Chapter I: The Good (3)

1. _With reference to the unification of the conduct of the individual._ Of pleasure as the object of desire, we need now say nothing further, but may proceed at once to the criticism of the theory that the will, acting according to the mere idea of law in general, is the end of man and hence that it is the criterion of the rightness or wrongness of his acts. We shall attempt to show that such an end is wholly empty, and that it fails (as much as hedonism) to unify conduct or to place any specific act as to its morality.

The difficulty of the end proposed by Kant is that it is an abstraction; that it is remote. The hedonist leaves out one element from conduct, and takes into account the merely particular or individualistic side; the Kantian abstracts the opposite element--the merely universal. The formal universal, or universal stripped of all particular content, has, considered as an end of action, at least three defects.

I. It is an end which would make impossible that very conduct of which it is taken to be the end--that is, moral conduct. In denying that pleasure is the end of action, we took pains to show that it (or rather the feeling due to the tension between pleasure of a state considered better and the pain of the experienced worse state) is a necessary element in the force impelling to action. The mere conception of an end is purely intellectual; there is nothing in it to move to action. It must be _felt_ as valuable, as worth having, and as more valuable than the present condition before it can induce to action. It must _interest_, in a word, and thus excite desire. But if feeling is, as Kant declares, to be excluded from the motive to action, because it is pathological or related to pleasure as the object of desire, how can there be any force moving to action? The mind seems to be set over against a purely theoretical idea of an end, with nothing to connect the mind with the end. Unless the end interests, unless it arouses emotion, why should the agent ever aim at it? And if the law does excite feeling or desire, must not this, on Kant's theory, be desire for pleasure and thus vitiate the morality of the act? We seem to be in a dilemma, one side of which makes moral action impossible by taking away all inducing force, while the other makes it impossible by introducing an immoral factor into the motive.

Kant attempts to escape from this difficulty by claiming that there is one feeling which is rational, and not sensuous in quality, being excited not by the conception of pleasure or pain, but by that of the moral law itself. This is the feeling of reverence, and through this feeling we can be moved to moral action. Waiving the question whether the mere idea of law in general would be capable of arousing any moral sentiment--or, putting the matter from the other side, whether Kant gives us a true account of the feeling of reverence--it is clear that this admission is fatal to Kant's theory. If desire or feeling as such is sensuous (or _pathological_, as Kant terms it), what right have we to make this one exception? And if we can make this one exception, why not others? If it is possible in the case of reverence, why not in the case, say, of patriotism, or of friendship, or of philanthropy, or of love--or even of curiosity, or of indignation, or of desire for approbation? Kant's separation of reverence, as the one moral sentiment from all others as pathological, is wholly arbitrary. The only distinction we can draw is of the feelings as they well up naturally in reaction upon stimuli, sentiments not conceived and thus neither moral nor immoral, and sentiments as transformed by ends of action, in which case all without exception may be moral or immoral, according to the character of the end. The Kantian separation is not only arbitrary psychologically, but is false historically. So far is it from true that the only moral sentiment is reverence for law, that men must have been moved toward action for centuries by motives of love and hate and social regard, before they became capable of such an abstract feeling as reverence. And it may be questioned whether this feeling, as Kant treats it, is even the highest or ultimate form of moral sentiment--whether it is not transitional to love, in which there is complete union of the individual interest on one hand, and the objective end on the other.

For these criticisms at greater length, see Caird, Critical
Philosophy of Kant, Vol. II, Bk. II, ch. IV.

II. The Kantian end would not bring about any system in conduct--on the contrary, it would tend to differences and collisions. What is required to give unity to the sphere of conduct is, as we have seen, a principle which shall comprehend all the motives to action, giving each its due place in contributing to the whole--a universal which shall organize the various particular acts into a harmonious system. Now Kant's conception of the good does not lead to such result. We may even say that it makes it impossible. According to Kant each act must be considered independently of every other, and must be capable of generalization on its own account. Each motive of action must be capable of being _itself_ a universal law of nature. Each particular rule of action is thus made absolute, and we are left not with one universal which comprehends all particulars in their relations to one another, but literally with a lot of universals. These not only fail to have a unity, but each, as absolute, must contradict some other. If the principles always to tell the truth and always to preserve life are universal _in themselves_, and not universal simply _through their relation to some total and controlling principle of life_, it must be impossible to reconcile them when they come into conflict.

See Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 187-190, and p. 215.
_Cf._ "Treated as universal and without exception, even
two such commands as _e. g._, 'Thou shalt not steal,' and
'Thou shalt not kill,' must ultimately come into conflict
with each other; for, if all other interests are to be
postponed to the maintenance of the rights of property,
it is impossible that all other interests should also be
postponed to the preservation of human life--and to make
either property or life an absolute end is to raise a
particular into a universal, to treat a part as if it were
a whole. But the true moral vindication of each particular
interest cannot be found in elevating it into something
universal and absolute, but only in determining its place
in relation to the others in a complete system of morality."

