FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[79]The references here are to Lombroso, "Der Verbrecher," deutsche Ausgabe, S. 129 u. f.; H. v. Valentini, "Das Verbrecherthum im preussischen Staate," S. 226 u. f.[80]Intelligibile Ursache.[81]Grenzbegriff.

[79]The references here are to Lombroso, "Der Verbrecher," deutsche Ausgabe, S. 129 u. f.; H. v. Valentini, "Das Verbrecherthum im preussischen Staate," S. 226 u. f.

[80]Intelligibile Ursache.

[81]Grenzbegriff.

The proper business of Ethics is the study of moral judgments—or, if we say of human conduct, then of conduct as submitted to the praise or blame of moral judgments. But these judgments are not mere opinions; conduct is not that which is "judged" to be right in distinction from that which is right; and thus the analysis of such judgments is a systematization of both conceptions and facts.

The task of Ethics falls into two parts. It has (1) to supply acatalogue raisonnéof the moral observances of life, the various moral judgments which make up the contents of the moral consciousness, and (2) to discuss what it is that the moral judgment, as such, expresses.

Nothing is more striking at the present time than the convergence of different schools of Ethics—English Utilitarianism developing into Evolutional Ethics, on the one hand, and the idealism associated with the German philosophy derived from Kant on the other. The convergence is not, of course, in mere practical precepts, but in method also. It consists in an "objectivity" or impartiality of treatment, commonly called "scientific." There is also a convergence in general results which consists in a recognition of a kind of proportion between individual and society, expressed by the phrase "organic connection." The theory of egoism, pure and simple, has been long dead; Utilitarianism succeeded it and enlarged the moral end. Evolution continued the process of enlarging the individual interest, and has given precision to the relation between the individual and the moral law. But in this it has added nothing new; for Hegel, in the early part of the century, gave life to Kant's formula by treating the law of morality as realized in the society and the state. The change in ethical conception is not due to biological research alone, but to the study of history also, and to other general changes in the practical data on which its principles are built. The social and political history of the century represents the growth of the idea of freedom, which has properly two sides—that of individual liberty of healthy development, and that of thesolidarity of society and the responsibility of the individual to it. With the increasing complexity of interests and the growth of individual freedom, has come, however, a certain sense of loneliness to the individual in the midst of modern competition, and this explains, to a great extent, the increase of suicide in the present century.

The convergence of dissimilar theories affords us some prospect of obtaining a satisfactory statement of the ethical truths towards which they seem to move.

Our inquiry falls into two parts, according as we analyze the conceptions which relate to the existence of the moral judgment or those connected with its growth, maintenance, and change—the statics or the dynamics of morality. To these two divisions is to be added a third, preliminary division, more closely allied with the statical examination of morality. These three parts are represented by the questions: (1) What is it that is good? To what are the terms good and bad applied? (2) Why is it good? What does its goodness mean? (3) How does goodness come into being; how is it maintained; how does it advance?

Moral judgments apply to voluntary action, that is, action distinguished by the presence of an idea of the end to be attained "not merelyinconsciousness buttoconsciousness," and the conversion of the idea into the actual reality of presentation. The terms good and bad, indeed, are applied, not only outside the realm of morals, but also, within it, to desires and thoughts; but to these only as they are the objects of volition, in that the will at present allows them to persist in consciousness or in that their present occurrence is regarded as the result of past willing.

The conduct to which we apply moral judgment is a whole made up of many parts—and actions, consequences, and internal feelings have value for morality only in so far as they are its elements.

External action concerns conduct only in so far as the object of volitions (which may be either internal or external) is derived from this source. Voluntary external action is not external only, but has also an internal side; and not whether I succeed in performing a certain action or am prevented in the middle of it, but whether I willed it, is of importance to moral judgment. Conduct is sometimes considered separately from character; but this separation results from confusing conduct with mere action. Acharacter exists only in its conduct, and all moral actions issue from character.

The consequences cannot be separated from conduct in the moral judgment, except in so far as they could not have been foreseen. The consequences of conduct are a most important part of action, in that they should be considered by the person willing, and should influence the nature of his conduct.

The internal side of conduct is represented by the moral sentiments. These are to be distinguished from the mere motives, which, defined as something that has propulsive force, whether a feeling or a passion, does not enter into moral action except as absorbed into volition. No emotion is, in itself, right or wrong, but is only indirectly judged as such as it makes a difference to the action—as an aptitude of mind which tends to this or that predominating form of conduct. Moral sentiments, on the other hand, as moral aptitudes effective for particular conduct, contain an additional element. Moral sentiments, thus defined, being equivalent to conduct, it follows that the mere possession of sentiments cannot constitute the difference between intrinsic or internal, and customary morality; customs are themselves a matter of sentiment. Thus "conduct as a concrete whole has an inward element of sentiment and an outward element of action, and these are different, on the one hand from mere given feelings, on the other from mere action." "Conduct is this unity of feeling and action in which mere feeling is modified by the idea of action, and mere action becomes a mental, or, if we like, a spiritual thing." "Conduct and character are the same thing facing different ways." "Think of a man's conduct in relation to the mental conditions from which it proceeds, and you think of his character; think of his character as it produces results beyond these sentiments themselves, and you have conduct."

There are no morally indifferent acts; when viewed in general and broader lights, all acts are either good or bad; though there are some cases of really indifferent means arising from the mechanism of action; as, for instance, that I am to go to London is not indifferent, but we may suppose that the fact that I may go by the road or by the river makes no difference to my volition. There is no distinction between virtue and prudence as regard for self, but prudence, in so far as it is compatible with social requirements, is a duty and a virtue.

Ethics, then, has to do with conduct as a whole in its external and its internal aspects. In distinction from Psychology, it has to do with it not merely as a fact to be analyzed, but with reference to its nature, quality, or content, judged by a standard of value. It is not dependent upon Metaphysics, but precedes it in order of time, whatever may be said of the order of importance; Metaphysics examines, properly, the ultimate questions left over unanswered by the other sciences. From the purely physical method, Ethics has advanced to a biological method; and the doctrine that pleasure is the end of right action has been replaced by the idea of social vitality as the end.

The recognition of the reference in morality to society has been implied in all ethical theories; theories of selfish pleasure themselves recognize the social element in individual gratification, even Cyrenaic theories recommending selection and refinement of pleasures, and containing a reference to personal dignity which implies a conception of man as typical of a perfection that others may sympathize in and attain. Individualism and Universalism in morals differ only in the order in which they take their terms. "To the former, the individual comes first and is the measure of the law; to the latter, the law or society comes first, and is the measure of the worth of the individual." Nevertheless, the ethical problem is very differently conceived by the two schools. But the History of Philosophy shows a tendency to harmonization of the two; we find that Individualism becomes more and more socialistic, while Universalism becomes more and more conscious of individuality. We may trace this movement, in the case of Individualism, in the development of the philosophic theory of morality as true benevolence from the theory of benevolence as merely another form of self-love. The earlier conceptions of Universalism, emphasizing the good as something binding irrespective of the inclinations of the individual, issue in particular formulæ of virtue; later conceptions recognize the differences of individual cases while still insisting on the universal or authoritative character of morality. The problem receives its definite shape when the explanation of authority is sought, not in some categorical imperative, but in the very nature of societyitself, which, if a whole, is yet a whole made up of individuals. Ethical inquiry thus naturally breaks up into two parts, according as we consider the meaning of right and wrong for the individual, or for society as embracing many individuals.

