them to determine their effect upon the happiness of mankind.

There is a theory which has been contrasted with Utility by Paley and
others - the theory of a moral sense: Are our ideas of right and wrong
innate or derived from experience? This, perhaps, is another of those
speculations which intelligent men might 'agree to discard.' For it has
been worn threadbare; and either alternative is equally consistent with a
transcendental or with an eudaemonistic system of ethics, with a greatest
happiness principle or with Kant's law of duty. Yet to avoid
misconception, what appears to be the truth about the origin of our moral
ideas may be shortly summed up as follows: - To each of us individually our
moral ideas come first of all in childhood through the medium of education,
from parents and teachers, assisted by the unconscious influence of
language; they are impressed upon a mind which at first is like a waxen
tablet, adapted to receive them; but they soon become fixed or set, and in
after life are strengthened, or perhaps weakened by the force of public
opinion. They may be corrected and enlarged by experience, they may be
reasoned about, they may be brought home to us by the circumstances of our
lives, they may be intensified by imagination, by reflection, by a course
of action likely to confirm them. Under the influence of religious feeling
or by an effort of thought, any one beginning with the ordinary rules of
morality may create out of them for himself ideals of holiness and virtue.
They slumber in the minds of most men, yet in all of us there remains some
tincture of affection, some desire of good, some sense of truth, some fear
of the law. Of some such state or process each individual is conscious in
himself, and if he compares his own experience with that of others he will
find the witness of their consciences to coincide with that of his own.
All of us have entered into an inheritance which we have the power of
appropriating and making use of. No great effort of mind is required on
our part; we learn morals, as we learn to talk, instinctively, from
conversing with others, in an enlightened age, in a civilized country, in a
good home. A well-educated child of ten years old already knows the
essentials of morals: 'Thou shalt not steal,' 'thou shalt speak the
truth,' 'thou shalt love thy parents,' 'thou shalt fear God.' What more
does he want?

But whence comes this common inheritance or stock of moral ideas? Their
beginning, like all other beginnings of human things, is obscure, and is
the least important part of them. Imagine, if you will, that Society
originated in the herding of brutes, in their parental instincts, in their
rude attempts at self-preservation: - Man is not man in that he resembles,
but in that he differs from them. We must pass into another cycle of
existence, before we can discover in him by any evidence accessible to us
even the germs of our moral ideas. In the history of the world, which
viewed from within is the history of the human mind, they have been slowly
created by religion, by poetry, by law, having their foundation in the
natural affections and in the necessity of some degree of truth and justice
in a social state; they have been deepened and enlarged by the efforts of
great thinkers who have idealized and connected them - by the lives of
saints and prophets who have taught and exemplified them. The schools of
ancient philosophy which seem so far from us - Socrates, Plato, Aristotle,
the Stoics, the Epicureans, and a few modern teachers, such as Kant and
Bentham, have each of them supplied 'moments' of thought to the world. The
life of Christ has embodied a divine love, wisdom, patience,
reasonableness. For his image, however imperfectly handed down to us, the
modern world has received a standard more perfect in idea than the
societies of ancient times, but also further removed from practice. For
there is certainly a greater interval between the theory and practice of
Christians than between the theory and practice of the Greeks and Romans;
the ideal is more above us, and the aspiration after good has often lent a
strange power to evil. And sometimes, as at the Reformation, or French
Revolution, when the upper classes of a so-called Christian country have
become corrupted by priestcraft, by casuistry, by licentiousness, by
despotism, the lower have risen up and re-asserted the natural sense of
religion and right.

We may further remark that our moral ideas, as the world grows older,
perhaps as we grow older ourselves, unless they have been undermined in us
by false philosophy or the practice of mental analysis, or infected by the
corruption of society or by some moral disorder in the individual, are
constantly assuming a more natural and necessary character. The habit of
the mind, the opinion of the world, familiarizes them to us; and they take
more and more the form of immediate intuition. The moral sense comes last
and not first in the order of their development, and is the instinct which
we have inherited or acquired, not the nobler effort of reflection which
created them and which keeps them alive. We do not stop to reason about
common honesty. Whenever we are not blinded by self-deceit, as for example
in judging the actions of others, we have no hesitation in determining what
is right and wrong. The principles of morality, when not at variance with
some desire or worldly interest of our own, or with the opinion of the
public, are hardly perceived by us; but in the conflict of reason and
passion they assert their authority and are not overcome without remorse.