III. The principle is so empty of all content that it does not enable us to judge of any specific act.

A caution should be noticed here, which is equally
applicable to the criticism of hedonism: When it is said
that the end does not enable us to judge of specific
acts, the objection is not that the _theory_ (Kantianism
or hedonism, as the case may be) does not give us rules
for moral conduct. It is not the business of any theory,
however correct as a theory, to lay down rules for conduct.
The theory has simply to discover what the _end_ is, and it
is the end in view which determines specific acts. It is
no more the business of ethics to tell what in particular
a man ought to do, than it is of trigonometry to survey
land. But trigonometry must state the principles by which
land _is_ surveyed, and so ethics must state the end by
which conduct _is_ governed. The objection to hedonism and
Kantianism is that the end they give does not _itself_
stand in any practical relation to conduct. We do not
object to Kantianism because the _theory_ does not help us
as to specific acts, but because the _end_, formal law,
does not help us, while the real moral end must determine
the whole of conduct.

Suppose a man thrown into the complex surroundings of life with an intelligence fully developed, but with no previous knowledge of right or wrong, or of the prevailing moral code. He is to know, however, that goodness is to be found in the good will, and that the good will is the will moved by the mere idea of the universality of law. Can we imagine such an one deriving from his knowledge any idea of what concrete ends he ought to pursue and what to avoid? He is surrounded by special circumstances calling for special acts, and all he knows is that _whatever_ he does is to be done from respect for its universal or legislative quality. What community is there between this principle and _what_ he is to do? There is no bridge from the mere thought of universal law to any concrete end coming under the law. There is no common principle out of which grows the conception of law on one hand, and of the various special ends of action, on the other.

Suppose, however, that ends are independently suggested or proposed, will the Kantian conception serve to _test_ their moral fitness? Will the conception that the end must be capable of being generalized tell us whether this or that end is one to be followed? The fact is, that there is no end whatever that _in or by itself_, cannot be considered as self-identical, or as universal. If we presuppose a certain rule, or if we presuppose a certain moral order, it may be true that a given motive cannot be universalized without coming into conflict with this presupposed rule or order. But aside from some moral system into connection with which a proposed end may be brought, for purposes of comparison, lying is just as capable as truth-telling of generalization. There is no more contradiction in the motive of universal stealing than there is in that of universal honesty--unless there is as standard some order or system of things into which the proposed action is to fit as a member. And this makes not the bare universality of the act, but the system, the real criterion for determining the morality of the act.

Thus Mill remarks, regarding Kant's four illustrations
(_Ante_, p. 80), that Kant really has to employ utilitarian
considerations to decide whether the act is moral or not.

For the foregoing criticisms, see Bradley, Ethical Studies,
Essay IV; Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 185-186, and
212-214, and, indeed, the whole of ch. II of Bk. II.

XXX.

Criticism of Kantian Criterion of Conduct.

2. _With reference to the furnishing of a common good or end._ If the Kantian end is so formal and empty as not to enable us to bring into relation with one another the various acts of one individual, we may agree, without argument, that it does not provide us with an end which shall unify the acts of different men into a connected order of conduct. The moral end, the acting from regard for law as law, is presented to each individual by himself, entirely apart from his relations to others. That he has such relations may, indeed, furnish additional material to which the law must be applied, but is something to which the character of the law is wholly indifferent. The end is not in itself a social end, and it is a mere accident if in any case social considerations have to be taken into account. It is of the very quality of the end that it appeals to the individual as an isolated individual.

It is interesting to note the way in which Kant, without
expressly giving up the purely formal character of the
moral end, gives it more and more content, and that content
social. The moral law is not imposed by any external
authority, but by the rational will itself. To be conscious
of a universal self-imposed law is to be conscious of
one's self as having a universal aspect. The source of
the law and its end are both in the will--in the rational
self. Thus man is an end to himself, for the rational self
is man. Such a being is a person--"Rational beings are
_persons_, because their nature marks them out as ends
in themselves, _i. e._, as beings who should never be
used merely as means.... Such beings are not ends simply
_for us_, whose existence as brought about by our action
has value, but _objective ends_, _i. e._, beings whose
existence is an end in itself, an end for which no other
end can be substituted so as to reduce it to a mere means."
Thus, we get a second formula. "Always treat humanity,
both in your own person and in the person of others, as an
end and never merely as a means." (Abbott's Trans., pp.
46-47; Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, 219). Here the criterion
of action is no longer the bare self-consistency of its
motive, but its consistency with the rational nature of
the agent, that which constitutes him a person. And, too,
"the will of every rational being is likewise a universally
law-giving will." (Abbott, p. 49). The conception of
humanity embodied in others as well as in one's self is
introduced, and thus our criterion is socialized. Even now,
however, we have a lot of persons, each of whom has to
be considered as an end in himself, rather than a social
unity as to which every individual has an equal and common
reference. Kant advances to this latter idea in his notion
of a "Kingdom of ends." "We get the idea of a complete and
systematically connected totality of all ends--a whole
system of rational beings as ends in themselves as well
as of the special ends which each of them may set up for
himself--_i.e._, a kingdom of ends.... Morality is the
reference of all deeds to the legislation which alone can
make such a kingdom possible." (See Abbott's Trans., pp.
51-52). This transformation of a mere formal universal into
a society or kingdom of persons--while not sufficiently
analyzed as Kant states it (see Caird, Vol. II, pp.
225-226)--gives us truly a social criterion, and we shall
hereafter meet something resembling it as the true ideal.
As finally stated, it does not differ in essential content
from Mill's individual who "conceives of himself only as
a member of a body," or from Spencer's free man in a free
society.