As far as morality concerns itself with the individual, the good act implies a certain adjustment of functions to one another, too much in any one direction implying a defect in others. "The good life as a whole is a system of consecutive acts, where each function has its limits prescribed for it by the demands of all the other functions." And the good character is "an order or systematic arrangement of volitions." The goodness of an act is thus a matter of equilibration or adjustment of the elements of an individual's nature. In this proportion or adjustment consists the reasonableness, rationality (ratio, λογος) of good conduct. This does not mean that the principle of morality is the result of reason, for moral adjustment is no more specially the work of reason than of any other mental faculty.

This account of good character uses ideas which apply,mutatis mutandis, to the life of any organism, as well as to the mind of man; it merely explains, in terms of human experience, the elements involved in the conception of organization; the difference lies simply in the nature of the elements involved in the adjustment, the elements being, in the case before us, conscious acts. To the question whether such a definition of morality would not apply rather to conduct than to character, and whether, the volitions being conceived as a series in time, it does not dissolve the unity of character, may be answered that conduct and character have already been shown to be identical, and that unity can no more be denied to the series of acts involved than it can be denied to the growing plant or animal whose functions are successive. The unity conditioned by time is a unity characterized by succession, as that of space by extension. The objection, as it gathers its strength from a persuasion that the good character should be described by the feelings or sentiments of any one time, is legitimate; good conduct is built upon a man's needs or desires and is defined as satisfying every part of his nature in its proportion; so that an equilibrium of the emotions and the moral sentiments is involved in morality, and any sentiment is moral which can be equilibrated with the rest. "The good man may be described either as an equilibrated order of conduct, or as an equilibriumof moral sentiments or of the parts of his nature. Nevertheless, the order of conduct is a prior conception to that of structural equilibrium." In a machine, the combination of parts is made in order to produce the motion of the engine, and the equilibrium is maintained by the motion. "In the organism, the bodily structure retains its proportion only in so far as it is in physiological action, and this physiological action subserves the conduct of the organism," while "in like manner the equilibrium of moral sentiments exists only through conduct and is determined by the requirements of conduct." The equilibrium is effected simultaneously both for conduct and the moral structure. The ideal is a plan of conduct, ideal in that it is never fully attained. The ideal is hypothetical in two senses. It supposes that every member of the order is good, whereas no life contains good acts only; and that the order itself remains permanent, whereas morality is necessarily progressive. Nevertheless, it is to be observed that the ideal is a realized ideal. It is realized in every good act, since the good act is the act which has the shape it would wear in the ideal order. "Though it is adjusted to imaginary elements, it realizes the whole so far as its own particular share is concerned."

Morality implies the existence of society. It is useless to inquire what would be moral in case the human individual were an isolated being; the fact is that he is not so, and that all moral judgment implies not only the judgment of other individuals besides the acting individual, but also the function of the acting individual as a member of a society. Yet each member of a society has his special individual work, so that duty varies according to individual circumstances, and so far from its being true that morality is not a respecter of persons, it is a fact that it is always a respecter of persons. This does not deny that there are certain common bounds of morality, which allow the formation of some general propositions; nor does it mean that each individual is at liberty to construct his own moral precepts. The individuality of morality, which finds a place or vocation for each individual, involves an equilibrium between the members of society, in which consists the morality of the whole.

The so-called self-regarding virtues are social as well as self-regarding; their disregard involves evil, not to the individual alone, but to others also. It may be objected that acts and thoughts which can never be known to others are condemned by conscience. In answer it must be observed:—

(1) That the knowledge of others is a matter of degree; my friends know my actions; and in order to judge an action, it is not necessary to suppose the whole nation looking on.

(2) That as personal morality becomes more and more complex, and hence knowledge by others less and less possible, we leave the judgment of an act more to the conscience of the individual, as vicegerent of the moral law. "Acts which are wrong when nobody knows them have come to be so by a process beginning with simple acts which are known, that is, known in their outward appearance." The act, known or unknown, leaves its impress upon character, raising or lowering the efficiency of the agent; and hence is judged good or bad. The study of art and science has, thus, moral value, as influencing character.

Good and bad acts and conduct are thus to be distinguished by their adjustment or non-adjustment to the social order. The adjustment takes place in a similar manner as in a trial of strength, and the compromise between the different individuals must be taken as measuring the actual forces which were engaged.

The social organism has both its morphological, or structural, and its physiological or functional aspect; and here, once more, the order of functions is a prior conception to the structural order; in the society, conduct bears to structure the relation which physiological action in the body bears to the bodily structure. The social ideal is doubly hypothetical, implying that all members of the society are good and that society is statical.

That to which moral judgment applies with regard to the individual's relation to society, is the adjustment of individual wills regarded either as directly appearing or as latent and capable of acting, the occasion being given. The moral principle in society as a whole is thus, as in the case of the individual, a rational one, and Aristotle rightly gives the same name (ορθος λογος) to it as to the principle of individual action. The moral individual is the reproduction in small of the social order. But "the two conditions that the individual must be a harmony within himself, and that he must possess all the powers that are required of him for the purposes of society, are not different, but identical." For the absence of such powers implies the absence of adjustment to his conditions, failing which adjustment the inner harmony is impossible, although life may be continued, just as it may be continued under diseased physical conditions.

Good men may thus be said to conform to a certain type or ideal; but this type is not merely something to which they are fashioned, but to which they themselves are the contributory elements. Hence the social ideal is a species of which all good men are the individual instances; and the species exists, not, as in the case of natural science, as a generalization in the mind of the observer or as an identical plan upon which the members are organized, not as a mere collection of individuals, but as in itself an organism. "Let it not be objected that, since no society is in perfect equilibrium, and the ideal exists only in good men, the ideal is therefore as much a creation of the observer's mind as a natural species. An ideal implies no contrast of observer and observed: conduct is something mental: the ideal is a reality of mind, existing in the minds of those who act upon it. The social ideal has thus a concrete existence in the collective action of good men."

In this manner, the supposed independence of the tendencies towards Individualism and Universalism disappears, the harmony of the individual and his harmony with society being identical—a true independence being equivalent to true coöperation.

