And we have now only to express the proposition thatanythingthat has P, has also the property that P isinternalto it. The required expression isobviously as follows. Just as "Anything that has Q, has R" is to be expressed by
xQ *xR
so "Anything that has P, has also the property that P is internal to it" will be expressed by
xP * {yPentails (y x)}
or by
xP * {(v x) entailsyP}.
We have thus got, in the case of any particular property P, a means of expressing the proposition that it isinternaltoeveryterm that possesses it, which is both short and brings out clearly the notions that are involved in it. And we do not need, I think, any further special convention for symbolising the proposition thateveryrelational property is internal to any term which possesses it—the proposition, namely, which I called (2) above (pp.289,290), and which onp. 287, I called the most important consequence of the dogma of internal relations. We can express it simply enough as follows:—
(2) = "What we assert of P when we sayxP* {yPentails (y = x)} can be truly asserted of every relational property."
And now, for the purpose of comparing (2) with (1), and seeing exactly what is involved in my assertion that (2) does not follow from (1), let us try to express (1) by means of the same conventions.
Let us first take the assertion with regard to a particular thing A and a particular relational property P that, from the proposition that A has P itfollowsthat nothing which has not got P is identical with A. This is an assertion which is quite certainly true; since, if anything which had not got P were identical with A, it would follow thatAP; and from the proposition AP, it certainlyfollowsthatAPis false, and therefore also that "Somethingwhich has not got P is identical with A" is false, or that "Nothing which has not got P is identical with A" is true. And this assertion, in accordance with the conventions we have adopted, will be expressed
by
AP entails {xP* (x= A)}
We want, next, in order to express (1), a means of expressing with regard to a particular relational property P, the assertion that, from the proposition, with regard toanythingwhatever, that that thing has got P, itfollowsthat nothing which has not got P is identical with the thing in question. This also is an assertion which is quite certainly true; since it merely asserts (what is obviously true) that what
AP entails {xP* (x= A)}
asserts of A, can be truly asserted of anything whatever. And this assertion, in accordance with the conventions we have adopted, will be expressed by
xP entails {yP* (y= x)}.
The proposition, which I meant to call (1), but which I expressed before rather clumsily, can now be expressed by
(1) = "What we assert of P, when we say,
xP entails {yP* (y =x)}
can be truly asserted of every relational property." This is a proposition which is again quite certainly true; and, in order to compare it with (2), there is, I think, no need to adopt any further convention for expressing it, since the questions whether it is or is not different from (2), and whether (2) does or does not follow from it, will obviously depend on the same questions with regard to the two propositions, with regard to the particular relational property, P,
xP entails {yP* (y = x)}
and
xP * {yP entails (y = x)}
Now what I maintain with regard to (1) and (2) is that, whereas (1) is true, (2) is false. I maintain, that is to say, that the proposition "What we assert of P, when we say
xP * {yPentails (y = x)}.
is true ofeveryrelational property" is false, though I admit that what we here assert of P is true ofsomerelational properties. Those of which it is true, I propose to callinternalrelational properties, those of which it is falseexternalrelational properties. The dogma of internal relations, on the other hand, implies that (2) is true; that is to say, thateveryrelational property isinternaland that there are noexternalrelational properties. And what I suggest is that the dogma of internal relations has been held only because (2) has been falsely thought to follow from (1).
And that (2) does not follow from (1), can, I think, be easily seen as follows. It can follow from (1) only if from any proposition of the form
pentails (q*r)
there follows the corresponding proposition of the form
p* (qentailsr),
And that this is not the case can, I think, be easily seen by considering the following three propositions. Letp= "All the books on this shelf are blue," letq= "My copy of thePrinciples of Mathematicsis a book on this shelf," and letr= "My copy of thePrinciples of Mathematicsis blue." Nowphere does absolutelyentail(q * r). That is to say, it absolutely follows frompthat "My copy of thePrinciplesis on this shelf," and "My copy of thePrinciplesisnotblue," are not, as a matter of fact, both true. But it by no means follows from this thatp* (qentailsr). For what this latter proposition means is "It is not the case both thatpis true and that (qentailsr) is false." And, as amatter of fact, (qentailsr) is quite certainly false; for from the proposition "My copy of thePrinciplesis on this shelf" the proposition "My copy of thePrinciplesis blue" doesnotfollow. It is simply not the case that the second of these two propositions can be deduced from the firstby itself:it is simply not the case that it stands to it in the relation in which it does stand to the conjunctive proposition "All the books on this shelf are blueand,my copy of thePrinciplesis on this shelf." This conjunctive proposition really doesentail"My copy of thePrinciplesis blue." But "My copy of thePrinciplesis on this shelf,"by itselfquite certainly does not entail "My copy of the Principles is blue." It is simply not the case that my copy of the Principlescouldn'thave been on this shelf without being blue, (qentailsr) is, therefore, false. And hence "p* (qentailsr)," can only follow from "pentails (q*r)," if from this latter propositionpfollows. Butpquite certainly does not follow from this proposition: from the fact that (q * r) is deducible fromp, it does not in the least follow thatpis true. It is, therefore, clearly not the case that every proposition of the form
pentails (q * r)
entails the corresponding proposition of the form
p* {qentailsr},
since we have found one particular proposition of the first form which doesnotentail the corresponding proposition of the second.
To maintain, therefore, that (2) follows from (1) is mere confusion. And one source of the confusion is, I think, pretty plain. (1) does allow you to assert that, if AP is true, then the proposition "yP* {(y= A)}"mustbe true. What the "must" here expresses is merely that this proposition follows from AP, not that it is in itself a necessary proposition. But it is supposed, throughconfusion, that what is asserted is that it is not the case both that AP is true and that "yP* (y= A)" is not,in itself,a necessary proposition; that is to say, it is supposed that what is asserted is "AP + {yPentails (y= A)}"; since to say that "yP* (y= A)" is,in itself, a necessary proposition is the same thing as to say that "yPentails (y= A)" is also true. In fact it seems to me pretty plain that what is meant by saying of propositions of the form "xP *xQ" that they arenecessary(or "apodeictic") propositions, is merely that the corresponding proposition of the form "xP entailsxQ" is also true, "xPentailsxQ" is notitselfa necessary proposition; but, if "xP entailsxQ" istrue,then "xP *xQ" is a necessary proposition—and a necessary truth, since no false propositions are necessary in themselves. Thus what is meant by saying that "Whatever is a right angle, is also an angle" is a necessary truth, is, so far as I can see, simply that the proposition "(xis a right angle) entails (xis an angle)" is also true. This seems to me to give what has, in fact, been generally meant in philosophy by "necessary truths,"e.g.by Leibniz; and to point out the distinction between them and those true universal propositions which are "mere matters of fact." And if we want to extend the meaning of the name "necessary truth" in such a way that some singular propositions may also be said to be "necessary truths," we can, I think, easily do it as follows. We can say that AP is itself a necessary truth, if and only if the universal proposition "(x= A) *xP" (which, as we have seen, follows from AP) is a necessary truth: that is to say, if and only if (x= A) entailsxP. With this definition, what the dogma of internal relations asserts is that in every case in which a given thing actually has a given relational property, the factthat it has that property is a necessary truth; whereas what I am asserting is that, if the property in question is an "internal" property, then the fact in question will be a necessary truth, whereas if the property in question is "external," then the fact in question will be a mere "matter of fact."