XXXI.

Value of Kantian Theory.

We must not leave the Kantian theory with the impression that it is simply the caprice of a philosopher's brain. In two respects, at least, it presents us, as we shall see, with elements that must be adopted; and even where false it is highly instructive.

Kant's fundamental error is in his conception that all desires or inclinations are for private pleasure, and are, therefore, to be excluded from the conception of the moral end. Kant's conclusion, accordingly, that the good will is purely formal follows inevitably if ever it is granted that there is any intrinsic opposition between inclination as such, and reason or moral law as such. If there is such an opposition, _all_ desire must be excluded from relation to the end. We cannot make a compromise by distinguishing between higher and lower desires. On the contrary, if the end is to have content, it must include all desires, leaving out none as in itself base or unworthy. Kant's great negative service was showing that the ascetic principle logically results in pure formalism--meaning by ascetic principle that which disconnects inclinations from moral action.

Kant's positive service was, first, his clear insight into the fact that the good is to be found only in activity; that the will itself, and nothing beyond itself, is the end; and that to adopt any other doctrine, is to adopt an immoral principle, since it is to subordinate the will (character, self and personality), to some outside end. His second great service was in showing the necessity of putting in abeyance the immediate satisfaction of each desire as it happens to arise, and of subordinating it to some law not to be found in the particular desire. He showed that not the particular desire, but only the desire as controlled by the idea of law could be the motive of moral action. And if he fell into the error of holding that this meant that the desire must be excluded from the moral motive, this error does not make it less true that every particular desire must be controlled by a universal law. The truth of asceticism is that the desire must be checked until subordinated to the activity of the whole man. See Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, p. 200; pp. 203-207; 226-227.

XXXII.

The Problem and Its Solution.

If we gather together the results of our observations of hedonism and of Kantianism we get something like the following problem and solution in outline. The end of action, or the good, is the realized will, the developed or satisfied self. This satisfied self is found neither in the getting of a lot of pleasures through the satisfaction of desires just as they happen to arise, nor in obedience to law simply because it is law. It is found in _satisfaction of desires according to law_. This law, however, is not something external to the desires, but is their own law. Each desire is only one striving of character for larger action, and the only way in which it can really find satisfaction (that is, pass from inward striving into outward action) is _as_ a manifestation of character. A desire, taken as a desire for its own apparent or direct end _only_, is an abstraction. It is a desire for an entire and continuous activity, and its satisfaction requires that it fitted into this entire and continuous activity; that it be made conformable to the conditions which will bring the whole man into action. It is this fitting-in which is the law of the desire--the 'universal' controlling its particular nature. This 'fitting-in' is no mechanical shearing off, nor stretching out, but a reconstruction of the natural desire till it becomes an expression of the whole man. The problem then is to find that special form of character, of self, which includes and transforms all special desires. This form of character is at once the Good and the Law of man.

We cannot be content with the notion that the end is the satisfaction of the self, a satisfaction at once including and subordinating the ends of the particular desire. This tells us nothing positive--however valuable it may be negatively in warning us against one-sided notions--until we know _what_ that whole self is, and _in what_ concretely its satisfaction consists. As the first step towards such a more concrete formula, we may say:

XXXIII.

The Moral End or the Good is the Realization by a Person and as a Person of Individuality.

In saying that this realization is _by a person_ and _as a person_ we are saying nothing new. We are simply repeating what we have already learned about moral conduct (Sec. III). Conduct is not that which simply reaches certain consequences--a bullet shot from a rifle does that; there is conduct only when the consequences are foreseen; made the reason of action. A person is a being capable of conduct--a being capable of proposing to himself ends and of attempting to realize them.

But what is the meaning of the rest of the formula? What do we mean by individuality? We may distinguish two factors--or better two aspects, two sides--in individuality. On one side, it means special disposition, temperament, gifts, bent, or inclination; on the other side, it means special station, situation, limitations, surroundings, opportunities, etc. Or, let us say, it means _specific capacity_ and _specific environment_. Each of these elements, apart from the other, is a bare abstraction and without reality. Nor is it strictly correct to say that individuality is constituted by these two factors _together_. It is rather, as intimated above, that each is individuality looked at from a certain point of view, from within or from without.

