary condition of rational acceptance or
rejection, that the formula should be correctly understood. I believe
that the very imperfect notion ordinarily formed of its meaning, is the
chief obstacle which impedes its reception; and that could it be
cleared, even from only the grosser misconceptions, the question would
be greatly simplified, and a large proportion of its difficulties
removed. Before, therefore, I attempt to enter into the philosophical
grounds which can be given for assenting to the utilitarian standard, I
shall offer some illustrations of the doctrine itself; with the view of
showing more clearly what it is, distinguishing it from what it is not,
and disposing of such of the practical objections to it as either
originate in, or are closely connected with, mistaken interpretations of
its meaning. Having thus prepared the ground, I shall afterwards
endeavour to throw such light as I can upon the question, considered as
one of philosophical theory.
CHAPTER II.
WHAT UTILITARIANISM IS.
A passing remark is all that needs be given to the ignorant blunder of
supposing that those who stand up for utility as the test of right and
wrong, use the term in that restricted and merely colloquial sense in
which utility is opposed to pleasure. An apology is due to the
philosophical opponents of utilitarianism, for even the momentary
appearance of confounding them with any one capable of so absurd a
misconception; which is the more extraordinary, inasmuch as the contrary
accusation, of referring everything to pleasure, and that too in its
grossest form, is another of the common charges against utilitarianism:
and, as has been pointedly remarked by an able writer, the same sort of
persons, and often the very same persons, denounce the theory "as
impracticably dry when the word utility precedes the word pleasure, and
as too practicably voluptuous when the word pleasure precedes the word
utility." Those who know anything about the matter are aware that every
writer, from Epicurus to Bentham, who maintained the theory of utility,
meant by it, not something to be contradistinguished from pleasure, but
pleasure itself, together with exemption from pain; and instead of
opposing the useful to the agreeable or the ornamental, have always
declared that the useful means these, among other things. Yet the
common herd, including the herd of writers, not only in newspapers and
periodicals, but in books of weight and pretension, are perpetually
falling into this shallow mistake. Having caught up the word
utilitarian, while knowing nothing whatever about it but its sound, they
habitually express by it the rejection, or the neglect, of pleasure in
some of its forms; of beauty, of ornament, or of amusement. Nor is the
term thus ignorantly misapplied solely in disparagement, but
occasionally in compliment; as though it implied superiority to
frivolity and the mere pleasures of the moment. And this perverted use
is the only one in which the word is popularly known, and the one from
which the new generation are acquiring their sole notion of its meaning.
Those who introduced the word, but who had for many years discontinued
it as a distinctive appellation, may well feel themselves called upon to
resume it, if by doing so they can hope to contribute anything towards
rescuing it from this utter degradation.[A]
The creed which accepts as the foundation of morals, Utility, or the
Greatest Happiness Principle, holds that actions are right in proportion
as they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the
reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure, and the
absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain, and the privation of pleasure. To
give a clear view of the moral standard set up by the theory, much more
requires to be said; in particular, what things it includes in the ideas
of pain and pleasure; and to what extent this is left an open question.
But these supplementary explanations do not affect the theory of life on
which this theory of morality is grounded--namely, that pleasure, and
freedom from pain, are the only things desirable as ends; and that all
desirable things (which are as numerous in the utilitarian as in any
other scheme) are desirable either for the pleasure inherent in
themselves, or as means to the promotion of pleasure and the prevention
of pain.
Now, such a theory of life excites in many minds, and among them in some
of the most estimable in feeling and purpose, inveterate dislike. To
suppose that life has (as they express it) no higher end than
pleasure--no better and nobler object of desire and pursuit--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; and modern holders of the doctrine are
occasionally made the subject of equally polite comparisons by its
German, French, and English assailants.
When thus attacked, the Epicureans have always answered, that it is not
they, but their accusers, who represent human nature in a degrading
light; since the accusation supposes human beings to be capable of no
pleasures except those of which swine are capable. If this supposition
were true, the charge could not be gainsaid, but would then be no
longer an imputation; for if the sources of pleasure were precisely the
same to human beings and to swine, the rule of life which is good enough
for the one would be good enough for the other. The comparison of the
Epicurean life to that of beasts is felt as degrading, precisely because
a beast's pleasures do not satisfy a human being's conceptions of
happiness. Human beings have faculties more elevated than the animal
appetites, and when once made conscious of them, do not regard anything
as happiness which does not include their gratification. I do not,
indeed, consider the Epicureans to have been by any means faultless in
drawing out their scheme of consequences from the utilitarian principle.
To do this in any sufficient manner, many Stoic, as well as Christian
elements require to be included. But 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 must be admitted,
however, that utilitarian writers in general have placed the superiority
of mental over bodily pleasures chiefly in the greater permanency,
safety, uncostliness, &c., of the former--that is, in their
circumstantial advantages rather than in their intrinsic nature. And on
all these points utilitarians have fully proved their case; but they
might have taken the other, and, as it may be called, higher ground,
with entire consistency. It is quite compatible with the principle of
utility to recognise the fact, that some _kinds_ of pleasure are more
desirable and more valuable than others. It would be absurd that while,
in estimating all other things, quality is considered as well as
quantity, the estimation of pleasures should be supposed to depend on
quantity alone.