So much for the distinction between (1) which is true, and (2), or the dogma of internal relations, which I hold to be false. But I said above, in passing, that my contention that (2) does not follow from (1), involves the rejection of certain views that have sometimes been held as to the meaning of "follows"; and I think it is worth while to say something about this.
It is obvious that the possibility of maintaining that (2) does not follow from (1), depends upon its being true that from "xP *xQ" the proposition "xP entailsxQ" does not follow. And this has sometimes been disputed, and is, I think, often not clearly seen.
To begin with, Mr. Russell, in thePrinciples of Mathematics(p. 34), treats the phrase "qcan be deduced fromp" as if it meant exactly the same thing as "p * q" or "pmaterially impliesq"; and has repeated the same error elsewhere,e.g.inPhilosophical Essays(p. 166), where he is discussing whathecalls the axiom of internal relations. And I am afraid a good many people have been led to suppose that, since Mr. Russell has said this, it must be true. If it were true, then, of course, it would be impossible to distinguish between (1) and (2), and it would follow that, since (1) certainly is true, what I am calling the dogma of internal relations is true too. But I imagine that Mr. Russell himself would now be willing to admit that, so far from being true, the statement that "qcan be deduced fromp" means the same as "p*q" is simply an enormous"howler"; and I do not think I need spend any time in trying to show that it is so.
But it may be held that, though "pentailsq" does not mean the same as "p * q," yet nevertheless from "xP *xQ" the proposition "xP entailsxQ" does follow, for a somewhat more subtle reason; and, if this were so, it would again follow that what I am calling the dogma of internal relations must be true. It may be held, namely, that though "AP entails AQ" does not mean simply "AP * AQ" yet what it does mean is simply the conjunction "AP * AQandthis proposition is an instance of a true formal implication" (the phrase "formal implication" being understood in Mr. Russell's sense, in which "xP *xQ" asserts a formal implication). This view as to what "AP entails AQ" means, has, for instance, if I understand him rightly, been asserted by Mr. O. Strachey inMind,N.S., 93. And the same view has been frequently suggested (though I do not know that he has actually asserted it) by Mr. Russell himself (e.g., Principia Mathematica,p. 21). If this view were true, then, though "xP entailsxQ" would not be identical in meaning with "xP *xQ," yet it would follow from it; since, if
xP *xQ
were true, then every particular assertion of the form AP * AQ, would not only be true, but would be an instance of a true formal implication (namely "xP *xQ") and this, according to the proposed definition, is all that "xP entailsxQ" asserts. If, therefore, it were true, it would again follow that all relational properties must be internal. But that this view also is untrue appears to me perfectly obvious. The proposition that I am in this room does "materially imply" that I am more than five years old, since both are true;and the assertion that it does is also an instance of a true formal implication, since it is in fact true that all the persons in this room are more than five years old; but nothing appears to me more obvious than that the second of these two propositions cannotbe deduced from the first—that the kind of relation which holds between the premisses and conclusion of a syllogism inBarbaradoesnothold between them. To put it in another way: it seems to me quite obvious that the properties "being a person in this room" and "being more than five years old" are not related in the kind of way in which "being a right angle"isrelated to "being an angle," and which we express by saying that, in the case of every term, the proposition that that term is an angle can be deduced from the proposition that it is a right angle.
These are the only two suggestions as to the meaning of "pentailsq" known to me, which, if true, would yield the result that (2) does follow from (1), and that therefore all relational properties are internal; and both of these, it seems to me, are obviously false. All other suggested meanings, so far as I know, would leave it true that (2) does not follow from (1), and therefore that I may possibly be right in maintaining that some relational properties are external. It might, for instance, be suggested that the last proposed definition should be amended as follows—that we should say: "pentailsq" means "p * q andthis proposition is an instance of a formal implication, which is not merely true butself-evident,like the laws of Formal Logic." This proposed definition would avoid the paradoxes involved in Mr. Strachey's definition, since such true formal implications as "all the persons in this room are more than five years old" are certainly notself-evident; and, so far as I. can see, it may state something which is in fact true ofpandq,whenever and only whenpentailsq.I do not myself think that it gives themeaningof "pentailsq," since the kind of relation which I see to hold between the premisses and conclusion of a syllogism seems to me to be one which is purely "objective" in the sense that no psychological term, such as is involved in the meaning of "self-evident," is involved in its definition (if it has one). I am not, however, concerned to dispute that some such definition of "pentailsq" as this may be true. Since it is evident that, even if it were, my proposition that "xP entailsxQ" doesnotfollow from "xP *xQ," would still be true; and hence also my contention that (2) does not follow from (1).
So much by way of arguing that we are not bound to hold that all relational properties are internal in the particular sense, with which we are now concerned, in which to say that they are means that in every case in which a thing A has a relational property, it follows from the proposition that a term hasnotgot that property that the term in question isotherthan A. But I have gone further and asserted that some relational properties certainly arenotinternal. And in defence of this proposition I do not know that I have anything to say but that it seems to me evident in many cases that a term whichhasa certain relational propertymightquite well not have had it: that, for instance, from the mere proposition that this is this, it by no means follows that this has to other things all the relations which it in fact has. Everybody, of course, must admit that if all the propositions which assert of it that it has these properties, do in fact follow from the proposition that this is this, we cannot see that they do. And so far as I can see, there is noreason of any kind for asserting that they do, except the confusion which I have exposed. But it seems to me further that we can see in many cases that the proposition that this has that relation doesnotfollow from the fact that it is this: that, for instance, the proposition that Edward VII was father of George Visamerematter of fact.