Morality implying adjustment to the ideal order, a realization of the bearings of our acts is important. But we need no special moral faculty to teach us morality; it is prompted by thoughts and feelings that, as the result of a process of compromise, are thoughts and feelings adjusted to a social order.

Obligation "expresses that an act is the act required." "It is that relation in which the single part of the order stands to the whole order, when it is confronted by the whole," whether we consider the single act in relation to the whole character of the individual, or the single individual in his relations to society. "Duty in the abstract is the name which comprehends obligation in all its details; a duty in the concrete is any good act regarded in its relation to the whole. On the other hand, the whole hasauthorityagainst its parts, and every particular duty is said to have authority just so far as it is backed by the whole mass of duties," as the command of a sovereign has authority because it gives expression to the will of the whole society over which he presides. Obligation "corresponds to the necessity under which an organism lies of acting in a certain manner in order to conform to its type." Duty is thus not necessarily antagonistic toinclination, as Kant conceived it, since, in the good man, inclinations are adjusted to the requirements of social life; and obligation is thus different from compulsion, which, as attendant on authority, applies to the bad, not the good, man. The negative side of compulsion is responsibility, which implies that, in the case of transgression, the person will be called to account. Duty, though thus free from the idea of antagonism, is itself always negative, implying subjection of the individual to the larger order. It is from this negativity that duty lends itself to the legal idea of compulsion, and in general wears a legal garb.

In law, rights and duties are correlative, the right of one implying duties of others, andvice versa; but in morals, rights and duties are not merely correlative but identical; it is a duty to insist on rights in so far as these rights are moral, not merely legal, and the individual has a right to the performance of duty.

The moral judgment is a judgment on a fact, but expresses, nevertheless, a fact also; it expresses an adjustment to an ideal order, which, if ideal, is yet a fact, although never realized in its entirety. Thus morality is not a mere matter of opinion. Opinions may differ with regard to a fact of morality as different individuals differ in the apprehension of a physical fact. An action is not right simply because I think it is so; but the opinion of the good man represents what is really good.

Goodness is a mental fact; the apprehension of goodness, as the passing of judgment upon it, is different from it; but it is nevertheless, in another sense, the goodness of the good man which approves or is the approbation of the good act; and "badness exists in the mind of the good man and is known as disapprobation." The quality of an action is that which excites approbation; its goodness or adjustment is nothing but the approbation of the good man, but not of other men. In like manner, duty and the sense of duty are the same thing. When the act judged is presented to the mind only as idea, the feeling of approbation or disapprobation is that which we know as the working of the moral sense or conscience.

It is this truth that goodness and approbation are identical that Intuitionism builds upon. Intuitionism, however, regards goodness as some new quality of action, peculiar and inexplicable; while a true analysis looks upon goodness as no new quality, the moral judgment merely placing a mark upon any action as conforming to a certain order or equilibrated system wanted.

There is in the good man a vague mass of moral sentiments and emotions; and when the idea of any act comes in contact with these, a feeling of satisfaction or dissatisfaction arises, according as the idea fuses with this mass of sentiments or fails in adjustment to them. Moral promptings are merely promptings which have been adjusted on one side and the other until they have come to be in harmony with social conditions; they grow out of the natural feelings by the process of adjustment. The word "conscience," as it is more generally used, seems to emphasize the element of reflection in a greater degree than "moral sense." The explanation of the apparent independence of conscience is merely that, in the good man, the moral order is realized, and action from moral principle takes place spontaneously. In so far as this is true, he is, in the ethical sense, free, yet not free in the sense that he is to be bound by his own conscience alone in opposition to the judgment of all other consciences; "on the contrary, the conscience sits as a tribunal on a man's acts or intentions, just because it is the representative of the moral order."

In speaking of a "perverted conscience," morality condemns the isolation of a man's ideas about right conduct, from the judgment of his fellows.

The conscience, by reason of the element of reflectiveness, is higher than the moral sense; and the cultivation of a refined conscience is the basis of all morality. Yet this very reflectiveness involves danger, in that, attaching itself as it does to the negative side of duty, it tends to associate the latter with the idea of painfulness rather than of pleasure, and to induce fear, and also in that it tends to develop a morbid subjectivity of feeling through too much self-examination.

Good conduct, as good in virtue of the equilibrium it establishes between the various parts of conduct itself, should contain within itself the whole justification of morality. As such, it is the end of morality, in that it is both the object and purpose, the aim or desire; and in that it is also the standard, criterion, or result by which conduct is measured.

Good conduct involves a common good as part of the moral order, and so creative of a tie between all members of society. The common good is thus not to be conceived as something that might be, as it were, cut up and distributed, but as common inthat it involves an adjustment of claims. The common good is thus, in a sense, objective, or objectively valid, though not objective in the sense that it exists outside the minds of men, but in the sense that it is a compromise between wills, in which each mind surrenders merely personal whims for a common agreement.

Since there seems a discrepancy between my own good and the good of others, how do I make the good of others my object, going beyond myself in the range of my interest? And how is self-sacrifice possible? The answer to the first question is that morality reconciles the likes and dislikes of individuals, so that self-love and love of others describe the moral relation from opposite ends; every act of respect for others is an act of self-furtherance.

We are entitled to assume, as not needing proof, that the instincts of altruism are as fundamental and original as those of self-love. But if we use stricter reasoning, we can see how, in either case, we identify ourselves with others. Altruism is merely a form of conduct in which the egoistic element, though present, retires into the background; while in all right egoism, we aim at the good of others as well as our own good, though our own good appears as the more prominent feature in the act of willing. We must not be understood as willing, in altruism, another's good in any mystical sense, in the sense of any identification of self with others; we will the good of others in quite a different sense from that in which we will our own good, the idea of their good being a representation in our mind from the analogy of our own experience; and the good attained by each party to the transaction is different and incommunicable. Neither must egoism or altruism be interpreted in the sense that, in either, reflection on the end as distinctively the good of self or of others is involved; the moral agent in general throws his energies into this or that course of action, because it is felt to be what is wanted, without further reflectiveness.

Human beings, as plastic shapes, moulded by contact, adjust themselves to each other, and thus it comes about that certain personal claims are waived. Self-sacrifice is a real fact, a fact attested by the existence of the bad, to whom such sacrifice involves a loss of happiness and is impossible. It means the abandonment of a real good which the individual would seize under other circumstances. It is sometimes contended that realself-sacrifice is impossible, either (1) because the sacrifice is really pleasanter to the agent, or (2) because he is compensated for his loss. But the evident fact that self-sacrifice is pleasanter to the agent does not involve the seeking of his own pleasure by the agent, and even if it be admitted that there is always the forecast of compensation in the mind of the agent, yet part of the forecast is the picture of happiness foregone. But here, as before, it may be said that the element of reflection, the weighing of one's own and others' happiness against each other is read into the act by the onlooker, and is not necessarily involved. That his own self-sacrifice, the compensation of his own consciousness of right-doing outweighs, to the moral man, the pleasure of lower aims, does not mean that the individual is selfish in seeking self-sacrifice. And, in fact, that any ulterior aim of self-satisfaction beyond the act itself is sought, in self-sacrifice, by the moral man, is false; the greatest acts of heroism are characterized by complete absorption in the impersonal end sought, the good of the agent thus not lying beyond, but consisting in his action. Acts characterized by another spirit than this we do not term self-sacrifice.