If I am asked, what I mean by difference of quality in pleasures, or
what makes one pleasure more valuable than another, merely as a
pleasure, except its being greater in amount, there is but one possible
answer. Of two pleasures, if there be one to which all or almost all who
have experience of both give a decided preference, irrespective of any
feeling of moral obligation to prefer it, that is the more desirable
pleasure. If one of the two is, by those who are competently acquainted
with both, placed so far above the other that they prefer it, even
though knowing it to be attended with a greater amount of discontent,
and would not resign it for any quantity of the other pleasure which
their nature is capable of, we are justified in ascribing to the
preferred enjoyment a superiority in quality, so far outweighing
quantity as to render it, in comparison, of small account.
Now it is an unquestionable fact that those who are equally acquainted
with, and equally capable of appreciating and enjoying, both, do give a
most marked preference to the manner of existence which employs their
higher faculties. Few human creatures would consent to be changed into
any of the lower animals, for a promise of the fullest allowance of a
beast's pleasures; no intelligent human being would consent to be a
fool, no instructed person would be an ignoramus, no person of feeling
and conscience would be selfish and 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. They would not resign what they
possess more than he, for the most complete satisfaction of all the
desires which they have in common with him. If they ever fancy they
would, it is only in cases of unhappiness so extreme, that to escape
from it they would exchange their lot for almost any other, however
undesirable in their own eyes. A being of higher faculties requires more
to make him happy, is capable probably of more acute suffering, and is
certainly accessible to it at more points, than one of an inferior type;
but in spite of these liabilities, he can never really wish to sink into
what he feels to be a lower grade of existence. We may give what
explanation we please of this unwillingness; we may attribute it to
pride, a name which is given indiscriminately to some of the most and to
some of the least estimable feelings of which mankind are capable; we
may refer it to the love of liberty and personal independence, an appeal
to which was with the Stoics one of the most effective means for the
inculcation of it; to the love of power, or to the love of excitement,
both of which do really enter into and contribute to it: but its most
appropriate appellation is a sense of dignity, which all human beings
possess in one form or other, and in some, though by no means in exact,
proportion to their higher faculties, and which is so essential a part
of the happiness of those in whom it is strong, that nothing which
conflicts with it could be, otherwise than momentarily, an object of
desire to them. Whoever supposes that this preference takes place at a
sacrifice of happiness-that the superior being, in anything like equal
circumstances, is not happier than the inferior-confounds the two very
different ideas, of happiness, and content. It is indisputable that the
being whose capacities of enjoyment are low, has the greatest chance of
having them fully satisfied; and a highly-endowed being will always feel
that any happiness which he can look for, as the world is constituted,
is imperfect. But he can learn to bear its imperfections, if they are at
all bearable; and they will not make him envy the being who is indeed
unconscious of the imperfections, but only because he feels not at all
the good which those imperfections qualify. It is better to be a human
being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates
dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, is of a
different opinion, it is because they only know their own side of the
question. The other party to the comparison knows both sides.
It may be objected, that many who are capable of the higher pleasures,
occasionally, under the influence of temptation, postpone them to the
lower. But this is quite compatible with a full appreciation of the
intrinsic superiority of the higher. Men often, from infirmity of
character, make their election for the nearer good, though they know it
to be the less valuable; and this no less when the choice is between two
bodily pleasures, than when it is between bodily and mental. They pursue
sensual indulgences to the injury of health, though perfectly aware that
health is the greater good. It may be further objected, that many who
begin with youthful enthusiasm for everything noble, as they advance in
years sink into indolence and selfishness. But I do not believe that
those who undergo this very common change, voluntarily choose the lower
description of pleasures in preference to the higher. I believe that
before they devote themselves exclusively to the one, they have already
become incapable of the other. Capacity for the nobler feelings is in
most natures a very tender plant, easily killed, not only by hostile
influences, but by mere want of sustenance; and in the majority of young
persons it speedily dies away if the occupations to which their position
in life has devoted them, and the society into which it has thrown them,
are not favourable to keeping that higher capacity in exercise. Men lose
their high aspirations as they lose their intellectual tastes, because
they have not time or opportunity for indulging them; and they addict
themselves to inferior pleasures, not because they deliberately prefer
them, but because they are either the only ones to which they have
access, or the only ones which they are any longer capable of enjoying.
It may be questioned whether any one who has remained equally
susceptible to both classes of pleasures, ever knowingly and calmly
preferred the lower; though many, in all ages, have broken down in an
ineffectual attempt to combine both.
From this verdict of the only competent judges, I apprehend there can be
no appeal. On a question which is the best worth having of two
pleasures, or which of two modes of existence is the most grateful to
the feelings, apart from its moral attributes and from its consequences,
the judgment of those who are qualified by knowledge of both, or, if
they differ, that of the majority among them, must be admitted as final.
And there needs be the less hesitation to accept this judgment
respecting the quality of pleasures, since there is no other tribunal to
be referred to even on the question of quantity. What means are there of
determining which is the acutest of two pains, or the intensest of two
pleasurable sensations, except the general suffrage of those who are
familiar with both? Neither pains nor pleasures are homogeneous, and
pain is always heterogeneous with pleasure. What is there to decide
whether a particular pleasure is worth purchasing at the cost of a
particular pain, except the feelings and judgment of the experienced?
When, therefore, those feelings and judgment declare the pleasures
derived from the higher faculties to be preferable _in kind_, apart from
the question of intensity, to those of which the animal nature,
disjoined from the higher faculties, is susceptible, they are entitled
on this subject to the same regard.
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