Utilitarianism
by John Stuart Mill
(1863)
From: http://www.utilitarianism.com/mill1.htm
Chapter 1 Chapter
2 Chapter 3 Chapter
4 Chapter 5
Chapter 3
Of the Ultimate Sanction of the Principle of Utility
THE QUESTION is often asked, and properly so, in regard to any
supposed moral standard- What is its sanction? what are the motives
to obey it? or more specifically, what is the source of its obligation?
whence does it derive its binding force? It is a necessary part
of moral philosophy to provide the answer to this question; which,
though frequently assuming the shape of an objection to the utilitarian
morality, as if it had some special applicability to that above
others, really arises in regard to all standards. It arises, in
fact, whenever a person is called on to adopt a standard, or refer
morality to any basis on which he has not been accustomed to rest
it. For the customary morality, that which education and opinion
have consecrated, is the only one which presents itself to the mind
with the feeling of being in itself obligatory; and when a person
is asked to believe that this morality derives its obligation from
some general principle round which custom has not thrown the same
halo, the assertion is to him a paradox; the supposed corollaries
seem to have a more binding force than the original theorem; the
superstructure seems to stand better without, than with, what is
represented as its foundation. He says to himself, I feel that I
am bound not to rob or murder, betray or deceive; but why am I bound
to promote the general happiness? If my own happiness lies in something
else, why may I not give that the preference?
If the view adopted by the utilitarian philosophy of the nature
of the moral sense be correct, this difficulty will always present
itself, until the influences which form moral character have taken
the same hold of the principle which they have taken of some of
the consequences- until, by the improvement of education, the feeling
of unity with our fellow-creatures shall be (what it cannot be denied
that Christ intended it to be) as deeply rooted in our character,
and to our own consciousness as completely a part of our nature,
as the horror of crime is in an ordinarily well brought up young
person. In the meantime, however, the difficulty has no peculiar
application to the doctrine of utility, but is inherent in every
attempt to analyse morality and reduce it to principles; which,
unless the principle is already in men's minds invested with as
much sacredness as any of its applications, always seems to divest
them of a part of their sanctity.
The principle of utility either has, or there is no reason why
it might not have, all the sanctions which belong to any other system
of morals. Those sanctions are either external or internal. Of the
external sanctions it is not necessary to speak at any length. They
are, the hope of favour and the fear of displeasure, from our fellow
creatures or from the Ruler of the Universe, along with whatever
we may have of sympathy or affection for them, or of love and awe
of Him, inclining us to do his will independently of selfish consequences.
There is evidently no reason why all these motives for observance
should not attach themselves to the utilitarian morality, as completely
and as powerfully as to any other. Indeed, those of them which refer
to our fellow creatures are sure to do so, in proportion to the
amount of general intelligence; for whether there be any other ground
of moral obligation than the general happiness or not, men do desire
happiness; and however imperfect may be their own practice, they
desire and commend all conduct in others towards themselves, by
which they think their happiness is promoted. With regard to the
religious motive, if men believe, as most profess to do, in the
goodness of God, those who think that conduciveness to the general
happiness is the essence, or even only the criterion of good, must
necessarily believe that it is also that which God approves. The
whole force therefore of external reward and punishment, whether
physical or moral, and whether proceeding from God or from our fellow
men, together with all that the capacities of human nature admit
of disinterested devotion to either, become available to enforce
the utilitarian morality, in proportion as that morality is recognised;
and the more powerfully, the more the appliances of education and
general cultivation are bent to the purpose.
So far as to external sanctions. The internal sanction of duty,
whatever our standard of duty may be, is one and the same- a feeling
in our own mind; a pain, more or less intense, attendant on violation
of duty, which in properly cultivated moral natures rises, in the
more serious cases, into shrinking from it as an impossibility.