As all conduct is a matter of will, so morality is concerned not merely with the virtues, the practical dealings of men, but also with all that strengthens or weakens the will and, in general, conduces to character. In judging a man, the significance of his individual gifts, and the responsibility which attends the cultivation of these gifts must be recognized. Not special virtues alone must be considered, but the whole man must be judged and the significance of his self-cultivation in this or that direction observed. This does not mean that the exceptional faults of exceptional men are to be condoned. On the contrary, there is no reason to suppose that special gifts confer a special privilege rather than a special responsibility. Judged in the entirety of their character, such men may not be worse than others, and this fact should be regarded; but we should not defend their sins as such. The neglect of self-cultivation in one direction may be necessary to action in another direction; but the moral criterion of such self-cultivation or action is to be found in morality as an equilibrium of powers.

Perfection is not itself sufficient to define the end. Perfect is that which is the best possible; perfection as a perfect activityrather than a perfect state (as we must conceive it) is equivalent to the best possible conduct. But the moral end can be understood as perfection only when by the best possible conduct is understood that which is the best possible under circumstances determined by morality itself. The fullest development as demanded by morality is not necessarily the perfection of development in any particular case, that is, with regard to any particular gift or individual. Or, in other words, perfection in both its absolute and its comparative meaning, is a conception which belongs, not to morality as such, but to the materials out of which morality is constituted. Take "perfect" as equivalent to "best," then perfection is equally involved in every good action. The good is always the best; what is right is perfect; morality discards degrees of comparison. But the degree of perfection to which any power or individual is to be developed is determined, morally, by the principle of equilibrium. Moreover, we may recognize degrees of perfection in individuals who are, nevertheless, not to be classified as of less or greater moral value.

There are two different conceptions of merit, the one as applied to magnitude of actual achievement, the other to magnitude of effort. The apparent discrepancy vanishes on reflection, since both conceptions apply to what passes beyond the average and measures the distance between the two.

Against the hedonistic doctrine, it has been urged by Green that pleasure as such is not the end of action, for even where the single pleasure is desired there is always the thought of a permanent self whose good is supposed to lie in the direction of this pleasure; while a sum of pleasures cannot, as such, be an object of desire, since pleasures, as separate and transitory in contradistinction from the permanent self, cannot be added together in fact, but only in thought; and with regard to a greatest sum of pleasures the difficulty is still greater, since pleasures admit of indefinite increase, and their sum can never be the greatest possible. In so far as desire is supposed to be for pleasures and nothing else, the argument that a sum of pleasures cannot be desired must be admitted. The transiency of the pleasures has, however, nothing to do with the question; the reason why a sum of pleasures cannot form a single pleasure is that they are pleasures with a higher idea—that of a series involving a plan. This does not prove that a sum of pleasures might not be the criterion of conduct. It must be admitted that"sum" is an unfortunate word, since it seems to imply that the pleasures must be combined in one total result; but such an interpretation of the word is not necessary. A series of pleasures is properly nothing more than an aggregate or combination of pleasures, partly successive, partly coëxistent. Nor does the greatest possible happiness mean a happiness than which no greater is possible, but the greatest possible under the given conditions. The polemic is directed against the individualistic psychology, which regards mental states as a mere succession of events. So far the arguments enforce a great principle; a mere succession of feelings or sensations could never yield a conception of a sum apprehended as a sum. But this is irrelevant. For such an idea we require much more than sensation: we require memory, perception, the idea of a self. But this is only saying that morality requires more than mere sensation, and the argument assumes the standpoint it is fighting, treating mental states as mere events. It, moreover, introduces the idea of a permanent self as something superior to mere sensations, whereas perhaps this self is elaborated from sensational elements. Furthermore, if the proposition means that a mind which had only sensations could not have a sum of sensations, this may be denied. A sum is possible from three positions—that of the conception of a spectator, that of a reflecting consciousness, and that of a feeling consciousness which feels its states continuously, though it may not feel them as continuous, for such a feeling would argue comparison and reflection. The polemic, therefore, while in so far right as it is directed against individualistic psychology, seems to assign wrong reasons for a rejection of hedonism; Utilitarians, while speaking of pleasures in the language of psychology, treat them really as something more than mere events—treat them as we really combine them by processes much higher than sensation. A refutation of hedonism must consist in showing that pleasures really differ in kind, and cannot, therefore, be compared in intensity. "Pleasure" is often used as equivalent to a pleasant sensation; such pleasures differ in kind, as in the case of gratified hunger, ambition, and the like, and cannot be actually added, either in thought or in enjoyment, because incommensurable. "Pleasure" is often used, also, to refer, not to the sensation itself, but to its pleasantness, and here the same thing is true; if we distinguish the quality and the tone of feeling, as usual in psychology, the classification of tonesas pleasurable and painful is insufficient. "The tones of colors and sounds, for instance, are more naturally represented by the mood of mind they suggest: red has a warm tone, black a sad, gray a sober, the organ a solemn tone."[82]The tone of some feelings is too indefinite for description,—a vague comfort or discomfort,—while the tone may rise to a condition to be described only by "bliss" or "rapture." Pleasure and pain depend, moreover, not only on the quality and quantity of the feeling, but on the whole condition of the mind, pleasure indicating agreement with the mind, pain non-agreement. Every pleasure being a function of the sensation in which it is an element, the supposed sum of pleasures must be made up of pleasures every one of which is qualified as that which is produced by a certain activity. "The sum of pleasures, therefore, re-introduces the distinctions and contents of the moral order, and, though an expression of the criterion of conduct, is therefore, like perfection, not an independent criterion." The element of quality in pleasure may beverifiedmore easily as what may be calledpreferability. The term preferability does not mean that there is an inherent moral value in every pleasure, in virtue of which pleasures may be distinguished as higher or lower—obviously an erroneous view, for higher and lower is an antithesis established by morality itself; the value depends on the kind of pleasure, and the preferability is that in the good man's mind.