If we are apt to identify individuality with the inner side alone, with capacity apart from its surroundings, a little reflection will show the error. Even the most devoted adherent of "self-culture" would not hold that a gift could be developed, or a disposition manifested, in isolation from all exterior circumstances. Let the disposition, the gift be what it may (amiable or irascible, a talent for music or for abstract science, or for engineering), its existence, to say nothing of its culture, apart from some surroundings is bare nonsense. If a person shuts himself up in a closet or goes out into the desert the better to cultivate his capacities, there is still the desert or the closet there; and it is as conditioned by them, and with reference to them that he must cultivate himself. For more is true than that, as a matter of fact, no man can wholly withdraw himself from surroundings; the important point is that the manner and the purpose of exercising his capacity is always _relative_ to and _dependent_ upon the surroundings. Apart from the environment the capacity is mere emptiness; the exercise of capacity is always establishing a relation to something exterior to itself. All we can say of capacity apart from environment is that _if_ certain circumstances were supplied, there would be something there. We call a capacity _capability_, possibility, as if for the very purpose of emphasizing the necessity of external supplementing.

We get the same fact, on the other side, by calling to mind that circumstances, environment are not indifferent or irrelevant to individuality. The difference between one individual and another lies as much in the station in which each is placed as in the capacity of each. That is to say, environment enters into individuality as a constituent factor, helping make it what it is.

On the other hand, it is capacity which makes the environment really an environment _to_ the individual.

The environment is not simply the facts which happen objectively to lie about an agent; it is such part of the facts as may be _related_ to the capacity and the disposition and gifts of the agent. Two members of the same family may have what, to the outward eye, are exactly the same surroundings, and yet each may draw from these surroundings wholly unlike stimulus, material and motives. Each has a different environment, made different by his own mode of selection; by the different way in which his interests and desires play upon the plastic material about him. It is not, then, the environment as physical of which we are speaking, but as it appeals to consciousness, as it is affected by the make-up of the agent. This is the _practical_ or _moral_ environment. The environment is not, then, what is then and there present in space. To the Christian martyr the sufferings of his master, and the rewards of faithfulness to come to himself were more real parts of his environment than the stake and fire. A Darwin or a Wallace may find his environment in South America or the Philippine Islands--or, indeed, in every fact of a certain sort wherever found upon the earth or in whatever geological era. A man of philanthropic instincts may find _his_ environment among Indians or Congo negroes. Whatever, however near or remote in time and space, an individual's capacities and needs relate him to, is his environment. The moment we realize that only what one conceives as proper material for calling out and expressing some internal capacity is a part of his surroundings, we see not only that capacity depends upon environment, but that environment depends upon capacity. In other words, we see that each in itself is an abstraction, and that the real thing is the individual who is constituted by capacity and environment in their relation to one another.

_Function_ is a term which we may use to express union of the two sides of individuality. The idea of function is that of an active relation established between power of doing, on one side, and something to be done on the other. To exercise a function as a student is not to cultivate tastes and possibilities internally; it is also to meet external demands, the demands of fact, of teachers, of others needing knowledge. The citizen exercises his function not simply in cultivating sentiments of patriotism within; one has to meet the needs of the city, the country in which one lives. The realization of an artistic function is not poring over emotions of beauty pumped up within one's self; it is the exercise of some calling. On the other hand, it hardly needs saying that the function of a student, a citizen, an artist, is not exercised in bare conformity to certain external requirements. Without the inner disposition and inclination, we call conduct dead, perfunctory, hypocritical. An activity is not functional, unless it is organic, expressing the life of the agent.

A function thus includes two sides--the external and the internal--and reduces them to elements in one activity. We get an analogy in any animal function. The digestive function includes the material appropriated, just as much as it does the organ appropriating. It is the service, the work which the organ does _in_ appropriating material. So, morally, function is capacity _in action_; environment transformed into an element in personal service.

Thus we get another formula for the moral end:

The performance by a person of his specific function, this function consisting in an activity which realizes wants and powers with reference to their peculiar surroundings.

XXXIV.

Moral Functions as Interests.

If morality consists in the exercise of one's _specific_ functions, it follows that no _detailed_ account of the content of the moral end can possibly be given. This content is thoroughly individual or infinite. It is concrete to the core, including every detail of conduct, and this not in a rigid formula, but in the movement of life. All we can do is, by abstraction, to select some of the main features of the end, such as the more common and the more permanent. While each individual has his own particular functions, which can no more be exhausted by definition or description than the qualities of any other individual object, it is also true that we can recognize certain typical functions to be found permanently and in all. These make, as it were, the skeleton of the moral end which each clothes with his own flesh and blood.

Functions are _interests_--objective interests were not the term tautological. Interests have three traits worth special mention.