Such is a brief outline of the history of our moral ideas. We have to
distinguish, first of all, the manner in which they have grown up in the
world from the manner in which they have been communicated to each of us.
We may represent them to ourselves as flowing out of the boundless ocean of
language and thought in little rills, which convey them to the heart and
brain of each individual. But neither must we confound the theories or
aspects of morality with the origin of our moral ideas. These are not the
roots or 'origines' of morals, but the latest efforts of reflection, the
lights in which the whole moral world has been regarded by different
thinkers and successive generations of men. If we ask: Which of these
many theories is the true one? we may answer: All of them - moral sense,
innate ideas, a priori, a posteriori notions, the philosophy of experience,
the philosophy of intuition - all of them have added something to our
conception of Ethics; no one of them is the whole truth. But to decide how
far our ideas of morality are derived from one source or another; to
determine what history, what philosophy has contributed to them; to
distinguish the original, simple elements from the manifold and complex
applications of them, would be a long enquiry too far removed from the
question which we are now pursuing.

Bearing in mind the distinction which we have been seeking to establish
between our earliest and our most mature ideas of morality, we may now
proceed to state the theory of Utility, not exactly in the words, but in
the spirit of one of its ablest and most moderate supporters (Mill's
Utilitarianism): - 'That which alone makes actions either right or desirable
is their utility, or tendency to promote the happiness of mankind, or, in
other words, to increase the sum of pleasure in the world. But all
pleasures are not the same: they differ in quality as well as in quantity,
and the pleasure which is superior in quality is incommensurable with the
inferior. Neither is the pleasure or happiness, which we seek, our own
pleasure, but that of others, - of our family, of our country, of mankind.
The desire of this, and even the sacrifice of our own interest to that of
other men, may become a passion to a rightly educated nature. The
Utilitarian finds a place in his system for this virtue and for every
other.'

Good or happiness or pleasure is thus regarded as the true and only end of
human life. To this all our desires will be found to tend, and in
accordance with this all the virtues, including justice, may be explained.
Admitting that men rest for a time in inferior ends, and do not cast their
eyes beyond them, these ends are really dependent on the greater end of
happiness, and would not be pursued, unless in general they had been found
to lead to it. The existence of such an end is proved, as in Aristotle's
time, so in our own, by the universal fact that men desire it. The
obligation to promote it is based upon the social nature of man; this sense
of duty is shared by all of us in some degree, and is capable of being
greatly fostered and strengthened. So far from being inconsistent with
religion, the greatest happiness principle is in the highest degree
agreeable to it. For what can be more reasonable than that God should will
the happiness of all his creatures? and in working out their happiness we
may be said to be 'working together with him.' Nor is it inconceivable
that a new enthusiasm of the future, far stronger than any old religion,
may be based upon such a conception.

But then for the familiar phrase of the 'greatest happiness principle,' it
seems as if we ought now to read 'the noblest happiness principle,' 'the
happiness of others principle' - the principle not of the greatest, but of
the highest pleasure, pursued with no more regard to our own immediate
interest than is required by the law of self-preservation. Transfer the
thought of happiness to another life, dropping the external circumstances
which form so large a part of our idea of happiness in this, and the
meaning of the word becomes indistinguishable from holiness, harmony,
wisdom, love. By the slight addition 'of others,' all the associations of
the word are altered; we seem to have passed over from one theory of morals
to the opposite. For allowing that the happiness of others is reflected on
ourselves, and also that every man must live before he can do good to
others, still the last limitation is a very trifling exception, and the
happiness of another is very far from compensating for the loss of our own.
According to Mr. Mill, he would best carry out the principle of utility who
sacrificed his own pleasure most to that of his fellow-men. But if so,
Hobbes and Butler, Shaftesbury and Hume, are not so far apart as they and
their followers imagine. The thought of self and the thought of others are
alike superseded in the more general notion of the happiness of mankind at
large. But in this composite good, until society becomes perfected, the
friend of man himself has generally the least share, and may be a great
sufferer.

And now what objection have we to urge against a system of moral philosophy
so beneficent, so enlightened, so ideal, and at the same time so
practical, - so Christian, as we may say without exaggeration, - and which
has the further advantage of resting morality on a principle intelligible
to all capacities? Have we not found that which Socrates and Plato 'grew
old in seeking'? Are we not desirous of happiness, at any rate for
ourselves and our friends, if not for all mankind? If, as is natural, we
begin by thinking of ourselves first, we are easily led on to think of
others; for we cannot help acknowledging that what is right for us is the
right and inheritance of others. We feel the advantage of an abstract
principle wide enough and strong enough to override all the particularisms
of mankind; which acknowledges a universal good, truth, right; which is
capable of inspiring men like a passion, and is the symbol of a cause for
which they are ready to contend to their life's end.