It might be objected that even though pleasures differ in kind, a comparison and summation of them might be possible, just as comparison and summation of weights is possible, although weight depends not on bulk alone but also on specific gravity. It cannot be denied that some numerical expression for qualities of pleasure may yet be found, by which they may be compared. But it is to be noted that, the higher we go in the scale of existence, the more distinct becomes the growth of a principle of selection or distribution which the members of a combination must follow in order to produce a given quantitative result. In chemistry we may obtain the atomic equivalent of sulphuric acid (98) in many ways, but we can obtain the acid itself only by specific combinations in specific proportions. In determining what food to give an animal, we must consider not bulk alone but the nutritiousness of various sorts. We might express the nutritiousness of variousfoods by numbers, but the numerical equivalent would tell us nothing, unless we knew the kinds of food to be combined. And in the same way we might express the sum of pleasures as end numerically, but until we know the kinds of activities and so of pleasures to be combined to this sum, the formula is useless to inform us as to the end or method of attaining it. The popular conception of happiness avoids all the difficulties and perplexities caused by setting up pleasure as the end, because in that conception pleasures and pains are never considered apart from conduct and character. Thus, though the end involves pleasure, the criterion is good conduct. The good conduct necessarily involves pleasure, for conduct which only outwardly conforms to the moral rule, and in which the agent does not take pleasure, is not really good.

The pleasure-formula thus represented as the standard of conduct is to be distinguished, as actual ethical pleasure in the act, from the pleasures attendant on the act as results, and which may be termed pathological in a Kantian sense. The ethical pleasure need not be unmixed, for the act which satisfies one part of a man's nature does not necessarily satisfy all the other parts. But the ethical pleasure must be present as the total reaction of character considered apart from the incidentals of result.

Pleasures and pains may be divided into two classes, active and passive; active pleasures being those attendant on an act, as gratification of an impulse, passive pleasures those which come to us as enjoyments, not as the gratification of the impulse producing an act, though perhaps resulting from our act. Active pains are those of want, passive those of suffering. The pleasures accompanying an act as pleasures of attainment are always pleasures of gratification, but not of gratification merely, for they gratify a sentiment directed towards an object previously present to the mind in idea; and it is because the volition realizes the idea that the pleasures are called pleasures of attainment, and in this fact lies also their ethical value. The ethical pleasure in the action itself is not to be confused with the mere pleasure in the explicit consciousness of right-doing, which argues special reflectiveness. The ethical pleasure meant is identical with the feeling of approbation, not as a reflection on the act as idea, but as present in the act itself. But the ethical pleasures are not independent of the incidental pleasures, but depend uponthem, the latter themselves being considered in determining what acts are to be performed.

The pleasure-formula of the end represents the end in terms of all the ethical pleasures secured by good action; and now we can see how morality can be expressed in terms of all the pleasures and pains involved in action, the purely ethical pleasures being reckoned among the rest. Every pleasure is an inducement to persistence, every pain an inducement to change; hence, since the society of good persons, or the kingdom of powers within a man's own mind acquiesce in the moral order as the equilibrium in which all their claims are gratified as far as may be, it follows that the order of good conduct represents the maximum of happiness. The end thusinvolvesthe greatest happiness of the greatest number.

If pleasure is but a part of the standard of morality, is it, then, the object of conduct? If the idea before the mind to be realized in action is called the object of the action, then in the same sense the pleasure connected with the idea, which must be pleasant, is the object of conduct. The difficulty in agreeing that the pleasure of the idea is part of the object of desire arises from two causes: (1) confusion of the object of desire with the character or criterion of the object; (2) a misunderstanding of how the ideal object is related to the result. As to the latter cause, it may be said that the idea is only in this sense an idea of the result, that the result is the idea as it is realized; the elements of the idea are derived from the past, and the desire is not for the prospective pleasure of the end. As to the first cause, though it is false that the prospective pleasure must necessarily be part of the idea, the opposite conclusion is not necessarily legitimate that desire is not for pleasure at all. It is true that, in order to distinguish one object from another, we need to know what kind of an object it is; but to conclude that, therefore, the desire is not for pleasure, is to confuse the actual idea before the mind in desire with its quality. That we do not make pleasure an object in the sense that the pleasantness of the object itself is what we have before us in desire, is obvious. Such a desire would argue a reflectiveness which has been shown not to be necessarily characteristic of action. Nor is it the pleasure of an act which is the cause of the desire, even if we suppose this not in the sense that reflection apprehends it as cause. To suppose this is to confuse the causewith its sign. The pleasure is a function of the quality of the object. The element of reflectivenessmayenter into a consideration of the object, and the prospective pleasure thus become an element of the object of desire. But it is only a part; the pleasure alone cannot be the object of desire. The pleasure which is thus a part of the object is not a future pleasure, but that which is actually present in our minds, belonging to the ideal object as part of it—the represented pleasure of attainment. To call the pleasure desired the prospective pleasure is to confound the reflection of the spectator with the actual fact in the mind of the agent to an act. The pleasure is, moreover, not pleasure in general, but the pleasure of the agent; but this is not stating that the act is necessarily selfish.

Since every object of desire and will includes pleasure, the so-called "paradox of hedonism"—that pleasure is lost by seeking after it—cannot be explained by holding that pleasure is not itself the object of desire, and that consequently pleasure is never, in enjoyment, what it is in idea. This last is true, for no idea is in reality what it is as idea. But the explanation lies rather in pointing out how foolish it is to seek for what is a sign or effect rather than for its cause.

In the good man, the pleasure of attainment is the ethical sense of approbation, and this is also goodness. It may, however, be asserted that it is not this ethical pleasure, this goodness as such, that is desired by the good man; again, it is only in exceptional cases of reflectiveness that goodness or the right action as such is distinctively desired; and herein lies Kant's mistake in asserting that a moral act must be done from a sense of duty.

Active pains, as wants, are what prompt to action, and are, so, the conditions of conduct. Though in themselves evil, as pain, they cannot be considered by themselves apart from the action to which they lead. As for passive pains, in so far as they are the result of evil action on the part of others, they ought not to have occurred, and we try to prevent their repetition by punishment. Those sufferings incidental to right conduct are to be borne, in so far as they are inevitable, as a necessary evil in that which, considered as a whole, is good. As soon as they cease to be inevitable, they are to be removed. We do not imagine, however, that pain may ever be wholly removed. But the statement that pain is inevitable to right conduct is not to be interpreted as an assertion that it is forthe sake of goodness, as a discipline,—a metaphysical conception depending on the idea of a divine purpose.

Morality is thus a kind of optimism, not ignoring the reality of pains in right conduct, but treating them as part of the given conditions which it has to turn to the best account, by the creation of a conduct and character involving ethical pleasures. Pessimistic theories do not ignore this optimism of morality; but in such theories the fact of pain is emphasized and dwelt upon, and morality is regarded only as a means of lessening pain, or, as in the case of Von Hartmann, finally getting rid of it altogether by a universal suicide. It is impossible to determine whether existence represents an excess of pain or of pleasure, since the answer to the problem is a matter of individual temperament; and, moreover, pleasures and pains cannot be (as yet) merely quantitatively compared. Another error of pessimism consists in comparing pleasures and pains in detail and supposing the result to hold good in the general sum; but even in cases where pleasures are greatly outweighed by pains, the pains may sink in value considered in connection with the rest of life. The desirability of non-existence could be maintained only as a race should be developed desiring it; but the whole course of history is in the opposite direction.