I want now to return for a moment to that other meaning of "internal," (p. 286) in which to say that P is internal to A means not merely that anything which had not P would necessarily beotherthan A, but that it would necessarily bequalitativelydifferent. I said that this was the meaning of "internal" in which the dogma of internal relations holds that all relational properties are "internal"; and that one of the most important consequences which followed from it, was that all relational properties are "internal" in the less extreme sense that we have just been considering. But, if I am not mistaken, there is another important consequence which also follows from it, namely, the Identity of Indiscernibles. For if it be true, in the case of every relational property, that any term which had net that property would necessarily be qualitatively different from any which had, it follows of course that, in the case of two terms one of which has a relational property, which the other has not the two are qualitatively different. But, from the proposition thatxis other thany,itdoesfollow thatxhas some relational property whichyhas not; and hence, if the dogma of internal relations be true, it will follow that ifxis other thany, xis always also qualitatively different fromy,which is the principle of Identity of Indiscernibles. This is, of course, a further objection to the dogma of internal relations, since I think it is obvious that the principle of Identity of Indiscernibles is not true. Indeed, so far as I can see, the dogma of internal relations essentially consists in the joint assertion oftwo indefensible propositions: (1) the proposition that in the case of no relational property is it true of any term which has got that property, that itmightnot have had it and (2) the Identity of Indiscernibles.
I want, finally, to say something about the phrase which Mr. Russell uses in thePhilosophical Essaysto express the dogma of internal relations. He says it may be expressed in the form "Every relation is grounded in the natures of the related terms" (p. 160). And it can be easily seen, if the account which I have given be true, in what precise sense it does hold this. Mr. Russell is uncertain as to whether by "the nature" of a term is to be understood the term itself or something else. For my part it seems to me that by a term's nature is meant, not the term itself, but what may roughly be called all its qualities as distinguished from its relational properties. But whichever meaning we take, it will follow from what I have said, that the dogma of internal relations does imply that every relational property which a term has is, in a perfectly precise sense,groundedin its nature. It will follow that every such property isgroundedinthe term,in the sense that, in the case of every such property, itfollowsfrom the mere proposition that that term is that term that it has the property in question. And it will also follow that any such property is grounded in the qualities which the term has, in the sense, that if you takeallthe qualities which the term has, it will again follow in the case of each relational property, from the proposition that the term hasallthose qualities that it has the relational property in question; since this is implied by the proposition that in the case of any such property, any term which had not had it would necessarily have been different in quality from the term in question. In both of these two senses, then, the dogma ofinternal relations does, I think, imply that every relational property is grounded in the nature of every term which possesses it; and in this sense that proposition is false. Yet it is worth noting, I think, that there is another sense of "grounded" in which it may quite well be true that every relational propertyisgrounded in the nature of any term which possesses it. Namely that, in the case of every such property, the term in question has some qualitywithoutwhich it could not have had the property. In other words that the relational propertyentailssome quality in the term, though no quality in the termentailsthe relational property.
I should like, if I can, to interest you to-night in one particular question about Moral Philosophy. It is a question which resembles most philosophical questions, in respect of the fact that philosophers are by no means agreed as to what is the right answer to it: some seem to be very strongly convinced that one answer is correct, while others are equally strongly convinced of the opposite. For my own part I do feel some doubt as to which answer is the right one, although, as you will see, I incline rather strongly to one of the two alternatives. I should like very much, if I could, to find some considerations which seemed to me absolutely convincing on the one side or the other; for the question seems to me in itself to be an exceedingly interesting one.
I have said that the question is a questionaboutMoral Philosophy; and it seems to me in fact to be a very large and general question which affects the whole of Moral Philosophy. In asking it, we are doing no less than asking what it is that people are doing when they study Moral Philosophy at all: we are asking what sort of questions it is which it is the business of Moral Philosophy to discuss and try to find the right answer to. But I intend, for the sake of simplicity, to confine myself to asking it in two particular instances. Moral Philosophy has, in fact,to discuss a good many different ideas; and though I think this same question may be raised with regard to them all, I intend to pick out two, which seem to me particularly fundamental, and to ask it with regard to them only.
My first business must be to explain what these two ideas are.
The name Moral Philosophy naturally suggests that what is meant is a department of philosophy which has something to do with morality. And we all understand roughly what is meant by morality. We are accustomed to the distinction between moral good and evil, on the one hand, and what is sometimes called physical good and evil on the other. We all make the distinction between a man's moral character, on the one hand, and his agreeableness or intellectual endowments, on the other. We feel that to accuse a man of immoral conduct is quite a different thing from accusing him merely of bad taste or bad manners, or from accusing him merely of stupidity or ignorance. And no less clearly we distinguish between the idea of being under a moral obligation to do a thing, and the idea of being merely under a legal obligation to do it. It is a commonplace that the sphere of morality is much wider than the sphere of law: that we are morally bound to do and avoid many things, which are not enjoined or forbidden by the laws of our country; and it is also sometimes held that, if a particular law is unjust or immoral, it may even be a moral duty to disobey it—that is to say that there may be a positive conflict between moral and legal obligation; and the mere fact that this is held, whether truly or falsely, shows, at all events, that the one idea is quite distinct from the other.
The name Moral Philosophy, then, naturally suggests that it is a department of philosophy concerned with morality in this common sense.And it is, in fact, true that one large department of Moral Philosophy is so concerned. But it would be a mistake to think that the whole subject isonlyconcerned with morality. Another important department of it is, as I shall try to show, concerned with ideas which arenotmoral ideas, in this ordinary sense, though, no doubt, they may have something to do with them. And of the two ideas which I propose to pick out for discussion, while one of them is a moral idea, the other belongs to that department of Moral Philosophy, which is not concerned solely with morality, and is not, I think, properly speaking, a moral idea at all.
Let us begin with the one of the two, which is a moral idea.
The particular moral idea which I propose to pick out for discussion is the one which I have called above the idea of moral obligation—the idea of being morally bound to act in a particular way on a particular occasion. But what is, so far as I can see, precisely the same idea is also called by several other names. To say that I am under a moral obligation to do a certain thing is, I think, clearly to say the same thing as what we commonly express by saying that I ought to do it, or that it is my duty to do it. That is to say, the idea of moral obligation is identical with the idea of the moral "ought" and with the idea of duty. And it also seems at first sight as if we might make yet another identification.
