Progressive Morality by Thomas Fowler
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Thomas Fowler >> Progressive Morality
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[Footnote 1: I use the expressions 'moral sanction' and 'moral
sentiment' as equivalent terms, because the pleasures and pains, which
constitute the moral sanction, are inseparable, even in thought, from
the moral feeling. The moral feeling of self-approbation or
self-disapprobation cannot even be conceived apart from the pleasures or
pains which are attendant on it, and by means of which it reveals itself
to us.
It should be noticed that the expression 'moral sentiment' is habitually
used in two senses, as the equivalent (1) of the moral feeling only, (2)
of the entire moral process, which, as we shall see in the third
chapter, consists partly of a judgment, partly of a feeling. It is in
the latter sense, for instance, that we speak of the 'current moral
sentiment' of any given age or country, meaning the opinions then or
there prevalent on moral questions, reinforced by the feeling of
approbation or disapprobation. As, however, the moral feeling always
follows immediately and necessarily on the moral judgment, whenever that
judgment pronounces decisively for or against an action, and always
implies a previous judgment (I am here again obliged to anticipate the
discussion in chapter 3), the ambiguity is of no practical importance at
the present stage of our enquiry. It is almost needless to add that the
word 'sentiment,' when used alone, has the double meaning of a feeling
and an opinion, an ambiguity which is sometimes not without practical
inconvenience.]
The terms 'conscience' and 'moral sense' are very convenient expressions
for popular use, provided we always bear in mind that 'illuminate' or
'instruct' your 'conscience' or 'moral sense' is quite as essential a
rule as 'follow' your 'conscience' or 'moral sense.' But the scientific
moralist, in attempting to analyse the springs of moral action and to
detect the ultimate sanctions of conduct, would do well to avoid these
terms altogether. The analysis of moral as well as of intellectual acts
is often only obscured by our introducing the conception of 'faculties,'
and, in the present instance, it is far better to confine ourselves to
the expressions 'acts' of 'approbation or disapprobation,' 'satisfaction
or dissatisfaction,' which we shall hereafter attempt to analyse, than
to feign, or at least assume, certain 'faculties' or 'senses' as
distinct entities from which such acts are supposed to proceed. I shall,
therefore, in the sequel of this work, say little or nothing of
'conscience' or 'moral sense,' not because I think it desirable to
banish those words from popular terminology, but because I think that,
in an attempt to present the principles of ethics in a scientific form,
they introduce needless complexity and obscurity.
If the statements thus far made in this chapter be accepted, it follows
that the feelings of self-approbation and self-disapprobation, which
constitute the moral sanction, by no means invariably supervene on acts
of the same kind even in the case of the same individual, much less in
the case of different individuals, and that the acts which elicit the
moral sanction depend, to a considerable extent, on the circumstances
and education of the person who passes judgment on them. The moral
sanction, therefore, though it always consists in the feelings of
self-approbation, or self-disapprobation, of satisfaction or
dissatisfaction at one's own acts, is neither uniform, absolute, nor
infallible; but varies, as applied not only by different individuals but
by the same individual at different times, in relation to varying
conditions of education, temperament, nationality, and, generally, of
circumstances both external and internal. Lastly, it admits of constant
improvement and correction. How, then, it may be asked, do we justify
the application of this sanction, and why do we regard it as not only a
legitimate sanction of conduct, but as the most important of all
sanctions, and, in cases of conflict, the supreme and final sanction?
The answer to this question is that, if we regard an action as wrong, no
matter whether our opinion be correct or not, no external considerations
whatsoever can compensate us for acting contrary to our convictions.