The question, Is life worth living? involves two: (1) Is it actually preferable to the creature who lives it? (2) Can any life be said to have a real value; is any life subjectively, is any objectively, preferable? The answer to the first question is the fact of life, for the mysterious instinct of self-preservation called in to account for the continuance of existence is one of the elements to be considered in the problem, cannot be excluded. It is true that only certain kinds of life are preferable, but the very meaning of the principle of selection is the securing of the life that is worth living.

Having arrived at this answer, we can no longer compare existence and non-existence in respect to preferability, and the second problem presents itself to us as the question as to what existence is of value. The answer is the moral life, goodness, as including all the activities of character.

The moral end has sometimes been defined as social vitality. Vitality is, in strictness, the energy to live, and has two aspects. It is (1) the force which keeps a creature alive, or (2) the force which keeps it well. As implying the keeping up of vital functions,the notion of continued existence represents the end, but represents it in its lowest aspect, its least and poorest significance, and is an insufficient description; for not existence can be the end, but existence of a certain sort. "Existence, in fact, is an abstraction to which nothing corresponds in experience: nothing exists except upon certain terms. Given the type, the end of the creature is to continue the existence of that type; but continuance of existence is nothing more nor less than the performance of those functions which constitute the type of life in question: it is not separated from those functions as something which they subserve." If the functions in man or animal are said to be determined by the need of maintaining his existence, it may be answered that his existence is these functions. In this sense of continued existence as the repetition of vital functions in their order, it is true, but only secondarily true, that the end is to preserve life. But the doctrine of evolution implies much more than such preservation. It means the victorious continuance of life. But because a type is victorious, we cannot infer that the end of the type is to maintain its victorious existence in the sense of aiming at victory. To do this is to read into the end a theory of how the type came into existence. The end of a type is to act according to the type; the victory over rivals affords the opportunity of this. The preservation of existence is a condition of the end, not the end itself; to regard it as such is to confuse cause with effect.

Vitality as health, on the other hand, implies the equilibrium which constitutes good conduct good. It must, however, "be observed that health is not a further specification or a limitation of continued life, but is coëxtensive with it."

But health, as applied to morals, is a metaphorical term. Morality does not consist in mere physical vitality; on the contrary, some sacrifice of such vitality may be necessary, the perfect physical vitality may be inconsistent with the development of higher and finer mental functions. "With this proviso, vitality as health is simply another name for the character of good conduct which wins it the title of good."

There is often a distinction made between virtue and duty, the former word seeming to include the latter and go beyond it. However, it is not only virtuous to do one's duty, but it is also the duty of the individual to do his best. In fact, the two, virtue and duty,are coëxtensive, the term "virtue" describing conduct by the quality of the agent's mind, the term "duty" by the nature of the act performed. Nevertheless, there are actions to which it is more natural to apply the term "virtue," "duty" being colored by legal implications. In the legal sense, duty fixes, not the highest line of conduct, but the lowest limit, beneath which conduct must not fall. Virtue, as contrasted with duty in the legal sense, seems to be coëxtensive with merit. Negative merit, however, where a man is good in spite of some great disadvantage, does not make an act virtuous in distinction from dutiful conduct. It is the duty of a man with a passion for drink to repress it; but we do not term his performance virtuous, though it may be meritorious. Merit, that is, implies a scale within the range of good acts themselves. Virtue and duty coincide, however, only so long as the moral value of actions are considered. For we distinguish two different classes of virtues, or two senses of the word "virtue," corresponding to the distinction of ethical and pathological, the pathological virtues being certain gifts of emotion or sentiment, which are sometimes thought to make action more virtuous, but do not alter its real character. "Thus, for example, the virtue of benevolence may be thought imperfect without kindly feeling, though a man may be benevolent without any such spontaneous movement. Chastity, again, may in some natures be accompanied by, and flow from, a delicacy of feeling which makes all unlawful suggestions impossible. Now, if these emotions were necessary to their respective virtues, we should have to admit that duty was less than virtue. But we must maintain that they are excellences which do not alter the moral character of conduct, and may be absent altogether and leave the agent as virtuous as if they were present. Some persons, indeed, would say that there was less virtue in characters which possessed these emotional endowments.... In themselves, they are not virtues in the ethical sense, but only 'add a lustre' to habits of will. They may even be ineffectual, as often happens with very good-natured persons, or they may be positively bad. Courage, for instance, we admire even in a villain. We may conclude, then, that these excellences of disposition are only valuable in so far as they are helps to virtue, and we praise the brave villain on account of a quality which is of the utmost importance for actual goodness. They enter into our ideal of the perfect or complete character, though, if we estimate our ideal ofperfection, we shall find, I think, that we attach less value to them when they are native than when they have been produced by a constant discipline."

It might seem, then, that we could classify duties under virtues. To a considerable extent such a classification is possible. But it must be imperfect, because there are duties—for example, filial duty, or the duty of casting one's vote in a political contest—which do not correspond to any general head of virtue, or may be ranked under several heads: and again, we may rank along with virtues which stand for duties qualities of conduct which do not correspond to duties in the same sense; as, for instance, in a list of heads of duties, wisdom and self-control. The enumeration mixes up two classifications, in the one of which we group observances together under certain heads, in the other of which we enumerate certain elements of good action in general, certain aspects which every good action presents, and we exhibit them as qualities in the agent's mind. The two classifications are combined in the ancient description of morality under the heads of wisdom, courage, temperance, and justice. The better classification is by moral institutions, where the moral life is already mapped out for us into its different parts. Such a scheme of classification will consider (a) the Individual, (b) the Family, (c) the Society, (d) the State; the fourth division including international duties, the third not being necessarily limited to a particular society, but extending to all mankind.

The previous description of morality supposes it to be stationary, and is like a section taken across the path of morality at any one time. It gives us no idea of the process and progress of morality. We have yet to show how the moral order is produced, and to examine the meaning and the law of moral progress.

As the moral organism may be compared to a species of which the various moral individuals are the members, so the moral ideal may be regarded as a species of which the various ideals in the minds of good men are the different individuals. We should thus expect to find the origin and growth of morality analogous to or, more strictly speaking, identical with, the growth of natural species.