And if we test this principle by the lives of its professors, it would
certainly appear inferior to none as a rule of action. From the days of
Eudoxus (Arist. Ethics) and Epicurus to our own, the votaries of pleasure
have gained belief for their principles by their practice. Two of the
noblest and most disinterested men who have lived in this century, Bentham
and J. S. Mill, whose lives were a long devotion to the service of their
fellows, have been among the most enthusiastic supporters of utility; while
among their contemporaries, some who were of a more mystical turn of mind,
have ended rather in aspiration than in action, and have been found unequal
to the duties of life. Looking back on them now that they are removed from
the scene, we feel that mankind has been the better for them. The world
was against them while they lived; but this is rather a reason for admiring
than for depreciating them. Nor can any one doubt that the influence of
their philosophy on politics - especially on foreign politics, on law, on
social life, has been upon the whole beneficial. Nevertheless, they will
never have justice done to them, for they do not agree either with the
better feeling of the multitude or with the idealism of more refined
thinkers. Without Bentham, a great word in the history of philosophy would
have remained unspoken. Yet to this day it is rare to hear his name
received with any mark of respect such as would be freely granted to the
ambiguous memory of some father of the Church. The odium which attached to
him when alive has not been removed by his death. For he shocked his
contemporaries by egotism and want of taste; and this generation which has
reaped the benefit of his labours has inherited the feeling of the last.
He was before his own age, and is hardly remembered in this.

While acknowledging the benefits which the greatest happiness principle has
conferred upon mankind, the time appears to have arrived, not for denying
its claims, but for criticizing them and comparing them with other
principles which equally claim to lie at the foundation of ethics. Any one
who adds a general principle to knowledge has been a benefactor to the
world. But there is a danger that, in his first enthusiasm, he may not
recognize the proportions or limitations to which his truth is subjected;
he does not see how far he has given birth to a truism, or how that which
is a truth to him is a truism to the rest of the world; or may degenerate
in the next generation. He believes that to be the whole which is only a
part, - to be the necessary foundation which is really only a valuable
aspect of the truth. The systems of all philosophers require the criticism
of 'the morrow,' when the heat of imagination which forged them has cooled,
and they are seen in the temperate light of day. All of them have
contributed to enrich the mind of the civilized world; none of them occupy
that supreme or exclusive place which their authors would have assigned to
them.

We may preface the criticism with a few preliminary remarks: -

Mr. Mill, Mr. Austin, and others, in their eagerness to maintain the
doctrine of utility, are fond of repeating that we are in a lamentable
state of uncertainty about morals. While other branches of knowledge have
made extraordinary progress, in moral philosophy we are supposed by them to
be no better than children, and with few exceptions - that is to say,
Bentham and his followers - to be no further advanced than men were in the
age of Socrates and Plato, who, in their turn, are deemed to be as backward
in ethics as they necessarily were in physics. But this, though often
asserted, is recanted almost in a breath by the same writers who speak thus
depreciatingly of our modern ethical philosophy. For they are the first to
acknowledge that we have not now to begin classifying actions under the
head of utility; they would not deny that about the general conceptions of
morals there is a practical agreement. There is no more doubt that
falsehood is wrong than that a stone falls to the ground, although the
first does not admit of the same ocular proof as the second. There is no
greater uncertainty about the duty of obedience to parents and to the law
of the land than about the properties of triangles. Unless we are looking
for a new moral world which has no marrying and giving in marriage, there
is no greater disagreement in theory about the right relations of the sexes
than about the composition of water. These and a few other simple
principles, as they have endless applications in practice, so also may be
developed in theory into counsels of perfection.

To what then is to be attributed this opinion which has been often
entertained about the uncertainty of morals? Chiefly to this, - that
philosophers have not always distinguished the theoretical and the
casuistical uncertainty of morals from the practical certainty. There is
an uncertainty about details, - whether, for example, under given
circumstances such and such a moral principle is to be enforced, or whether
in some cases there may not be a conflict of duties: these are the
exceptions to the ordinary rules of morality, important, indeed, but not
extending to the one thousandth or one ten-thousandth part of human
actions. This is the domain of casuistry. Secondly, the aspects under
which the most general principles of morals may be presented to us are many
and various. The mind of man has been more than usually active in thinking
about man. The conceptions of harmony, happiness, right, freedom,
benevolence, self-love, have all of them seemed to some philosopher or
other the truest and most comprehensive expression of morality. There is
no difference, or at any rate no great difference, of opinion about the
right and wrong of actions, but only about the general notion which
furnishes the best explanation or gives the most comprehensive view of
them. This, in the language of Kant, is the sphere of the metaphysic of
ethics. But these two uncertainties at either end, en tois malista
katholou and en tois kath ekasta, leave space enough for an intermediate
principle which is practically certain.

The rule of human life is not dependent on the theories of philosophers:
we know what our duties are for the most part before we speculate about
them. And the use of speculation is not to teach us what we already know,
but to inspire in our minds an interest about morals in general, to
strengthen our conception of the virtues by showing that they confirm one
another, to prove to us, as Socrates would have said, that they are not
many, but one. There is the same kind of pleasure and use in reducing
morals, as in reducing physics, to a few very simple truths. And not
unfrequently the more general principle may correct prejudices and
misconceptions, and enable us to regard our fellow-men in a larger and more
generous spirit.