1. They are _active_. An interest is not an emotion produced from without. It is the reaction of the emotion to the object. Interest is identified, in ordinary speech, with attention; we _take_ an interest, or, if we say simply 'interested,' that involves some excitation, some action just beginning. We talk of a man's interests, meaning his occupations or range of activities.

2. They are _objective_. The emotion aroused goes out to some object, and is fixed upon that; we are always interested _in something_. The active element of interest is precisely that which takes it out of the inner mood itself and gives it a terminus, an end in an object.

3. An interest is _satisfaction_. It is its own reward. It is not a striving for something unrealized, or a mere condition of tension. It is the satisfaction in some object which the mind already has. This object may be possessed in some greater or less degree, in full realization or in faint grasp, but interest attaches to it as possessed. This differentiates it from desire, even where otherwise the states are the same. Desire refers to the lack, to what is not present to the mind. One state of mind may be called both interest in, and desire for, knowledge, but desire emphasizes the unknown, while interest is on account of the finding of self, of intelligence, in the object. Interest is the union in feeling, through action, of self and an object. An interest in life is had when a man can practically identify himself with some object lying beyond his immediate or already acquired self and thus be led to further expression of himself.

To have an interest, then, is to be alert, to have an object, and to find satisfaction in an activity which brings this object home to self.

Not every interest carries with it _complete_ satisfaction.
But no interest can be wholly thwarted. The purer the
interest, the more the interest is in the object for its
own sake, and not for that of some ulterior consequence,
the more the interest fulfills itself. "It is better to
have loved and lost than never to have loved at all", and
love is simply the highest power of interest--interest
freed from all extrinsic stuff.

Of the interests, two abstract forms may be recognized, interest in persons and interest in things. And these may be subdivided: Interest in persons: interest in _self_ and _others_. Interest in things--into their contemplation (_knowledge_) and into their production (_art_). And art again may be either productive of things to be contemplated (fine art), or useful--manufactures, industry, etc. The moral end, then, or the Good will consist in the exercise of these interests, varied as they may be in each individual by the special turn which his capacities and opportunities take.

XXXV.

The Exercise of Interests as the Moral End.

Let us now, as a means of rendering our conception of the moral end more concrete, consider briefly each of the forms of interest.

1. Interest in self. We must free ourselves from any notion that an interest in self is non-moral, if not actually immoral. The latter position is seldom consciously assumed, but it is not uncommon to have interest in self, under the name of prudence, marked off from the moral sphere. Interest in self, if the interest is pure, is just as much an interest in the moral end as interest in anything or anybody else. Interest in self may take the form of selfishness, or of sentimentalism; but this is only an _impure_ interest, an interest not in self, but in some consequences to which the self may be directed. Interest in self may take many forms, according to the side of self which is the object of attention, and according to the range of the self taken into account. A _rudimentary_ form is prudence, but even this, instead of being non-moral, is, in proper place and degree, moral, as moral as benevolence; and, if not in its proper place, immoral. From such an interest there are all stages up to the interest in self as it most deeply and broadly is, the sense of honor, moral dignity, self-respect, conscientiousness, that attempt to be and to make the most of one's self, which is at the very root of moral endeavor.

The ground that is usually given for making the distinction
between Prudence, Self-Regard, Self-Love as non-moral,
and Benevolence, Altruism etc., as moral, is that in the
former case a mere regard for one's own advantage dictates
proper conduct, while in the latter case there must be a
positive virtuous intent. We may, for example, be pointed
to some cool calculating man who takes care of his health
and his property, who indeed is generally 'prudent',
because he sees that it is for his advantage, and be told
that while such an end is not immoral it is certainly not
moral. But in return it must be asked what is meant here by
advantage? If by it is meant private pleasure, or advantage
over somebody else, then this conduct does not spring
from interest in self at all, but from interest in some
exterior consequence, and as springing from such an impure
interest is not simply non-moral, but positively immoral.
On the other hand, if 'advantage' means regard for one's
whole function, one's place in the moral order, then such
interest in self is moral. Care for bodily health in the
interest of efficiency in conduct is supremely moral beside
reckless disregard of it in the interest of some supposed
higher or more spiritual function.

If it is meant that conduct is immoral because it springs
from some interest on the part of the agent, the reply
is that all conduct must so arise, and that any other
supposition leads us immediately into asceticism and into
formalism.

2. Interest in others. The generic form of interest in others is sympathy, this being specified by the various forms of social organization of which the individual is a member. A person is, we have seen, one who can conceive of ends and can act to realize these ends. Only a person, therefore, can conceive of others as ends, and so have true sympathy.

It is not meant, of course, that animals do not
perform acts which, _de facto_, are altruistic or even
self-sacrificing. What is meant is that the animal does
not act from the _idea_ of others of his kind as ends in
themselves. If the animal does so act, it cannot be denied
the name of person.