The assertion that I ought to do a certain thing seems as if it meant much the same as the assertion that it would be wrong of menotto do the thing in question: at all events it is quite clear that, whenever it is my duty to do anything, it would be wrong of me not to do it, and that whenever it would be wrong of me to do anything, then it is my duty to refrain from doing it. In the case of these two ideas, the idea of what is wrong, and the idea of what is my duty or what I ought to do, differentviews may be taken as to whether the one is more fundamental than the other, or whether both are equally so; and on the question:Ifone of the two is more fundamental than the other, which of the two is so? Thus some people would say, that the idea of "wrong" is the more fundamental, and that the idea of "duty" is to be defined in terms of it: that, in fact, the statement "It is my duty to keep that promise" merely means "It would be wrong of me not to keep it"; and the statement "It is my duty not to tell a lie" merely means "It would be wrong of me to tell one." Others again would apparently say just the opposite: that duty is the more fundamental notion, and "wrong" is to be defined in terms of it. While others perhaps would hold that neither is more fundamental than the other; that both are equally fundamental, and that the statement "it would be wrong to do so and so" is only equivalent to, not identical in meaning with, "I ought not to do it." But whichever of these three views be the true one, there is, I think, no doubt whatever about the equivalence notion of the two ideas; and no doubt, therefore, that whatever answer be given to the question I am going to raise about the one, the same answer must be given to the corresponding question about the other.
The moral idea, then, which I propose to discuss, is the idea of duty or moral obligation, or, what comes to the same thing, the idea of what is wrong—morally wrong. Everybody would agree that this idea—or, to speak more accurately, one or both of these two ideas—is among the most fundamental of our moral ideas, whether or not they would admit that all others, for example the ideas of moral goodness, involve a reference to this one in their definition, or would hold that we have some others which are independent of it, and equally fundamental with it.
But there is a good deal of difficulty in getting clear as to what this idea of moral obligation itself is. Is there in fact only one idea which we call by this name? Or is it possible that on some occasions when we say that so and so is a duty, we mean something different by this expression from what we do on others? And that similarly when we say that so and so is morally wrong, we sometimes use this name "morally wrong" for one idea and sometimes for another; so that one and the same thing may be "morally wrong" in one sense of the word, and yetnotmorally wrong in another? I think, in fact, there are two different senses in which we use these terms; and to point out the difference between them, will help to bring out clearly more the nature of each. And I think perhaps the difference can be brought out most clearly by considering the sort of moral rules with which we are all of us familiar.
Everybody knows that moral teachers are largely concerned in laying down moral rules, and in disputing the truth of rules which have been previously accepted. And moral rules seem to consist, to a very large extent, in assertions to the effect that it is always wrong to do certain actions or to refrain from doing certain others; or (what comes to the same thing) that it is always your duty to refrain from certain actions, and positively to do certain others. The Ten Commandments for example, are instances of moral rules; and most of them are examples of what are called negative rules—that is to say rules which assert merely that it is wrong to do certain positive actions, and therefore our duty to refrain from these actions; instead of rules which assert of certain positive actions, that it is our duty to do them and therefore wrong to refrain from doing them. The fifth commandment, which tells us to honourour father and mother, is apparently an exception; it seems to be a positive rule. It is not, like the others, expressed in the negative form "Thou shaltnotdo so and so," and it is apparently really meant to assert that we ought to do certain positive actions, not merely that there are some positive action from which we ought to refrain. The difference between this one and the rest will thus serve as an example of the difference between positive and negative moral rules, a difference which is sometimes treated as if it were of great importance. And I do not wish to deny that there may be some important difference between seeing only that certain positive actions are wrong, and seeing also that, in certain cases, to refrain from doing certain actions is just as wrong as positively to do certain others. But this distinction between positive and negative rules is certainly of much less importance than another which is, I think, liable to be confused with it. So far as this distinction goes it is only a distinction between an assertion that it is wrong to do a positive action and an assertion that it is wrong to refrain from doing one: and each of these assertions is equivalent to one which asserts a duty—the first with an assertion that it is a duty to refrain, the second with an assertion that a positive action is a duty. But there is another distinction between some moral rules and others, which is of much greater importance than this one, and which does, I think, give a reason for thinking that the term "moral obligation" is actually used in different senses on different occasions.
I have said that moral rules seem to consist,to a large extent, in assertions to the effect that it is always wrong to do certainactionsor to refrain from doing certain others, or the equivalent assertions in terms of duty. But there is a largeclass of moral rules, with which we are all of us very familiar, which do not come under this definition. They are rules which are concerned not with ouractions, in the natural sense of the word, but with our feelings, thoughts and desires. An illustration of this kind of rule can again be given from the Ten Commandments. Most of the ten, as we all know, are concerned merely with actions; but the tenth at least is clearly an exception. The tenth says "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house, nor his wife, nor his servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is his," and, unless "covet" is merely a mistranslation of a word which stands for some kind of action, we plainly have here a rule which is concerned with ourfeelingsand not with our actions. And one reason which makes the distinction between rules of this kind and rules concerned with actions important, is that our feelings are not, as a rule, directly within the control of our will in the sense in which many of our actions are. I cannot, for instance, by any single act of will directly prevent from arising in my mind a desire for something that belongs to some one else, even if, when once the desire has arrived, I can by my will prevent its continuance; and even this last I can hardly dodirectlybut only by forcing myself to attend to other considerations which may extinguish the desire. But though I thus cannot prevent myself altogether from coveting my neighbour's possessions, I can altogether prevent myself from stealing them. The action of stealing, and the feeling of covetousness, are clearly on a very different level in this respect. The action isdirectlywithin the control of my will, whereas the feeling is not.IfI will not to take the thing (though of course some people may find a great difficulty in willing this) it does in general follow directly that I do not take it;whereas, it I will not to desire it, it emphatically does not, even in general, follow directly that no desire for it will be there. This distinction between the way in which our feelings and our actions are under the control of our wills is, I think, a very real one indeed; we cannot help constantly recognising that it exists. And it has an important bearing on the distinction between those moral rules which deal with actions and those which deal with feelings, for the following reason. The philosopher Kant laid down a well-known proposition to the effect that "ought" implies "can": that is to say, that it cannot be true that you "ought" to do a thing, unless it is true that youcoulddo it,ifyou chose. And as regards one of the senses in which we commonly use the words "ought" and "duty," I think this rule is plainly true. When we say absolutely of ourselves or others, "I ought to do so and so" or "you ought to," we imply, I think, very often that the thing in question is a thing which wecoulddo,ifwe chose; though of course it may often be a thing which it is very difficult to choose to do. Thus it is clear that I cannot truly say of anyone that he ought to do a certain thing, if it is a thing which it is physically impossible for him to do, however desirable it may be that the thing should be done. And in this sense it is clear that it cannot be truly said of me that I ought not to have a certain feeling, or that I ought not to have had it, if it is a feeling which I could not, by any effort of my will, prevent myself from having. The having or the prevention of a certain feeling is not, of course, strictly ever aphysicalimpossibility, but it is very often impossible, in exactly the same sense, in which actions are physically impossible—that is to say that I could not possibly get it or prevent it, even if I would. But this being so, it is plain that such