"If an ultimate ideal were admissible, it would be impossible to assert that morality is essentially progressive." Morality, in the sense of an equilibrium, has at every stage a certain finality, in the sense that it is, for that stage, the ideal adjustment. But we cannot conceive of any ideal as final in the sense of stationary. The good is always ultimate but always in motion. "Moral progress admits of only two degrees of comparison, the superlative being identical with the positive." By "best" we do not imply a greater rightness in the ultimate condition, but only a highest development. Spencer's conception of the distinction between Absolute and Relative Ethics involves the conception of an ultimate "ideal congruity," or complete adaptation of man to his conditions, a mobile equilibrium including perfection as well as goodness, present choice being never between wrong and an absolute right, but always between two wrongs, the lesser of which is to have the preference. The picture is, in itself, perfectly legitimate; and in so far as Spencer "conceives that the only ideal is the absolutely right conduct, his conception is not only legitimate, but true." There is always, however, an absolute right that may be chosen; and "using the conception of a mobile equilibrium, we found it to be, not a goal of progress, but the meaning of goodness at any time." "The distinction of good and bad (right and wrong) arises within the limited range of conditions that are to be met by good action." That, as Sidgwick asserts, there is always some course of conduct which is right, the moral consciousness declares with certainty, and is thus against the relativity of morality. Mr. Spencer holds that any concomitant of pain makes an action wrong, therefore it is natural for him to regard all present morality as only relative. But to the good man the pleasure of doing right exceeds the possible attendant pains of an action; and except upon the understanding that, in a society of good men, every one will adjust himself with equanimity to the needs of others, not even the acts which are declared to be typical of absolutely right conduct can be free from concomitant pain. "Will the ideal state exhibit no competitions, such as rivalry in love, which can be ended indeed with the contentment of all persons, but assuredly not without attendant pain?"

The general error in theory on this subject lies in a misconception of the idea of "adjustment" to environment, the fact not being noted that the environment is not itself fixed and permanent.What the environment is depends upon the nature and faculties of the individual, the same environment being a different one for amœba and human being, for the blind man and the man possessing sight; and what environment is and what the individual does are settled at one and the same time, the process of selection being one from both sides, and the variation of both. The adaptation "wherever it exists and so far as it exists" is, hence, perfect adaptation; if the lower organism is adapted to its environment, its adaptation is as perfect as that of the higher organism to its environment.

Every successful life means adaptation. "Every animal which can maintain its life is in adaptation to its environment." The bare formula of adaptation means nothing more than the fact of existence. "Adaptation to the conditions as such teaches us nothing as to the nature of the organism; for all functions are reactions upon the conditions, and therefore, so far, adaptations. But it points to something behind. It means thatallthe functions of the animal are adapted to the conditions, and this means that its functions are adapted or adjusted to one another under the conditions."

"The moral ideal consists in a certain equilibrium established on the basis of certain conditions—wants and sentiments in moral agents." It involves advance just for this reason, because the act of adjustment implied in good conduct itself alters the sentiments of the agent, and creates new needs demanding a new satisfaction. The change is not always in the same direction, however; for cultivation in one direction may cause the individual to become aware of capacities or wants in quite another direction, or the advocacy of one side of a question, persevered in, may so open up the other side as to end in complete change of view. In any case, however, there is an enlargement of experience, and the old facts are themselves changed by it as well as are the individuals subject to it.

This change or adjustment leads to a maladjustment requiring a new adjustment. This maladjustment is to be distinguished from the reärrangements which are contemplated by the statical ideal and due to the mere rotation of wants in society; the latter are within the moral system as a system of mobile equilibrium. The maladjustment is of another sort. "The good act ceases to be good by its performance. The moral ideal ceases to satisfy."The two forms of change may be compared respectively to a shifting of position on the same locus, and to such a shifting of position as involves a shifting of locus. Thus, by change after change of this sort, a new variety replaces its parent, and this variety in time producing a fresh variety, there is finally reached a new species. Progress thus becomes a necessary fact, and the difference of so-called stationary societies from progressive ones can lie only in the comparative slowness of change.

"As there is a difference between different societies in rate of change, so there is a similar difference as between different parts of conduct." Law, a part of morality, lags behind in moral progress. However, there is nevertheless always advancement, otherwise legislators would be unnecessary. And the direct outward change of form is preceded by other change, laws which fall into disfavor by means of moral progress being modified, in application, within the possible limits of interpretation, and less and less rigidly enforced. There is good reason why law should have a certain permanence.

The moral standard appears to have a similar more or less fixed character, while morality itself is in continuous change. There are two reasons for this appearance: (1) the changes in the moral order are infinitesimal and not perceived by us except as accumulated through some period of time; and, moreover, what is commonly called the moral standard is only a kind of generalization from the extremely various opinions of different persons as to what is right, and differs from the real standard which "registers the conduct constituting equilibrium, and is possessed by the good man. Perfectly good men are impossible. The standard current is therefore nothing more than a common understanding, which every one, even every good man, expresses differently; it is no more an exact expression of the truth than is, let us say, a great scientific conception (like development) which regulates all knowledge, but is amongst the educated little more than the name of a general way of thinking, while the thing itself is becoming, at the hands of men of science, modified or even transformed." (2) The mistake is often made of describing morality, not by institutions, but in terms of virtues, and while the name applied to different virtues remains the same, their content changes from age to age.

This idea of variability affects the statical conception of orderwith regard to habit—the moral requirement being that the fixed habits of morality should not be so fixed as to be incapable of advancement; and with regard to conscience, of which it might be said that, instead of representing the moral order, it was more occupied in changing than in maintaining it, but which in reality thus represents the moral order, to which the ideal is a changing one.

Two difficulties or objections may arise with regard to this idea of a changing ideal. The progress has been represented by personifying the ideal and supposing the person to change with each new ideal. Again, "goodness consists, we saw, of a system of conduct in the individual himself or in society, and this system forms a series in time. It would seem to follow that, if goodness is always progressive, no second act would be performed under the same law, although the very idea of the law means a series of acts." But we are not to suppose that, if fifty good men in a society act rightly, fifty new ideals are established, for the ideal represents the equilibrium of the members of the society, and it depends on whether the new ideals of the fifty men represent the new equilibrium whether we shall call the persons good or bad. Again, the ideal at any moment would be in fact realized in a series, supposing the conditions did not alter meanwhile; and while the system of conduct is serial, it is realized at any one moment in the mind of the man whose sentiments correspond to its requirements.