This feeling, when disinterested, and connecting itself with the
pure idea of duty, and not with some particular form of it, or with
any of the merely accessory circumstances, is the essence of Conscience;
though in that complex phenomenon as it actually exists, the simple
fact is in general all encrusted over with collateral associations,
derived from sympathy, from love, and still more from fear; from
all the forms of religious feeling; from the recollections of childhood
and of all our past life; from self-esteem, desire of the esteem
of others, and occasionally even self-abasement. This extreme complication
is, I apprehend, the origin of the sort of mystical character which,
by a tendency of the human mind of which there are many other examples,
is apt to be attributed to the idea of moral obligation, and which
leads people to believe that the idea cannot possibly attach itself
to any other objects than those which, by a supposed mysterious
law, are found in our present experience to excite it. Its binding
force, however, consists in the existence of a mass of feeling which
must be broken through in order to do what violates our standard
of right, and which, if we do nevertheless violate that standard,
will probably have to be encountered afterwards in the form of remorse.
Whatever theory we have of the nature or origin of conscience, this
is what essentially constitutes it.
The ultimate sanction, therefore, of all morality (external motives
apart) being a subjective feeling in our own minds, I see nothing
embarrassing to those whose standard is utility, in the question,
what is the sanction of that particular standard? We may answer,
the same as of all other moral standards- the conscientious feelings
of mankind. Undoubtedly this sanction has no binding efficacy on
those who do not possess the feelings it appeals to; but neither
will these persons be more obedient to any other moral principle
than to the utilitarian one. On them morality of any kind has no
hold but through the external sanctions. Meanwhile the feelings
exist, a fact in human nature, the reality of which, and the great
power with which they are capable of acting on those in whom they
have been duly cultivated, are proved by experience. No reason has
ever been shown why they may not be cultivated to as great intensity
in connection with the utilitarian, as with any other rule of morals.
There is, I am aware, a disposition to believe that a person who
sees in moral obligation a transcendental fact, an objective reality
belonging to the province of "Things in themselves," is
likely to be more obedient to it than one who believes it to be
entirely subjective, having its seat in human consciousness only.
But whatever a person's opinion may be on this point of Ontology,
the force he is really urged by is his own subjective feeling, and
is exactly measured by its strength. No one's belief that duty is
an objective reality is stronger than the belief that God is so;
yet the belief in God, apart from the expectation of actual reward
and punishment, only operates on conduct through, and in proportion
to, the subjective religious feeling. The sanction, so far as it
is disinterested, is always in the mind itself; and the notion therefore
of the transcendental moralists must be, that this sanction will
not exist in the mind unless it is believed to have its root out
of the mind; and that if a person is able to say to himself, This
which is restraining me, and which is called my conscience, is only
a feeling in my own mind, he may possibly draw the conclusion that
when the feeling ceases the obligation ceases, and that if he find
the feeling inconvenient, he may disregard it, and endeavour to
get rid of it. But is this danger confined to the utilitarian morality?
Does the belief that moral obligation has its seat outside the mind
make the feeling of it too strong to be got rid of? The fact is
so far otherwise, that all moralists admit and lament the ease with
which, in the generality of minds, conscience can be silenced or
stifled. The question, Need I obey my conscience? is quite as often
put to themselves by persons who never heard of the principle of
utility, as by its adherents. Those whose conscientious feelings
are so weak as to allow of their asking this question, if they answer
it affirmatively, will not do so because they believe in the transcendental
theory, but because of the external sanctions.
It is not necessary, for the present purpose, to decide whether
the feeling of duty is innate or implanted. Assuming it to be innate,
it is an open question to what objects it naturally attaches itself;
for the philosophic supporters of that theory are now agreed that
the intuitive perception is of principles of morality and not of
the details. If there be anything innate in the matter, I see no
reason why the feeling which is innate should not be that of regard
to the pleasures and pains of others. If there is any principle
of morals which is intuitively obligatory, I should say it must
be that. If so, the intuitive ethics would coincide with the utilitarian,
and there would be no further quarrel between them. Even as it is,
the intuitive moralists, though they believe that there are other
intuitive moral obligations, do already believe this to one; for
they unanimously hold that a large portion of morality turns upon
the consideration due to the interests of our fellow-creatures.