a moral rule as that I ought notto covet my neighbour's possessions is, if it means to assert that I ought not, in that sense in which "ought" implies "can," a rule which cannot possibly be true. What it appears to assert is, absolutely universally, ofeveryfeeling of covetousness, that the feeling in question is one which the person who felt itoughtnot to have felt. But in fact a very large proportion of such feelings (I am inclined to say the vast majority) are feelings which the person who felt them could not have prevented feeling, if he would: they were beyond the control of his will. And hence it is quite emphaticallynottrue that none of these feelingsoughtto have been felt, if we are using "ought" in the sense which implies that the person who felt themcouldhave avoided them. So far from its being true that absolutelynoneof them ought to have been felt, this is only true of those among them, probably a small minority, which the person who felt themcouldhave avoided feeling. If, therefore, moral rules with regard to feelings are to have a chance of beingnearlytrue, we must understand the "ought" which occurs in them in some other sense. But with moral rules that refer to actions the case is very different. Take stealing for example. Here again what the Eighth Commandment appears to imply is that absolutely every theft which has ever occurred was an act which the agent ought not to have done; and, if the "ought" is the one which implies "can," it implies, therefore, that every theft was an act which the agent, if he had chosen, could have avoided. And this statement that every theft which has been committed was an act which the thief,ifhe had so willed, could have avoided, though it may be doubted if it is absolutely universally true, is not a statement which is clearly absurd, like the statement that every covetous desire could have been avoided by the will of theperson who felt it. It is probable that the vast majority of acts of theft have been acts which it was in the power of the thief to avoid, if he had willed to do so; whereas this is clearly not true of the vast majority of covetous desires. It is, therefore, quite possible that those who believe we ought never to steal are using "ought" in a sense which implies that stealing alwayscouldhave been avoided; whereas it is I think quite certain that many of those who believe that we ought to avoid all covetous desires, do not believe for a moment that every covetous desire that has ever been felt was a desire which the person who felt it could have avoided feeling, if he had chosen. And yet they certainly do believe, in some sense or other, that no covetous desireoughtever to have been felt. The conclusion is, therefore, it seems to me, unavoidable that we do use "ought," the moral "ought," in two different senses; the one a sense in which to say that I ought to have done so and so does really imply that I could have done it, if I had chosen, and the other a sense in which it carries with it no such implication. I think perhaps the difference between the two can be expressed in this way. If we express the meaning of the first "ought," the one which does imply "can," by saying that "I ought to have done so and so" means "It actuallywasmy duty to do it"; we can express the meaning of the second by saying thate.g."I ought not to have felt so and so" meansnot"itwasmy duty to avoid that feeling," but "itwouldhave been my duty to avoid it,ifI had been able." And corresponding to these two meanings of "ought" we should, I think, probably distinguish two different sorts of moral rules, which though expressed in the same language, do in fact mean very different things. The one is a set of rules which assert (whether truly or falsely) that it always actuallyisa duty to do orto refrain from certain actions, and assert therefore that it always is in the power of the agent's will to do or to refrain from them; whereas the other sort only assert that so and sowouldbe a duty, if itwerewithin our power, without at all asserting that it always is within our power.
We may, perhaps, give a name to the distinction I mean, by calling the first kind of rules—those which do assert that something actually is a duty—"rules of duty," and by calling the second kind—those which recommend or condemn something not in the control of our wills—"ideal rules": choosing this latter name because they can be said to inculcate a moral "ideal"—something the attainment of which is not directly within the power of our wills. As a further example of the difference between ideal rules and rules of duty we may take the famous passage from the New Testament (Luke 6, 27) "Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use you." Of these four rules, the three last may be rules of duty, because they refer to things which are plainly, as a rule, at least, in the power of your will; but the first, if "love" be understood in its natural sense as referring to your feelings, is plainly only an "ideal" rule, since such feelings are obviously not directly under our own control, in the same way in which such actions as doing good to, blessing or praying for a person are so. To love certain people, or to feel no anger against them, is a thing which it is quite impossible to attain directly by will, or perhaps ever to attain completely at all. Whereas your behaviour towards them is a matter within your own control: even if you hate a person, or feel angry with him, you can so control yourself as not to do him harm, and even to confer benefits upon him. To do good to your enemies may, then, really be your duty; but itcannot, in the strict sense, be your duty not to have evil feelings towards them: all that can possibly be true is that it would be your duty if you were able. Yet I think there can be no doubt that what Christ meant to condemn was the occurrence of such feelings altogether; and since, if what he meant to assert about them in condemning them, would have been certainly false, if he had meant to say that youcouldavoid ever feeling them, I think it is clear that what he meant to assert wasnotthis, or not this only, but something else, which may quite possibly be true. That is to say, he was asserting an ideal rule, not merely a rule of duty.
It will be seen that this distinction which I am making coincides, roughly at all events, with the distinction which is often expressed as the distinction between rules which tell you what you ought tobeand rules which tell you merely what you ought todo; or as the distinction between rules which are concerned with your inner life—with your thoughts and feelings—and those which are concerned only with your external actions. The rules which are concerned with what you ought tobeor with your inner life are, for the most part at all events, "ideal" rules; while those which are concerned with what you ought to do or your external actions are very often, at least, rules of duty. And it is often said that one great difference between the New Testament and the Old is its comparatively greater insistence on "ideal" rules—upon a change of heart—as opposed to mere rules of duty. And that there is a comparatively greater insistence on ideal rules I do not wish to deny. But that there are plenty of ideal rules in the Old Testament too must not be forgotten. I have already given an example from the Ten Commandments: namely the rule which says you ought not to covet anything which belongs to your neighbour. And another issupplied by the Old Testament commandment, "Love thy neighbour as thyself," if by "love" is here meant a feeling which is not within our own control, and not merely that the Jew is tohelpother Jews by his external actions. Indeed, however great may be the difference between the Old Testament and the New in respect of comparative insistence on ideal rules rather than rules of duty, I am inclined to think that there is at least as great a difference, illustrated by this very rule, in another, quite different, respect—namely in the kind of rules,both ideal and of duty,which are insisted on. For whereas by "thy neighbour" in the Old Testament there is plainly meant only other Jews, and it is not conceived either that it is the duty of a Jew to help foreigners in general, or an ideal for him to love them; in the New Testament, where the same words are used, "my neighbour" plainly is meant to include all mankind. And this distinction between the view that beneficent action and benevolent feelings should be confined to those of our own nation, and the view that both should be extended equally to all mankind,—a distinction which has nothing to do with the distinction between being and doing, between inner and outer, but affects both equally—is, I am inclined to think, at least as important a difference between New Testament and Old, as the comparatively greater insistence on "ideal" rules. However, the point upon which I want at present to insist is the distinction between ideal rules and rules of duty. Both kinds are commonly included among moral rules, and, as my examples have shown, are often mentioned together as if no great difference were seen between them. What I want to insist on is that there is a great difference between them: that whereas rules of duty do directly assert of the idea of duty, in the sense in which to say that something is your duty impliesthat youcando it, that certain things are duties, the "ideal" rules donotassert this, but something different. Yet the "ideal" rules certainly do, in a sense, assert a "moral obligation." And hence we have to recognise that the phrase "moral obligation" is not merely a name for one idea only, but for two very different ideas; and the same will, of course, be true of the corresponding phrase "morally wrong."