True interest in others is pure, or disinterested, in the sense of having no reference to some further and external consequence to one's self. Interest in others need not be moral (or pure) any more than interest in self is necessarily immoral (or impure). It is a mistake to distinguish interest in self as _egoistic_ and interest in others as _altruistic_. Genuine interests, whatever their object, are both egoistic and altruistic. They are egoistic simply because they _are interests_--imply satisfaction in a realized end. If man is truly a social being, constituted by his relationships to others, then social action must inevitably realize himself, and be, in that sense, egoistic. And on the other hand, if the individual's interest in himself is in himself _as_ a member of society, then such interest is thoroughly altruistic. In fact, the very idea of altruism is likely to carry a false impression when it is so much insisted upon, as it is nowadays in popular literature, as the essence of morality. The term as used seems to imply that the mere giving up of one's self to others, as others, is somehow moral. Just as there may be an immoral interest in self, so there may be an immoral 'altruism.' It is immoral in any case to sacrifice the actual relationships in the case, those which demand action, to some feeling outside themselves--as immoral when the feeling to which the sacrifice is offered up is labelled 'benevolence', as when it is termed 'greediness'. It is no excuse when a man gives unwisely to a beggar that he feels benevolent. _Moral_ benevolence is the feeling directed toward a certain end which is known to be the fit or right end, the end which expresses the situation. The question is as to the _aim_ in giving. Apart from this aim, the act is simply relieving the agent's own feelings and has no moral quality. Rather it is immoral; for feelings do have a moral _capacity_, that is, a relation to ends of action, and hence to satisfy them on their account, to deprive them of their practical reference, is bad. Aside from what this illustrates, there is a tendency in the present emphasis of altruism to erect the principle of charity, in a sense which implies continued social inequality, and social slavery, or undue dependence of one upon another, into a fundamental moral principle. It is well to "do good" to others, but it is much better to do this by securing for them the freedom which makes it possible for them to get along in the future without such 'altruism' from others. There is what has been well termed an "egotism of renunciation"; a desire to do for others which, at bottom, is simply an attempt to regulate their conduct. Much of altruism is an egoism of a larger radius, and its tendency is to "manufacture a gigantic self", as in the case where a father sacrifices everything for his children or a wife for her husband.

See Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, p. 402. See also Hinton, The
Law Breaker, p. 287: "The real meaning of the difficulty
about a word for "regard for others" is that we do not want
it. It would mislead us if we had it. It is not a regard
for _others_ that we need, but simply a _true_ regard, a
regard to the facts, to nature; it is only a truth to facts
in our regard, and its nature is obscured by a reference to
"others", as if that were the essential point.... It is not
as being for others, but as being _true_, that the regard
for others is demanded."

Some ethical writers have gone to the other extreme and held that all benevolence is a disguised or an enlightened selfishness, since having a necessary reference to self. The reference to self must be admitted; unless the action springs from an interest of the agent himself the act may be outwardly useful, but cannot be moral. But the argument alluded to inverts the true relation involved. If a man's interests are such that he can find satisfaction only in the satisfaction of others, what an absurdity to say that his acting from these interests is selfish! The very fact of such identity of self with others in his interest is the proof of his unselfishness.

See Leslie Stephen, Science of Ethics, p. 241, for an
admirable discussion of this difficulty. When it is said
that your pain is painful to me, he says, the inference
is often "insinuated that I dislike your pain because
it is painful to me in some special relation. I do not
dislike it _as_ your pain, but in virtue of some particular
consequence, such, for example, as its making you less
able to render me a service. In that case _I do not really
object to your pain as your pain at all_, but only to some
removable and accidental consequences." (And see his whole
treatment of sympathy, pp. 230-245). The whole question is
shown to come to this: Is my interest in, my sympathy with,
your joy and sorrow as such, or in your joy and sorrow as
contributing to mine? If the latter, of course the interest
is selfish, not being an interest in others at all. But
if the former, then the fact that such sympathy involves
one's own satisfaction is the best proof that man is not
selfishly constructed. When Stephen goes on to say that
such sympathy does not involve the existence of a real
unity larger than the individual, he seems to me to misread
his own facts, probably because he conceives of this unity
as some abstract or external thing.

Discussion regarding self-love and benevolence, or, in
modern phrase, egoism and altruism, has been rife in
English ethics since the time of Hobbes, and especially of
Shaftesbury and Butler. See, in particular, the Sermons
of the latter, which gave the central point of discussion
for almost a century. With reference to the special
weakness of this point of view, with its co-ordination
of two independent principles, see Green, Philosophical
Works, Vol. III, pp. 99-104. The essential lack (the lack
which we have tried to make good in the definition of
individuality as the union of capacity and surroundings
in function), was the failure to analyze the idea of the
individual. Individuality being defined as an exclusive
principle, the inevitable result was either (i.) the
"disguised selfishness" theory; or (ii.) the assumption of
two fundamentally different principles in man. The ordinary
distinction between prudence and virtue is an echo of the
latter theory. Then, finally, (iii.) a third principle,
generally called conscience by Butler, was brought in as
umpire in the conflict of prudence and virtue.