Therefore, if the belief in the transcendental origin of moral obligation
gives any additional efficacy to the internal sanction, it appears
to me that the utilitarian principle has already the benefit of
it.
On the other hand, if, as is my own belief, the moral feelings
are not innate, but acquired, they are not for that reason the less
natural. It is natural to man to speak, to reason, to build cities,
to cultivate the ground, though these are acquired faculties. The
moral feelings are not indeed a part of our nature, in the sense
of being in any perceptible degree present in all of us; but this,
unhappily, is a fact admitted by those who believe the most strenuously
in their transcendental origin. Like the other acquired capacities
above referred to, the moral faculty, if not a part of our nature,
is a natural outgrowth from it; capable, like them, in a certain
small degree, of springing up spontaneously; and susceptible of
being brought by cultivation to a high degree of development. Unhappily
it is also susceptible, by a sufficient use of the external sanctions
and of the force of early impressions, of being cultivated in almost
any direction: so that there is hardly anything so absurd or so
mischievous that it may not, by means of these influences, be made
to act on the human mind with all the authority of conscience. To
doubt that the same potency might be given by the same means to
the principle of utility, even if it had no foundation in human
nature, would be flying in the face of all experience.
But moral associations which are wholly of artificial creation,
when intellectual culture goes on, yield by degrees to the dissolving
force of analysis: and if the feeling of duty, when associated with
utility, would appear equally arbitrary; if there were no leading
department of our nature, no powerful class of sentiments, with
which that association would harmonise, which would make us feel
it congenial, and incline us not only to foster it in others (for
which we have abundant interested motives), but also to cherish
it in ourselves; if there were not, in short, a natural basis of
sentiment for utilitarian morality, it might well happen that this
association also, even after it had been implanted by education,
might be analysed away. But there is this basis of powerful natural
sentiment; and this it is which, when once the general happiness
is recognised as the ethical standard, will constitute the strength
of the utilitarian morality. This firm foundation is that of the
social feelings of mankind; the desire to be in unity with our fellow
creatures, which is already a powerful principle in human nature,
and happily one of those which tend to become stronger, even without
express inculcation, from the influences of advancing civilisation.
The social state is at once so natural, so necessary, and so habitual
to man, that, except in some unusual circumstances or by an effort
of voluntary abstraction, he never conceives himself otherwise than
as a member of a body; and this association is riveted more and
more, as mankind are further removed from the state of savage independence.
Any condition, therefore, which is essential to a state of society,
becomes more and more an inseparable part of every person's conception
of the state of things which he is born into, and which is the destiny
of a human being.
Now, society between human beings, except in the relation of master
and slave, is manifestly impossible on any other footing than that
the interests of all are to be consulted. Society between equals
can only exist on the understanding that the interests of all are
to be regarded equally. And since in all states of civilisation,
every person, except an absolute monarch, has equals, every one
is obliged to live on these terms with somebody; and in every age
some advance is made towards a state in which it will be impossible
to live permanently on other terms with anybody. In this way people
grow up unable to conceive as possible to them a state of total
disregard of other people's interests. They are under a necessity
of conceiving themselves as at least abstaining from all the grosser
injuries, and (if only for their own protection) living in a state
of constant protest against them. They are also familiar with the
fact of co-operating with others and proposing to themselves a collective,
not an individual interest as the aim (at least for the time being)
of their actions. So long as they are co-operating, their ends are
identified with those of others; there is at least a temporary feeling
that the interests of others are their own interests. Not only does
all strengthening of social ties, and all healthy growth of society,
give to each individual a stronger personal interest in practically
consulting the welfare of others; it also leads him to identify
his feelings more and more with their good, or at least with an
even greater degree of practical consideration for it. He comes,
as though instinctively, to be conscious of himself as a being who
of course pays regard to others. The good of others becomes to him
a thing naturally and necessarily to be attended to, like any of
the physical conditions of our existence. Now, whatever amount of
this feeling a person has, he is urged by the strongest motives
both of interest and of sympathy to demonstrate it, and to the utmost
of his power encourage it in others; and even if he has none of
it himself, he is as greatly interested as any one else that others
should have it. Consequently the smallest germs of the feeling are
laid hold of and nourished by the contagion of sympathy and the
influences of education; and a complete web of corroborative association
is woven round it, by the powerful agency of the external sanctions.