"In this process we see exhibited the interplay of the element of goodness or rightness with that of perfection. In all actual goodness, we have perfection attained as well; but in the statical notion of goodness perfection is subordinate—only that exercise is perfect which is legitimate. But in the notion of progressive goodness, perfection regains its rights. For goodness, having secured perfection, creates new materials which destroy the old equilibrium and call for a new one. Goodness determines perfection, but change in perfection determines, therefore, changes in goodness." Morality is the creation of a better; this better is change from a lower to a higher development, not the growth of a greater rightness. All good conduct isabsolutelygood, and the good man of former days was as good as the good man of to-day, although he performed acts not allowable by the higher moral standard attained as highest development. Accordingly,there is no such thing as an absolute morality, in comparison with which other conduct is variable and relative. The relativity of good conduct, instead of being a reproach, is in reality its highest praise, for it implies that the conduct takes account of exactly those conditions to which it is meant to apply. This conception of morality as absolute runs into that of morality as an eternal and identical law: eternal, for the morality of given conditions remains eternally true for those conditions; identical, for although it cannot be called identical in the sense that virtues do not change with institutions, it is identical in form,—as an equilibrium of social forces in an order of conduct. The more important conception of the moral law is its unity in which, as the stages of one continuous law, its identity consists. "Progress is not mere destruction of the lower, but fulfilment."

In considering how morality arises, it would be erroneous to suppose that it comes into existence by an actual compromise. It arises through a process of continuous change, parts of which may be an insensible growth, parts the self-conscious adoption of a proposed new scheme. In the latter case, a slight reform may be adopted with but little opposition from members of the society other than the proposer, as meeting a recognized, common want; or, in the case of a more extended reform, the idea as first proposed may be long contended against, and only finally adopted after much alteration by reason of contact with such opposition. In its acceptance innumerable forces are combined, innumerable different motives determine its acceptation by different persons. Whatever the motive, however, the conduct of the person accepting it alters in accordance with its acceptation.

The chief importance of pleasure and pain lies in the part they take in such choice. They are "the tests of the act being suitable or the reverse to the character (in the widest sense) of the agent." If a reform does not suit the character, it will cause pain and urge to removal of the pain by resistance; and on the other hand, when the reform is accepted, it must be that it gives pleasure to the persons concerned. But in saying this we have to remember the distinction between ethical (or effective) and pathological (or incidental) pleasures and pains. The total reaction of character on a stimulus may be pleasurable, but this pleasure results from a mixture of pleasures and pains weighed against one another. This balancing of pleasures and pains is not reflective, but takesplace by a kind of intuitive act in which only subsequent reflection may be able to distinguish the elements. The pleasure or pain involved in acceptance or rejection is not the ground of acceptance or rejection. The cause of the acceptance or rejection is the nature of the reform itself, its congruity or incongruity with the natures of the persons accepting or rejecting it. "When the new ideal is definitely established, those who do not obey it are bad, those who do are good." Those who were good under the old may thus be bad under the new ideal, andvice versa.

The gradual reform through the choice of individuals who act upon their feelings without knowing the whole aim or bearing of their conduct is similar to that where a definite reform is the end in view. It is a gradual adjustment of wills under new conditions and represents the position of equilibrium which would be completely realized if all the society were good.

The new ideal is not to be defined as merely the will of the majority, the possession of a majority being nothing but the fact of its prevalence. The ground of prevalence is that it represents the equilibrium. "There is no virtue in mere preponderance; it is not that reforms follow the majority, but that a majority is attracted by a suitable reform."

A new ideal arises by a struggle of varieties analogous to that in the organic world,—the word "struggle" being metaphorical in both cases, since actual conflict is not necessary to either. "The distinction of good and bad corresponds to the domination of one variety... which has come to prevail in virtue of its being a social equilibrium," and thus representing suitability to all the conditions of life. Evil is simply that which has been rejected and defeated in the struggle with the good.

The reformer, as not representing the predominating ideal and so the social equilibrium, and the man who turns out to be bad by the new ideal, thus stand originally upon the same level. "Each is an instance of a variety of the original species, but the former is the successful variety"; his ideal "represents the real forces of society and can be adopted by the whole." The struggle is one of character and conduct, and results not necessarily in the extinction of life, but in the extinction of unsuitable ideals.

"The distinction of theformallybad from themateriallygood rests upon the transition from the old ideal to the new, though sometimes we use those terms as describing what is only legallywrong though morally approved. A reformer, until his reform is established, is formally wrong. He can be considered materially right only prospectively;... time only can prove whether he had really forecast the movement of his society." "Sometimes a society may be so divided, as in our civil war, that neither variety is predominant. In such a case we must say, not that there was no rule of right, but that there was a different rule for each of the two halves of the nation." "There does not arise any need for the distinction of formally and materially right conduct, until the limits have been overstepped, within which it is in any age considered right for a man to act upon his own conviction. These limits are placed very differently in different ages."

Does good action, then, depend on the bad man as well as on the good? "Good and evil arise together, and good is therefore always relative to evil, but we do not therefore take our morality from the bad. We cannot, in fact, know who is bad until the standard is created, but once created, we maintain it against bad men by punishment. But, on the other hand, the moral standard does depend upon the forces which, when allowed free play, are distinguished as bad.... A large part of conduct consists of precautions which it is not only legitimate but incumbent to take, but which we should dispense with under happier conditions.... And in a second way, morality depends on 'badness,' for when a habit of action which we dislike and call bad comes to be strong enough to make itself felt, we seek to satisfy its claims as reasonable. There is... no external standard by which we can settle once and for all what claims are legitimate and what are not. We derive our conception of the reasonableness of things from our experience of their vitality and effective powers. A wise man who thinks the feelings and beliefs of his neighbors ridiculous will, by persuasion or force, resist them with all his energies, but when he finds them persist in spite of all his efforts, he will recognize that there are more things in human nature than stir within the narrow limits of his own breast. If what we now call bad conduct, murder, adultery, theft, could be conceived to become predominant under greatly changed and of course impossible conditions, it would cease to be bad and would be the ideal of life."

From the view that morality depends upon victory, misconceptionsmay arise. The question may be asked: Should one, in case of doubt, follow one's own conviction, or join the side it is thought will prevail? But that good is created by predominance is a theory of the means by which ideals come into existence, not a statement of the motive of those who participate in the struggle. The struggle is between characters and their forces, and not victory is the end, but the assertion of certain principles.

"Interest or good in general is a different conception from the right or the morally good. Interest means what is good for an individual considered from his own point of view, and without regard to similar claims of other individuals. It is the maximum of happiness or satisfaction which he can secure under his conditions. By 'maximum happiness' is meant that distribution of satisfactions or of the energies which produce them, any deviation from which on either side implies a less fulness of life." It refers, however, to his good as a social, not as an isolated individual.

As a general rule, interest is in agreement with goodness; misdeeds are unprofitable. But there are instances where goodness and interest do not coincide, though not in the case of the good man. That virtue and interest are in general identical means, statically, that morality is a reconciliation of interests by which wants are satisfied, and is established by the creation of a new type of character, which has wants of only certain kinds; and, dynamically, it represents the fact that forces are arrayed on the side of the good which are too powerful for the bad. "Good is the victorious ideal"; and though we may say that it would really be to the bad man's interest to be bad, if circumstances were such that his variety could maintain itself, we may add that such hypothetical interests cannot be secured. However, interest does not coincide with morality—

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