Suggestive modern treatment of the matter, from a variety
of points of view, will be found in Spencer, Data of
Ethics, chs. XI-XIII; Stephen, Op. cit., ch. VI; Sidgwick,
Op. cit., Bk. V, ch. VII; Royce, Op. cit., ch. IV; Sorley,
Ethics of Naturalism, pp. 134-150; Alexander, Op. cit., pp.
172-180; Caird, Op. cit., Vol. II, pp. 400-405; Paulsen,
System der Ethik, pp. 295-311.

3. Interest in Science and Art. Man is interested in the world about him; the knowledge of the nature and relations of this world become one of his most absorbing pursuits. Man identifies himself with the meaning of this world to the point that he can be satisfied only as he spells out and reads its meaning. (See, for example, Browning's "Grammarian's Funeral".) The scientific interest is no less a controlling motive of man than the personal interest. This knowledge is not a means for having agreeable sensations; it is not dilettanteism or "love of culture"; it is interest in the large and goodly frame of things. And so it is with art; man has interests which can be satisfied only in the reconstruction of nature in the way of the useful and the beautiful.

I have made no distinction between 'fine' and 'useful' art.
The discussion of this question does not belong here, but
the rigid separation of them in æsthetic theory seems to me
to have no justification. Both are products of intelligence
in the service of interests, and the only difference is in
the range of intelligence and interests concerned. 'Use'
is a _limited_ service and hence implies an external end;
beauty is complete use or service, and hence not mere use
at all, but self-expression. Historically, all art which
has not been merely sentimental and 'literary' has sprung
from interest in good workmanship in the realizing of an
idea.

It seems as if here interests violated their general law, and, in the case of use at least, were an interest in some ulterior end. But it may be questioned whether a carpenter whose aim was consciously beyond the work he was doing, would be a good workman--and this whether the further end is his own private advantage, or social benefit at large. The thought of the further benefit to self and of the utility to accrue to some one else, will, if it becomes a _part_ of what he is doing, undoubtedly intensify his interest--it must do so, for it enlarges its content. But to _identify_ one's own or another's well-being with work, and to make the work a mere _means_ to this welfare, are two quite different things. The good artisan "has his heart in his work". His self-respect makes it necessary for him to respect this technical or artistic capacity, and to do the best by it that he can without scrimping or lowering. To a good business man business is not the mere means to money-making; and it is sentimentalism (and hence immoral) to demand that it be a mere means to the good of society. The business, if it is a moral one (and _any_ business, _so far_ as it is thus carried on, is moral), is carried on for the sake of the activity itself, as a realizing of capacity in a specific situation.

XXXVI.

The Moral Quality of Science.

We seem, however, to meet here, in relation to science and art, a difficulty which threatens our whole theory. Can it be claimed, it may be asked, that devotion to science or art constitutes goodness in the same sense that devotion to the interests of one's family or state constitutes it? No one doubts that a good father or a good citizen is a good man, in so far forth. Are we ready to say that a good chemist or good carpenter, or good musician is, in so far, a good man? In a word, is there not a reference to the good of persons present in one case and absent in another, and does not its absence preclude the scientific and artistic activities from any share, _as such_, in the moral end?

It must be remembered that the moral end does not refer to some consequence which happens, _de facto_, to be reached. It refers to an end _willed_; _i.e._, to an idea held to and realized as an idea. And this fact shows us the way to meet the query, in part at least. If, when we say good carpenter, or good merchant, we are speaking from the standpoint of results, independently of the idea conceived as end in the mind of the agent; if we mean simply, 'we like what that man does', then the term good has no moral value. A man may paint 'good' pictures and not be, in so far, a good man, but in this sense a man may _do_ a great deal of 'good', and yet not be a good man. It was agreed at the outset that moral goodness pertains to the kind of idea or end which a man clings to, and not to what he happens to effect visibly to others.

If a scientific man pursues truth as a mere means to reputation, to wealth, etc., we do not (or should not) hesitate to call him immoral.

This does not mean that if he _thinks_ of the reputation,
or of wealth, he is immoral, for he may foresee wealth and
the reputation as necessarily bound up in what he is doing;
it may become a part of the end. It means that if knowledge
of truth is a _mere means_ to an end beyond it, the man is
immoral.

What reason is there why we should not call him moral if he does his work for its own sake, from interest in this cause which takes him outside his "own miserable individuality", in Mill's phrase? After all, the phrase a 'good father' means but a character manifesting itself in certain relations, as is right according to these relations; the phrase has moral significance not in itself, but with reference to the end aimed at by character. And so it is with the phrase 'a good carpenter.' That also means devotion of character to certain outer relations for their own sake. These relations may not be so important, but that is not lack of moral meaning.