This mode of conceiving ourselves and human life, as civilisation
goes on, is felt to be more and more natural. Every step in political
improvement renders it more so, by removing the sources of opposition
of interest, and levelling those inequalities of legal privilege
between individuals or classes, owing to which there are large portions
of mankind whose happiness it is still practicable to disregard.
In an improving state of the human mind, the influences are constantly
on the increase, which tend to generate in each individual a feeling
of unity with all the rest; which, if perfect, would make him never
think of, or desire, any beneficial condition for himself, in the
benefits of which they are not included. If we now suppose this
feeling of unity to be taught as a religion, and the whole force
of education, of institutions, and of opinion, directed, as it once
was in the case of religion, to make every person grow up from infancy
surrounded on all sides both by the profession and the practice
of it, I think that no one, who can realise this conception, will
feel any misgiving about the sufficiency of the ultimate sanction
for the Happiness morality. To any ethical student who finds the
realisation difficult, I recommend, as a means of facilitating it,
the second of M. Comte's two principle works, the Traite de Politique
Positive. I entertain the strongest objections to the system of
politics and morals set forth in that treatise; but I think it has
superabundantly shown the possibility of giving to the service of
humanity, even without the aid of belief in a Providence, both the
psychological power and the social efficacy of a religion; making
it take hold of human life, and colour all thought, feeling, and
action, in a manner of which the greatest ascendancy ever exercised
by any religion may be but a type and foretaste; and of which the
danger is, not that it should be insufficient but that it should
be so excessive as to interfere unduly with human freedom and individuality.
Neither is it necessary to the feeling which constitutes the binding
force of the utilitarian morality on those who recognise it, to
wait for those social influences which would make its obligation
felt by mankind at large. In the comparatively early state of human
advancement in which we now live, a person cannot indeed feel that
entireness of sympathy with all others, which would make any real
discordance in the general direction of their conduct in life impossible;
but already a person in whom the social feeling is at all developed,
cannot bring himself to think of the rest of his fellow creatures
as struggling rivals with him for the means of happiness, whom he
must desire to see defeated in their object in order that he may
succeed in his. The deeply rooted conception which every individual
even now has of himself as a social being, tends to make him feel
it one of his natural wants that there should be harmony between
his feelings and aims and those of his fellow creatures. If differences
of opinion and of mental culture make it impossible for him to share
many of their actual feelings- perhaps make him denounce and defy
those feelings- he still needs to be conscious that his real aim
and theirs do not conflict; that he is not opposing himself to what
they really wish for, namely their own good, but is, on the contrary,
promoting it. This feeling in most individuals is much inferior
in strength to their selfish feelings, and is often wanting altogether.
But to those who have it, it possesses all the characters of a natural
feeling. It does not present itself to their minds as a superstition
of education, or a law despotically imposed by the power of society,
but as an attribute which it would not be well for them to be without.
This conviction is the ultimate sanction of the greatest happiness
morality. This it is which makes any mind, of well-developed feelings,
work with, and not against, the outward motives to care for others,
afforded by what I have called the external sanctions; and when
those sanctions are wanting, or act in an opposite direction, constitutes
in itself a powerful internal binding force, in proportion to the
sensitiveness and thoughtfulness of the character; since few but
those whose mind is a moral blank, could bear to lay out their course
of life on the plan of paying no regard to others except so far
as their own private interest compels.
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