Human nature, in its normal condition, is so constituted that the
remorse felt, when we look back upon a wrong action, far outweighs any
pleasure we may have derived from it, just as the satisfaction with
which we look back upon a right action far more than compensates for any
pain with which it may have been attended. The 'mens sibi conscia recti'
is the highest reward which a man can have, as, on the other hand, the
retrospect on base, unjust, or cruel actions constitutes the most acute
of torments. Now, when a man looks back upon his past actions, what he
regards is not so much the result of his acts as the intention and the
motives by which the intention was actuated. It is not, therefore, what
he would now think of the act so much as what he then thought of it that
is the object of his approbation or disapprobation. And, consequently,
even though his opinions as to the nature of the act may meanwhile have
undergone alteration, he approves or disapproves of what was his
intention at the moment of performing it and of the state of mind from
which it then proceeded. It is true that the subsequent results of our
acts and any change in our estimate of their moral character may
considerably modify the feelings with which we look back upon them, but,
still, in the main, it holds good that the approval or disapproval with
which we regard our past conduct depends rather upon the opinions of
right and wrong which we entertained at the moment of action than those
which we have come to entertain since. To have acted, at any time, in a
manner contrary to what we then supposed to be right leaves behind it a
trace of dissatisfaction and pain, which may, at any future time,
reappear to trouble and distress us; just as to have acted, in spite of
all conflicting considerations, in a manner which we then conceived to
be right, may, in after years, be a perennial source of pleasure and
satisfaction. It is characteristic of the pleasures and pains of
reflexion on our past acts (which pleasures and pains of reflexion may,
of course, connect themselves with other than purely moral
considerations), not only that they admit of being more intense than any
other pleasures and pains, but that, whenever there is any conflict
between the moral sanction and any other sanction, it is to the moral
sanction that they attach themselves. Thus, if a man has incurred
physical suffering, or braved the penalties of the law or the ill word
of society, in pursuance of a course of conduct which he deemed to be
right, he looks back upon his actions with satisfaction, and the more
important the actions, and the clearer his convictions of right and the
stronger the inducements to act otherwise, the more intense will his
satisfaction be. But no such satisfaction is felt, when a man has
sacrificed his convictions of right to avoid physical pain, or to escape
the penalties of the law, or to conciliate the goodwill of society; the
feeling, on the other hand, will be that of dissatisfaction with
himself, varying, according to circumstances, from regret to remorse.
And, if no similar remark has to be made with reference to the religious
sanction, it is because, in all the higher forms of religion, the
religious sanction is conceived of as applying to exactly the same
actions as the moral sanction. What a man himself deems right, that he
conceives God to approve of, and what he conceives God as disapproving
of, that he deems wrong. But in a religion in which God was not regarded
as holy, just, and true, or in which there was a plurality of gods, some
good and some evil, I conceive that a man would look back with
satisfaction, and not with dissatisfaction, on those acts in which he
had followed his own sense of right rather than the supposed will of the
Deity, just as, when there is a conflict between the two, he now
congratulates himself on having submitted to the claims of conscience
rather than to those of the law.
The justification, then, of that claim to superiority, which is asserted
by the moral sanction, consists, I conceive, in two circumstances:
first, that the pleasures and pains, the feelings of satisfaction and
dissatisfaction, of self-approbation and self-disapprobation, by means
of which it works, are, in the normally constituted mind, far more
intense and durable than any other pleasures and pains; secondly, that,
whenever this sanction comes into conflict with any other sanction, its
defeat is sure, on a careful retrospect of our acts, to bring regret or
remorse, whereas its victory is equally certain to bring pleasure and
satisfaction. We arrive, then, at the conclusion that it is the moral
sanction which is the distinctive guide of conduct, and to which we must
look, in the last resort, to enforce right action, while the other
sanctions are mainly valuable in so far as they reinforce the moral
sanction or correct its aberrations. A man must, ultimately, be the
judge of his own conduct, and, as he acts or does not act according to
his own best judgment, so he will subsequently feel satisfaction or
remorse; but these facts afford no reason why he should not take pains
to inform his judgment by all the means which physical knowledge, law,
society, and religion place at his disposal.
CHAPTER III.
ANALYSIS AND FORMATION OF THE MORAL
SENTIMENT. ITS EDUCATION AND IMPROVEMENT.