The two qualities which seem to be most required in first principles of
ethics are, (1) that they should afford a real explanation of the facts,
(2) that they should inspire the mind, - should harmonize, strengthen,
settle us. We can hardly estimate the influence which a simple principle
such as 'Act so as to promote the happiness of mankind,' or 'Act so that
the rule on which thou actest may be adopted as a law by all rational
beings,' may exercise on the mind of an individual. They will often seem
to open a new world to him, like the religious conceptions of faith or the
spirit of God. The difficulties of ethics disappear when we do not suffer
ourselves to be distracted between different points of view. But to
maintain their hold on us, the general principles must also be
psychologically true - they must agree with our experience, they must accord
with the habits of our minds.

When we are told that actions are right or wrong only in so far as they
tend towards happiness, we naturally ask what is meant by 'happiness.' For
the term in the common use of language is only to a certain extent
commensurate with moral good and evil. We should hardly say that a good
man could be utterly miserable (Arist. Ethics), or place a bad man in the
first rank of happiness. But yet, from various circumstances, the measure
of a man's happiness may be out of all proportion to his desert. And if we
insist on calling the good man alone happy, we shall be using the term in
some new and transcendental sense, as synonymous with well-being. We have
already seen that happiness includes the happiness of others as well as our
own; we must now comprehend unconscious as well as conscious happiness
under the same word. There is no harm in this extension of the meaning,
but a word which admits of such an extension can hardly be made the basis
of a philosophical system. The exactness which is required in philosophy
will not allow us to comprehend under the same term two ideas so different
as the subjective feeling of pleasure or happiness and the objective
reality of a state which receives our moral approval.

Like Protarchus in the Philebus, we can give no answer to the question,
'What is that common quality which in all states of human life we call
happiness? which includes the lower and the higher kind of happiness, and
is the aim of the noblest, as well as of the meanest of mankind?' If we
say 'Not pleasure, not virtue, not wisdom, nor yet any quality which we can
abstract from these' - what then? After seeming to hover for a time on the
verge of a great truth, we have gained only a truism.

Let us ask the question in another form. What is that which constitutes
happiness, over and above the several ingredients of health, wealth,
pleasure, virtue, knowledge, which are included under it? Perhaps we
answer, 'The subjective feeling of them.' But this is very far from being
coextensive with right. Or we may reply that happiness is the whole of
which the above-mentioned are the parts. Still the question recurs, 'In
what does the whole differ from all the parts?' And if we are unable to
distinguish them, happiness will be the mere aggregate of the goods of
life.

Again, while admitting that in all right action there is an element of
happiness, we cannot help seeing that the utilitarian theory supplies a
much easier explanation of some virtues than of others. Of many patriotic
or benevolent actions we can give a straightforward account by their
tendency to promote happiness. For the explanation of justice, on the
other hand, we have to go a long way round. No man is indignant with a
thief because he has not promoted the greatest happiness of the greatest
number, but because he has done him a wrong. There is an immeasurable
interval between a crime against property or life, and the omission of an
act of charity or benevolence. Yet of this interval the utilitarian theory
takes no cognizance. The greatest happiness principle strengthens our
sense of positive duties towards others, but weakens our recognition of
their rights. To promote in every way possible the happiness of others may
be a counsel of perfection, but hardly seems to offer any ground for a
theory of obligation. For admitting that our ideas of obligation are
partly derived from religion and custom, yet they seem also to contain
other essential elements which cannot be explained by the tendency of
actions to promote happiness. Whence comes the necessity of them? Why are
some actions rather than others which equally tend to the happiness of
mankind imposed upon us with the authority of law? 'You ought' and 'you
had better' are fundamental distinctions in human thought; and having such
distinctions, why should we seek to efface and unsettle them?

Bentham and Mr. Mill are earnest in maintaining that happiness includes the
happiness of others as well as of ourselves. But what two notions can be
more opposed in many cases than these? Granting that in a perfect state of
the world my own happiness and that of all other men would coincide, in the
imperfect state they often diverge, and I cannot truly bridge over the
difficulty by saying that men will always find pleasure in sacrificing
themselves or in suffering for others. Upon the greatest happiness
principle it is admitted that I am to have a share, and in consistency I
should pursue my own happiness as impartially as that of my neighbour. But
who can decide what proportion should be mine and what his, except on the
principle that I am most likely to be deceived in my own favour, and had
therefore better give the larger share, if not all, to him?

Further, it is admitted that utility and right coincide, not in particular
instances, but in classes of actions. But is it not distracting to the
conscience of a man to be told that in the particular case they are
opposed? Happiness is said to be the ground of moral obligation, yet he
must not do what clearly conduces to his own happiness if it is at variance