XXXVII.

Adjustment to Environment.

So far we have been discussing the moral ideal in terms of its inner side--capacity, interest. We shall now discuss it on its outer or objective side--as 'adjustment to environment' in the phrase made familiar by the evolutionists. Certain cautions, however, must be noted in the use of the phrase. We must keep clearly in mind the relativity of environment to inner capacity; that it exists only as one element of function. Even a plant must do something more than adjust itself _to_ a fixed environment; it must assert itself _against_ its surroundings, subordinating them and transforming them into material and nutriment; and, on the surface of things, it is evident that _transformation_ of existing circumstances is moral duty rather than mere reproduction of them. The environment must be plastic to the ends of the agent.

But admitting that environment is made what it is by the powers and aims of the agent, what sense shall we attribute to the term adjustment? Not bare conformity to circumstances, nor bare external reproduction of them, even when circumstances are taken in their proper moral meaning. The child in the family who simply adjusts himself _to_ his relationships in the family, may be living a moral life only in outward seeming. The citizen of the state may transgress no laws of the state, he may punctiliously fulfill every contract, and yet be a selfish man. True adjustment must consist in _willing_ the maintenance and development of moral surroundings as _one's own end_. The child must take the spirit of the family into himself and live out this spirit according to his special membership in the family. So a soldier in the army, a friend in a mutual association, etc. Adjustment to intellectual environment is not mere conformity of ideas to facts. It is the living assimilation of these facts into one's own intellectual life, and maintaining and asserting them as _truth_.

There are environments existing prior to the activities of any individual agent; the family, for example, is prior to the moral activity of a child born into it, but the point is to see that 'adjustment', to have a moral sense, means _making the environment a reality for one's self_. A true description of the case would say that the child takes for his own end, ends already existing for the wills of others. And, in making them his own, he creates and supports for himself an environment that already exists for others. In such cases there is no special transformation of the existing environment; there is simply the process of making it the environment for one's self. So in learning, the child simply appropriates to himself the intellectual environment already in existence for others. But in the activity of the man of science there is more than such personal reproduction and creation; there is increase, or even reconstruction of the prior environment. While the ordinary citizen hardly does more than make his own the environment of ends and interests already sustained in the wills of others, the moral reformer may remake the whole. But whether one case or the other, adjustment is not outer conformity; it is living realization of certain relations in and through the will of the agent.

XXXVIII.

The Moral End is the Realization of a Community of Wills.

Since the performance of function is, on the other side, the creation, perpetuation, and further development of an environment, of relations to the wills of others, its performance _is a common good_. It satisfies others who participate in the environment. The member of the family, of the state, etc., in exercising his function, contributes to the whole of which he is a member by realizing its spirit in himself. But the question discussed in section XXXVI recurs under another aspect. Granting that the satisfying of personal interests realizes a common good, what shall we say of the impersonal interests--interests in science and art. Is the good carpenter or chemist not only in so far a good man, but also a good social member? In other words, does every form of moral activity realize a common good, or is the moral end partly social, partly non-social?

One objection sometimes brought to the doctrine that the
moral end is entirely social, may be now briefly dismissed.
This is the objection that a man has moral duties toward
_himself_. Certainly, but what of _himself_? If he is
essentially a social member, his duties toward himself have
a social basis and bearing. The only relevant question is
whether one is wholly a social member--whether scientific
and artistic activities may not be non-social.

The ground here taken is that the moral end is wholly social. This does not mean that science and art are means to some social welfare beyond themselves. We have already stated that even the production of utilities must, as moral, be its own end. The position then is that intellectual and artistic interests _are themselves_ social, when considered in the completeness of their relations--that interest in the development of intelligence is, in and of itself, interest in the well-being of society.

Unless this be true there is no moral end at all, but only moral ends. There is no comprehensive unity in life, but a number of ends which, being irreducible to a common principle, must be combined on the best principle of compromise available. We have no 'The Good', but an aggregate of fragmentary ends.

It helps nothing to say that this necessary unity is
found in the _self_ to be realized, unless we are pointed
to something in the self that unites the social and
non-social functions. Our objection is that the separation
of intellectual interests from social makes a chasm in the
self.

For the same reason it follows that in the case of a collision of social with intellectual ends--say the conflict of a man's interests as a member of a family with his interests in new scientific discovery--no reconciliation is possible. If the interests are forms of social interest, there is a common end in both, on the basis of which the conflict can be resolved. While such considerations do not prove that there is but one end, and that social, they may well make us hesitate about carelessly taking a position of which they are the logical consequence.

Of course, every one recognizes that a certain amount of scientific and artistic interest is social in character. A certain amount of interest in truth, or in intelligence, a certain amount of susceptibility to beauty, a certain amount of devotion to utility, are universally recognized to be necessary to make judicious, agreeable and efficient social members. The whole system of modern education has meaning only on this supposition.