Before proceeding to our third question, namely, how the moral
sentiment, which is the source of the moral sanction, has been formed,
and how it may be further educated and improved, it is desirable to
discriminate carefully between the intellectual and the emotional
elements in an act of approbation or disapprobation. We sometimes speak
of moral judgment, sometimes of moral feeling. These expressions ought
not to be regarded as the symbols of rival theories on the nature of the
act of moral approbation, as has sometimes been the case, but as
designating distinct parts of the process, or, to put the same statement
rather differently, separate elements in the analysis. Hume, whose
treatment of this subject is peculiarly lucid, as compared with that of
most writers on ethics, after reviewing the reasons assigned by those
authors respectively who resolve the act of approbation into an act of
judgment or an act of feeling, adds[1]: 'These arguments on each side
(and many more might be produced) are so plausible, that I am apt to
suspect they may, the one as well as the other, be solid and
satisfactory, and that reason and sentiment concur in almost all moral
determinations and conclusions. The final sentence; it is probable,
which pronounces characters and actions amiable or odious, praiseworthy
or blameable; that which stamps on them the mark of honour or infamy,
approbation or censure; that which renders morality an active principle,
and constitutes virtue our happiness and vice our misery: it is
probable, I say, that this final sentence depends on some internal sense
or feeling, which nature has made universal in the whole
species. For what else can have an influence of this nature?
But, in order to pave the way for such a sentiment and give
a proper discernment of its object, it is often necessary, we find, that
much reasoning should precede, that nice distinctions be made, just
conclusions drawn, distant comparisons formed, complicated relations
examined, and general facts fixed and ascertained. Some species of
beauty, especially the natural kinds, on their first appearance, command
our affection and approbation; and, where they fail of this effect, it
is impossible for any reasoning to redress their influence, or adapt
them better to our taste and sentiment. But in many orders of beauty,
particularly those of the finer arts, it is requisite to employ much
reasoning, in order to feel the proper sentiment; and a false relish may
frequently be corrected by argument and reflexion. There are just
grounds to conclude that moral beauty partakes much of this latter
species, and demands the assistance of our intellectual faculties, in
order to give it a suitable influence on the human mind.'
[Footnote 1: Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, Section I.]
This passage, which I have thought it worth while to quote at length,
exhibits, with sufficient clearness, the respective provinces of reason
and feeling in the ethical estimation of action. Whether we are
reviewing the actions of ourselves or of others, what we seem to do, in
the first instance, is to refer them to some class, or associate them
with certain actions of a similar kind which are familiar to us, and,
then, when their character has thus been determined, they excite the
appropriate feeling of approbation or disapprobation, praise or censure.
Thus, as soon as we have realised that a statement is a lie or an act is
fraudulent, we at once experience a feeling of indignation or disgust at
the person who has made the statement or committed the act. And, in the
same way, as soon as we have recognised that an act is brave or
generous, we regard with esteem or admiration the doer of it. But,
though the feeling of approbation or disapprobation follows
instantaneously on the act of judgment, the recognition of the character
of the action, or its reference to a class, which constitutes this act
of judgment, may be, and often is, a process of considerable length and
complexity. Take the case of a lie. What did the man really say? In what
sense did he employ the words used? What was the extent of his knowledge
at the time that he made the statement? And what was his intention?
These and possibly other questions have to be answered, before we are
justified in accusing him of having told a lie. When the offence is not
only a moral but a legal one, the act of determining the character of
the action in question is often the result of a prolonged enquiry,
extending over weeks or months. No sooner, however, is the intellectual
process completed, and the action duly labelled as a lie, or a theft, or
a fraud, or an act of cruelty or ingratitude, or the like, than the
appropriate ethical emotion is at once excited. The intellectual process
may also be exceedingly rapid, or even instantaneous, and always is so
when we have no doubt as to the nature either of the action or of the
intention or of the motives, but its characteristic, as distinguished
from the ethical emotion, is that it may take time, and, except in
perfectly clear cases or on very sudden emergencies requiring subsequent
action, always ought to do so.
We are now in a position to see the source of much confusion in the
ordinary mode of speaking and writing on the subject of the moral
faculty, the moral judgment, the moral feeling, the moral sense, the
conscience, and kindred terms. The instantaneous, and the apparently
instinctive, authoritative, and absolute character of the act of moral
approbation or disapprobation attaches to the emotional, and not to the
intellectual part of the process. When an action has once been
pronounced to be right or wrong, morally good or evil, or has been
referred to some well-known class of actions whose ethical character is
already determined, the emotion of approval or disapproval is excited
and follows as a matter of course. There is no reasoning or hesitation
about it, simply because the act is not a reasoning act. Hence, it
appears to be instinctive, and becomes invested with those superior
attributes of authoritativeness, absoluteness, and even infallibility,
which are not unnaturally ascribed to an act in which, there being no
process of reasoning, there seems to be no room for error. And, indeed,
the feelings of moral approbation and disapprobation can never be
properly described as erroneous, though they are frequently misapplied.