When, therefore, I say that the idea of "moral obligation" is one of the fundamental ideas with which Moral Philosophy is concerned, I think we must admit that this one name really stands for two different ideas. But it does not matter for my purpose which of the two you take. Each of them is undoubtedly a moral idea, and whatever answer be given to the question we are going to raise about the one, will also certainly apply to the other.
But it is now time to turn to the other idea, with which I said that Moral Philosophy has been largely concerned, though it is not, strictly speaking, a moral idea, at all.
And I think, perhaps, a good way of bringing out what this idea is, is to refer to the Ethics of Aristotle. Everybody would admit that the fundamental idea, with which Aristotle's Ethics is concerned, is an idea which it is the business of Moral Philosophy to discuss; and yet I think it is quite plain that this idea is not a moral idea at all. Aristotle does not set out from' the idea of moral obligation or duty (indeed throughout his treatise he only mentions this idea quite incidentally); nor even from the idea of moral goodness or moral excellence, though he has a good deal more to say about that; but from the idea of what he calls "the human good," or "good for man." He starts by raising the question what the good for manis,and his whole book is arranged in the form of giving a detailed answer tothat question. And I think we can gather pretty well what the idea is, which he calls by this name, by considering what he says about it. There are two points, in particular, which he insists upon from the outset: first, that nothing can be good, in the sense he means, unless it is something which is worth having for its own sake, and not merely for the sake of something else; it must be goodin itself; it must not, like wealth (to use one example which he gives) be worth having merely for the sake of what you can do with it; it must be a thing which is worth having even if nothing further comes of it. And secondly (what partly covers the former, but also, I think, says something more) it must, he says, be something that is "self-sufficient": something which, even if you had nothing else would make your life worth having. And further light is thrown upon his meaning when he comes to tell you what he thinks the good for man is: the good, he says, is "mental, activity—where such activity is of an excellent kind, or, if there are several different kinds of excellent mental activity, that which has the best and most perfect kind of excellence; and also" (he significantly adds) "mental activity which lasts through a sufficiently long life." The word which I have here translated "excellence" is what is commonly translated "virtue"; but it does not mean quite the same as we mean by "virtue," and that in a very important respect. "Virtue" has come to mean exclusivelymoralexcellence; and if that were all Aristotle meant, you might think that what he means by "good" came very near being a moral idea. But it turns out that he includes among "excellences," intellectual excellence, and even that he thinks that the best and most perfect excellence of which he speaks is a particular kind of intellectual excellence, which no one would think of calling a moral quality, namely, the sort of excellence whichmakes a man a good philosopher. And as for the word which I have translated "activity," the meaning of this can be best brought out by mentioning the reason which Aristotle himself gives for saying that mere excellence itself is not (as some of the Greeks had said) the good for man. He says, truly enough, that a man may possess the greatest excellence—he may be a very excellent man—even when he is asleep, or is doing nothing; and he points out that the possession of excellence when you are asleep is not a thing that is desirablefor its own sake—obviously only for the sake of the effects it may produce when you wake up. It is not therefore, he thinks, mere mental excellence, but theactive exerciseof mental excellence—the state of a man's mind, when he not only possesses excellent faculties, moral or intellectual, but is actively engaged in using them, which really constitutes the human good.
Now, when Aristotle talks of "the good for man," there is, I think, as my quotation is sufficient to show, a certain confusion in his mind between what isgoodfor man and what isbestfor man. What he really holds is thatanymental activity which exhibits excellence and is pleasurable isagood; and when he adds that, if there are many excellences,thegood must be mental activity which exhibits thebestof them, and that it must last through a sufficiently long life, he only means that this is necessary if a man is to get thebesthe can get, not that this is theonlygood he can get. And the idea which I wish to insist on is not, therefore, the idea of "thehuman good," but the more fundamental idea of "good "; the idea, with regard to which he holds that the working of our minds in some excellent fashion is the only good thing that any of us can possess; and the idea of which "better" is the comparative, when he says that mental activitywhich exhibits some sorts of excellence isbetterthan mental activity which exhibits others, though both are good, and that excellent mental activity continued over a longer time isbetterthan the same continued for a shorter. This idea of what is "good," in the sense in which Aristotle uses it in these cases, is an idea which we all of us constantly use, and which is certainly an idea which it is the business of Moral Philosophy to discuss, though it is not a moral idea. The main difficulty with regard to it is to distinguish it clearly from other senses in which we use the same word. For, when we say that a thing is "good," or one thing "better" than another, we by no means always mean that it is better in this sense. Often, when we call a thing good we are not attributing to it any characteristic which it would possessif it existed quite alone,and if nothing further were to come of it; but are merely saying of it that it is a sort of thing from which other good things do in fact come, or which is such that, when accompanied by other things, the whole thus formed is "good" in Aristotle's sense, although, by itself, it is not. Thus a man may be "good," and his character may be "good," and yet neither are "good" in this fundamental sense, in which goodness is a characteristic which a thing would possess, if it existed quite alone. For, as Aristotle says, a good man may exist, and may have a good character, even when he is fast asleep; and yet if there were nothing in the Universe but good men, with good characters, all fast asleep, there would be nothing in it which was "good" in the fundamental sense with which we are concerned. Thus "moral goodness," in the sense of good character, as distinguished from the actual working of a good character in various forms of mental activity, is certainly not "good" in the sense in which good means "good for its ownsake." And even with regard to the actual exercise of certain forms of moral excellence, it seems to me that in estimating the value of such exercise relatively to other things, we are apt to take into account, not merely its intrinsic value—the sort of value which it would possess, if it existed quite alone—but also its effects: we rate it higher than we should do if we were considering only its intrinsic value, because we take into account the other good things which we know are apt to flow from it. Certain things which have intrinsic value are distinguished from others, by the fact that more good consequences are apt to flow from them; and where this is the case, we are apt, I think, quite unjustly, to think that their intrinsic value must be higher too. One thing, I think, is clear about intrinsic value—goodness in Aristotle's sense—namely that it is only actual occurrences, actual states of things over a certain period of time—not such things as men, or characters, or material things, that can have any intrinsic value at all. But even this is not sufficient to distinguish intrinsic value clearly from other sorts of goodness: since