The error attaches to the preliminary process of reasoning, reference,
or classification, and, if this be wrongly conducted, there is no
justification for the feeling which is consequent upon it. But, instead
of our asking for the justification of the feeling in the rational
process which has preceded it, we often unconsciously justify our
reasoning by the feeling, and thus the whole process assumes the
unreflective character which properly belongs only to the emotional part
of it. It is the want of a clear distinction between the logical process
which determines the character of an act,--the moral judgment,--and the
emotion which immediately supervenes when the character of the act is
determined,--the moral feeling,--that accounts for the exaggerated
epithets which are often attributed to the operations of the moral
faculty, and for the haste and negligence in which men are consequently
encouraged to indulge, when arriving at their moral decisions. Let it be
recollected that, when we have time for reflexion, we cannot take too
much pains in forming our decisions upon conduct, for there is always a
possibility of error in our judgments, but that, when our judgments are
formed, we ought to give free scope to the emotions which they naturally
evoke, and then we shall develope a conscience, so to speak, at once
enlightened and sensitive, we shall combine accuracy and justness of
judgment with delicacy and strength of feeling.
There remains the question whether the feelings of approval and
disapproval, which supervene on our moral judgments, admit of any
explanation, or whether they are to be regarded as ultimate facts of our
mental constitution. It seems to me that, on a little reflexion, we are
led to adopt the former alternative. What are the classes of acts, under
their most general aspect, which elicit the feelings of moral
approbation and disapprobation? They are such as promote, or tend to
promote, the good either of ourselves or of others. Now the feelings of
which these classes of acts are the direct object are respectively the
self-regarding and the sympathetic feelings, or, as they have been
somewhat uncouthly called, the egoistic and altruistic feelings. We have
a variety of appetites and desires, which centre in ourselves, including
what has been called rational self-love, or a desire for what, on cool
reflexion, we conceive to be our own highest good on the whole, as well
as self-respect, or a regard for our own dignity and character, and for
our own opinion of ourselves. When any of these various appetites or
desires are gratified, we feel satisfaction, and, on the other hand,
when they are thwarted, we feel dissatisfaction. Similarly, we have a
number of affections, of which others are the object, some of them of a
malevolent or resentful, but most of them of a benevolent character,
including a general desire to confer all the happiness that we can.
Here, again, we feel satisfaction, when our affections are gratified,
and dissatisfaction, when they are thwarted. Now these feelings of
satisfaction and dissatisfaction, which are called reflex feelings,
because they are reflected, as it were, from the objects of our desires,
include, though they are by no means coextensive with, the feelings of
moral approbation and disapprobation. When, for instance, we gratify the
appetites of hunger or thirst, or our love of curiosity or power, we
feel satisfaction, but we can hardly be said to regard the gratification
of these appetites or feelings with moral approval or disapproval. We
perform thousands of acts, and see thousands of acts performed, every
day, which never excite any moral feeling whatever. But there are few
men in whom an undoubted act of kindness or generosity or resistance to
temptation would not at once elicit admiration or respect, or, if they
reflected on such acts in their own case, of self-approval. Now, what
are the circumstances which distinguish these acts which merely cause us
satisfaction from those which elicit the moral feeling of approbation?
This question is one by no means easy to answer, and the solution of it
must obviously depend to some extent on the moral surroundings and
prepossessions of the person who undertakes to answer it. But,
attempting to take as wide a survey as possible of those acts which, in
different persons, elicit moral approbation or disapprobation, I will
endeavour to discriminate the characteristics which they have in common.
All those acts, then, it seems to me, which elicit a distinctively moral
feeling have been the result of some conflict amongst the various
desires and affections, or, to adopt the more ordinary phraseology, of a
conflict of motives. We neither approve nor disapprove of acts with
regard to which there seems to have been little or no choice, which
appear to have resulted naturally from the pre-existing circumstances.
Thus, if a well-to-do man pays his debts promptly, or a man of known
poverty asks to have the time of payment deferred, we neither visit the
one with praise nor the other with censure, though, if their conduct
were reversed, we should censure the former and praise the latter. The
reason of this difference of treatment is plain. There is not, or at
least need not be, any conflict, in the case of the well-to-do man,
between his own convenience or any reasonable gratification of his
desires and the satisfaction of a just claim. Hence, in paying the debt
promptly, he is only acting as we might expect him to act, and his
conduct excites no moral feeling on our part, though, if he were to act
differently, he would incur our censure. The poor man, on the other
hand, must have put himself to some inconvenience and exercised some
self-denial in order to meet his engagement at the exact time at which
the payment became due, and hence he merits our praise, though, if he
had acted otherwise, the circumstances might have excused him.
Another characteristic of acts which we praise or blame, in the case of
others, or approve or disapprove, on reflexion, in our own case, seems
to be that they must possess some importance. The great majority of our
acts are too trivial to merit any notice, such as is implied in a moral
judgment. When a man makes way for another in the street, or refrains
from eating or drinking more than is good for him, neither he nor the
bystander probably ever thinks of regarding the act as a meritorious
one. It is taken as a matter of course, though the opposite conduct
might, under certain circumstances, be of sufficient importance to incur
censure. It is impossible here, as in most other cases where we speak of
'importance,' to draw a definite line, but it may at least be laid down
that an act, in order to be regarded as moral or immoral, must be of
sufficient importance to arrest attention, and stimulate reflexion.
Thus far, then, we have arrived at the conclusion that acts which are
the objects of moral approbation and disapprobation must have a certain
importance, and must be the result of a certain amount of conflict
between different motives. But we have not as yet attempted to detect
any principle of discrimination between those acts which are the objects
of praise or approbation and those which are the objects of censure or
disapprobation. Now it seems to me that such a principle may be found in
the fact that all those acts of others which we praise or those acts of
ourselves which, on reflexion, we approve involve some amount of
sacrifice, whereas all those acts of others which we blame, or those
acts of ourselves which, on reflexion, we disapprove involve some amount
of self-indulgence. The conflict is between a man's own lower and higher
good, or between his own good and the greater good of others, or, in
certain cases, as we shall see presently, between the lesser good of
some, reinforced by considerations of self-interest or partiality, and
the greater good of others, not so reinforced, or even, occasionally,
between the pleasure or advantage of others and a disproportionate
injury to himself; and he who, in the struggle, gives the preference to
the former of these motives usually becomes the object of censure or, on
reflexion, of self-disapprobation, while he who gives the preference to
the latter becomes the object of praise or, on reflexion, of
self-approbation. I shall endeavour to illustrate this position by a few
instances mostly taken from common life. We praise a man who, by due
economy, makes decent provision for himself in old age, as we blame a
man who fails to do so. Quite apart from any public or social
considerations, we admire and applaud in the one man the power of
self-restraint and the habit of foresight, which enable him to
subordinate his immediate gratifications to his larger interests in the
remote future, and to forego sensual and passing pleasures for the
purpose of preserving his self-respect and personal independence in
later life. And we admire and applaud him still more, if to these purely
self-regarding considerations he adds the social one of wishing to avoid
becoming a burden on his family or his friends or the public. Just in
the same way, we condemn the other man, who, rather than sacrifice his
immediate gratification, will incur the risk of forfeiting his
self-respect and independence in after years as well as of making others
suffer for his improvidence. A man who, by the exercise of similar
economy and forethought, makes provision for his family or relations we
esteem still more than the man who simply makes provision for himself,
because the sacrifice of passing pleasures is generally still greater,
and because there is also, in this case, a total sacrifice of all
self-regarding interests, except, perhaps, self-respect and reputation,
for the sake of others. Similarly, the man who has a family or relations
dependent upon him, and who neglects to make future provision for them,
deservedly incurs our censure far more than the man who merely neglects
to make provision for himself, because his self-indulgence has to
contend against the full force of the social as well as the higher
self-regarding motives, and its persistence is, therefore, the less
excusable.
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