even in the case of actual occurrences, we often call them good or bad for the sake of their effects or their promise of effects. Thus we all hope that the state of things in England, as a whole, will really be better some day than it has been in the past—that there will be progress and improvement: we hope, for instance, that, if we consider the whole of the lives lived in England during some year in the next century, it may turn out that the state of things, as a whole, during that year will be really better than it ever has been in any past year. And when we use "better" in this way—in the sense in which progress or improvement means a change to abetterstate of things—we are certainly thinking partly of a state of things which has a greaterintrinsic value. And we certainly do not mean by improvement merelymoralimprovement. An improvement in moral conditions, other things being equal, may no doubt be a gain in intrinsic value; but we should certainly hold that, moral conditions being equal, there is yet room for improvement in other ways—in the diminution of misery and purely physical evils, for example. But in considering the degree of a real change for the better in intrinsic value, there is certainly danger of confusion between the degree in which the actual lives lived are really intrinsically better, and the degree in which there is improvement merely in themeansfor living a good life. If we want to estimate rightly what would constitute an intrinsic improvement in the state of things in our imagined year next century, and whether it would on the whole be really "good" at all, we have to consider what value it would have if it were to be the last year of life upon this planet; if the world were going to come to an end, as soon as it was over; and therefore to discount entirely all the promises it might contain of future goods. This criterion for distinguishing whether the kind of goodness which we are attributing to anything is really intrinsic value or not, the criterion which consists in considering whether it is a characteristic which the thing would possess, if it were to have absolutely no further consequences or accompaniments, seems to me to be one which it is very necessary to apply if we wish to distinguish clearly between different meanings of the word "good." And it is only the idea of what is good, where by "good" is meant a characteristic which has this mark, that I want now to consider.
The two ideas, then, with regard to which I want to raise a question, are first the moral idea of "moral obligation" or "duty," and secondly the non-moral idea of "good" in this special sense.
And the question with regard to them, which I want to raise, is this. With regard to both ideas many philosophers have thought and still think—not onlythink, but seem to be absolutely convinced, that when we apply them to anything—when we assert of any action that it ought not to have been done, or of any state of things that it was or would be good or better than another, then itmustbe the case thatallthat we are asserting of the thing or things in question is simply and solely that some person or set of persons actually does have, or has a tendency to have a certain sort of feeling towards the thing or things in question: that there is absolutely no more in it than this. While others seem to be convinced, no less strongly, that thereismore in it than this: that when we judge that an action is a duty or is really wrong, we arenotmerely making a judgment to the effect that some person or set of persons, have, or tend to have a certain sort of feeling, when they witness or think of such actions, and that similarly when we judge that a certain state of things was or would be better than another, we arenotmerely making a judgment about the feelings which some person or set of persons would have, in witnessing or thinking of the two states of things, or in comparing them together. The question at issue between these two views is often expressed in other less clear forms. It is often expressed as the question whether the ideas of duty and of good or value, are or are not, "objective" ideas: as the problem as to the "objectivity" of duty and intrinsic value. The first set of philosophers would maintain that the notion of the "objectivity" of duty and of value is a mere chimera; while the second would maintain that these ideas really are "objective." And others express it as the question whether the ideas of duty and of good are "absolute" or purely "relative": whether there is any such thing as an absolute duty or an absolute good, or whether good and duty are purely relative to human feelings and desires. But both these ways of expressing it are, I think, apt to lead to confusion. And another even less clear way in which it is put is by asking the question: Is the assertion that such and such a thing is a duty, or has intrinsic value, evera dictate of reason?But so far as I can gather, the question really at issue, and expressed in these obscure ways, is the one which I have tried to state. It is the question whether when we judge (whether truly or falsely) that an action is a duty or a state of things good,allthat we are thinking about the action or the state of things in question, is simply and solely that we ourselves or others have or tend to have a certain feeling towards it when we contemplate or think of it. And the question seems to me to be of great interest, because, if this is all, then it is evident that all the ideas with which Moral Philosophy is concerned are merely psychological ideas; and all moral rules, and statements as to what is intrinsically valuable, merely true or false psychological statements; so that the whole of Moral Philosophy and Ethics will be merely departments of Psychology. Whereas, if the contrary is the case, then these two ideas of moral obligation and intrinsic value, will be no more purely psychological ideas than are the ideas of shape or size or number; and Moral Philosophy will be concerned with characteristics of actions and feelings and states of affairs, which these actions and feelings and states of affairs would or might have possessed, even if human psychology had been quite different from what it is.
Which, then, of these two views is the true one? Are these two ideas merely psychological ideas in the sense which I have tried to explain, or are they not?
As I have said, I feel some doubts myself whether they are or not: it does not seem to me to be a matter to dogmatize upon. But I am strongly inclined to think that they are not merely psychological; that Moral Philosophy and Ethics are not mere departments of Psychology. In favour of the view that the two ideas in question are merely psychological, there is, so far as I am aware, nothing whatever to be said, except that so many philosophers have been absolutely convinced that they are. None of them seem to me to have succeeded in bringing forward a single argument in favour of their view. And against the view that they are, there seem to me to be some quite definite arguments, though I am not satisfied that any of these arguments are absolutely conclusive. I will try to state briefly and clearly what seem to me the main arguments against the view that these are merely psychological ideas; although, in doing so, I am faced with a certain difficulty. For though, as I have said, many philosophers are absolutely convinced, that "duty" and "good" do merely stand for psychological ideas, they are by no means agreedwhatthe psychological ideas are for which they stand. Different philosophers have hit on very different ideas as being the ideas for which they stand; and this very fact that, if theyarepsychological ideas at all, it is so difficult to agree as towhatideas they are, seems to me in itself to be an argument against the view that they are so.
Let me take each of the two ideas separately, and try to exhibit the sort of objection there seems to be to the view that it is merely a psychological idea.
Take first the idea of moral obligation. What purely psychological assertion can I be making about an action, when I assert that it was "wrong," that it ought not to have been done?
In this case, one view, which is in some ways the most plausible that can be taken, is that in every case I am merely making an assertion about my own psychology. But what assertion about my own psychology can I be making? Let us take as an example, the view of Prof. Westermarck, which is as plausible a view of this type as any that I know of. He holds that what I am judging when I judge an action to be wrong, is merely that it is of a sort whichtendsto excite in me a peculiar kind of feeling—the feeling of moral indignation or disapproval. He does not say that what I am judging is that the action in questionis actuallyexciting this feeling in me. For it is obviously not true that, when I judge an action to be much more wrong than another, I am always actually feeling much indignation at the thought of either, or much more indignation at the thought of the one than at that of the other; and it is inconceivable that I should constantly be making so great a mistake as to my own psychology, as to think that I am actually feeling great indignation when I am not. But he thinks it is plausible to say that I am making a judgment as to thetendencyof such actions to excite indignation in me; that, for instance, when I judge that one is much more wrong than the other, I am merely asserting the fact, taught me by my past experience, that, if I were to witness the two actions, under similar circumstances, I should feel a much more intense indignation at the one than at the other.[1]
But there is one very serious objection to such a view, which I think that those who take it are apt not fully to realise. If this view be true, then when I judge an action to be wrong, I am merely making a judgment about my own feelings towards it; and when you judge it to be wrong, you are merely making a judgment about yours. And hence the word "wrong" in my mouth, means something entirely different from what it does in yours; just as the word "I" in my mouth stands for an entirely different person from what it does in yours—in mine it stands for me, in yours it stands for you. That is to say when I judge of a given action that it was wrong, and you perhaps of the very same action that it was not, we are not in fact differing in opinion about it at all; any more than we are differing in opinion if I make the judgment "I came from Cambridge to-day" and you make the judgment "Idid not come from Cambridge to-day." WhenIsay "That was wrong" I am merely saying "That sort of action excites indignation in me, when I see it"; and when you say "No; it was not wrong" you are merely saying "It does not excite indignation inme,whenIsee it." And obviously both judgments may perfectly well be true together; just as my judgment that I did come from Cambridge to-day and yours that you did not, may perfectly well be true together. In other words, and this is what I want to insist on, if this view be true, then there is absolutely no such thing as a difference of opinion upon moral questions. If two persons think they differ in opinion on a moral question (and it certainly seems as if they sometimesthinkso), they are always, on this view, making a mistake, and a mistake so gross that it seems hardly possible that they should make it: a mistake as gross as that which would be involved in thinking that when you say "I did not come from Cambridge to-day" youare denying what I say when I say "I did." And this seems to me to be a very serious objection to the view. Don't people, in fact, sometimes really differ in opinion on a moral question? Certainly all appearances are in favour of the view that they do: and yet, if they do, that can only be if when I think a thing to be wrong, and you think it not to be wrong, I mean by "wrong" the verysamecharacteristic which you mean, and am thinking that the action possesses this characteristic while you are thinking it does not. It must be the verysamecharacteristic which we both mean; it cannot be, as this view says it is, merely that I am thinking that it has to my feelings the very same relation, which you are thinking that it has not got to yours; since, if this were all, then there would be no difference of opinion between us.
And this view that when we talk of wrong or duty, we are not merely, each of us, making a statement about the relation of the thing in question to our own feelings, may be reinforced by another consideration. It is commonly believed that some moral rules exhibit ahighermorality than others: that, for instance a person who believes that it is our duty to do good to our enemies, has a higher moral belief, than one who believes that he has no such duty, but only a duty to do good to his friends or fellow-countrymen. And Westermarck himself believes that, some moral beliefs, "mark a stage of higher refinement in the evolution of the moral consciousness."[2]But what, on his view can be meant by saying that one moral belief is higher than another? If A believes that it is his duty to do good to his enemies and B believes that it is not, in what sense can A's belief be higher than B's? Not, on this view, in the sense that what A believes is true, and what B believes is not; for what A is believing is merely that the idea of not doing goodto your enemies tends to excite in him a feeling of moral indignation, and what B believes is merely that it does not tend to excite this feeling inhim: and both beliefs may perfectly well be true; it may really be true that the same actions do excite the feeling in A, and that they don't in B. What then, could Westermarck mean by saying that A's morality is higher than B's? So far as I can see, what, on his own views, he would have to mean is merely that he himself, Westermarck, shares A's morality and does not share B's: that it is true of him, as of A, that neglecting to do good to enemies excites his feelings of moral indignation and not true of him as it is of B, that it doesnotexcite such feelings in him. In short he would have to say that what he means by calling A's morality the higher is merely "A's morality ismymorality, and B's is not." But it seems to me quite clear that when we say one morality is higher than another, we do not merely mean that it is our own. We are not merely asserting that it has a certain relation to our own feelings, but are asserting, if I may say so, that the person who has it has a better moral taste than the person who has not. And whether or not this means merely, as I think, that what the one believes is true, and what the other believes is false, it is at all events inconsistent with the view that in all cases we are merely making a statement about our own feelings.
For these reasons it seems to me extremely difficult to believe that when we judge things to be wrong, each of us is merely making a judgment abouthis ownpsychology. But if not about our own, then about whose? I have already said that the view that, if the judgment is merely a psychological one at all, it is a judgment about our own psychology, is in some ways more plausible than any other view. And I think we can now see that any other view isnotplausible. The alternativesare that I should be making a judgment about the psychology of all mankind, or about that of some particular section of it. And that the first alternative is not true, is, I think, evident from the fact that, when I judge an action to be wrong, I may emphaticallynotbelieve that it is true of all mankind that they would regard it with feelings of moral disapproval. I may know perfectly well that some would not. Most philosophers, therefore, have not ventured to say that this is the judgment I am making; they say, for instance, that I am making a judgment about the feelings of the particular society to which I belong—about, for instance, the feelings of an impartial spectator in that society. But, if this view be taken, it is open to the same objections as the view that I am merely making a judgment about my own feelings. If we could say that every man, when he judges a thing to be wrong, was making a statement about the feelings of all mankind, then when A says "This is wrong" and B says "No, it isn't," they would really be differing in opinion, since A would be saying that all mankind feel in a certain way towards the action, and B would be saying that they don't. But if A is referring merely to his society and B to his, and their societies are different, then obviously they are not differing in opinion at all: it may perfectly well be true both that an impartial spectator in A's society does have a certain sort of feeling towards actions of the sort in question, and that an impartial spectator in B's does not. This view, therefore, implies that it is impossible for two men belonging to different societies ever to differ in opinion on a moral question. And this is a view which I find it almost as hard to accept as the view thatnotwo men ever differ in opinion on one.