Philosophical Works of the Late James Frederick Ferrier/Lectures on Greek Philosophy (1888)/The Cyreniac, Cynic, and Megaric Schools
THE CYRENAIC, CYNIC, AND MEGARIC
SCHOOLS.
1. The impression which Socrates made on the minds of his countrymen generally, and even on men who differed widely in their genius, their character, and their sentiments, was deep and powerful; and his influence was not diminished, it was rather increased and rendered more intense and lasting, by his heroic and signally impressive, although unostentatious, death. Socrates having left behind him no written memorials, all that his friends could do would be to record and publish his opinions as they had gathered them from his own lips. And these opinions would be coloured and modified more or less by the peculiar mental constitution of each reporter; or, at any rate, each would fasten on that side of the Socratic philosophy which he understood best, and which was most in harmony with his own convictions. Accordingly, we find that some of the disciples of Socrates expounded his philosophy, in its more popular aspect, as a useful guide in the practical affairs of life; among these the most distinguished were Xenophon, who in his 'Memorabilia' has recorded the sayings and doings of Socrates in their bearings on the business of mankind, and Cebes, to whom a work is questionably attributed entitled Πίναξ, or the Table, which sketches, on Socratic principles, an allegorical picture of human life. Its moral is to show that virtue alone can make us truly happy, and that pleasure is a snare and a delusion, whose charm lasts only for a time. Others, again, or I should rather say one other of his immediate followers, comprehended the whole scope and design of his philosophy; and this disciple was Plato. Plato alone fathomed the depths, both moral and metaphysical, of the Socratic speculations. He has interfused them with the splendours of his own genius, and has given them to the world in a style, the eloquence of which has never been surpassed, if indeed it has ever been equalled. Plato stands out as the only adequate exponent and representative of the Socratic philosophy in all its phases. But, intermediate between Plato on the one hand, and the popular expositors just referred to on the other hand, there are presented to us three schools of Socraticists, who, being more scientific in their treatment of the philosophy than Xenophon or Cebes, are at the same time much less complete and comprehensive than Plato. These three Socratic sects are the Cyrenaic, the Cynic, and Megaric. They are frequently termed the imperfect or one-sided Socraticists.
2. How these schools arose, and how they acquired the title of imperfect Socraticists, may perhaps be understood from the following consideration: The conception of "the good" was a conception which had been largely insisted on in the philosophy of Socrates; but it was, at the same time, one which he had left indefinite and unexplained. Nowhere, and at no time, does he seem to have explained exactly what "the good" was, or what he precisely and consistently meant by that term. That Socrates regarded happiness as the good, is tolerably plain; but then it is equally plain that he regarded virtue as the good. Hence arose ambiguity, and hence arose confusion and discord among his disciples. It is no answer to the question, What is the good? to say the good is both happiness and virtue; for by the good is meant the ultimate, the supreme, or highest good; and two goods cannot, both of them, be the highest, at least their conciliation requires to be explained; in all cases the supreme can be only one. If, indeed, the identity of the two had been established in some such way as I endeavoured to establish it above (p. 265), following out what I conceive to be the drift of the Socratic speculations—if their identity had been established, then perhaps the question as to the supreme good or chief end of man might be admitted to have been sufficiently answered. It might have been said, the good is the identity or conciliation of happiness and virtue; and that answer would have been unambiguous. But this conciliation had not been effected, or effected but obscurely and imperfectly, in the course of the Socratic disputations. Hence the question still remained unresolved, and still recurred, What is this good which is so frequently and earnestly insisted on? is it happiness or is it virtue? Which of these is the summum bonum, the chief end, of man? Their reduction to unity had not been clearly shown, so that the one or the other of these alternatives had to be chosen. The Cyrenaics chose the alternative which placed the good or chief end of man in happiness. The Cynics chose the alternative which placed the good or chief end of man in virtue. I believe that the Socratic philosophy contained, as I have said, a principle by which these two, happiness and virtue, were conciliated and made one; but this principle had not been fully developed; and these two sects, the Cyrenaic and the Cynic, did nothing to develop it. The one of them dwelt on happiness as the ultimate good of man, almost to the exclusion of virtue; the other dwelt on virtue as his ultimate good, making happiness altogether subordinate.
3. The question in regard to happiness has been much debated in almost every school of moral philosophy—in those of ancient, no less than in those of modern, times. It is, indeed, the cardinal question of ethics; for although some systems endeavour to shelve this question, and to bring conscience and virtue and duty more prominently into the foreground as the proper topics of ethical investigation, still I believe that these latter can receive an adequate and intelligible explanation only when considered in subordination to the more comprehensive discussion which has happiness for its theme. Schemes of morality may err in two ways—either by representing duty and virtue as ultimate ends, to the exclusion of happiness, or by representing happiness as the ultimate end, to the exclusion of duty and virtue. In either case we obtain a system which is incomplete, one which is neither sound in itself, nor likely to meet with any general acceptance. Pure Eudaimonism, which teaches that happiness is all in all, however acceptable it may be practically, is a doctrine which cannot be theoretically approved of; while Asceticism, which contends for the abnegation of happiness in the pursuit of duty and virtue, is a scheme which will never enlist many practical adherents, however numerous its theoretical advocates may be. The only way of avoiding the errors incident to either extreme, and of effecting a rational compromise, is by instituting an inquiry into the nature of human happiness, with the view of ascertaining the relation in which it stands towards conscience and virtue and duty; and accordingly it is to this question that we now deliberately address ourselves.
4. The inquiry concerning happiness resolves itself into two questions—First, Is happiness the chief end of man? and, secondly, Ought happiness to be the chief end of man? The one of these questions is a question of fact, Is the fact so? The other of them is a question of propriety, Ought the fact to be so? Although our answers to these questions may ultimately coincide, and we may find that what is, is what ought to be—in other words, that happiness both is and ought to be the chief end of man—it may still be well to keep the two questions separate at the outset, and to treat of each in succession.
5. The philosophy of the Cyrenaic school, founded by Aristippus, proceeds on the assumption that happiness is, in point of fact, the good, the supreme good, or chief end of man; and this assumption, so far from being discountenanced by the philosophy of Socrates, is involved in that philosophy as one of its most vital principles. Viewed as a matter of fact, we must admit that his own happiness, whatever it may consist in, or whatever may be the means to be employed in the attainment, is the end which each individual has most at heart, and at which he ultimately aims. This is the end after which all men most eagerly strive. Happiness is the goal which, consciously or unconsciously, we are all struggling to reach. Milton has written two epic poems in which he commemorates our fallen and our restored condition. He has written 'Paradise Lost' and 'Paradise Regained.' But the true epic of humanity—the epic which is in a constant course of evolution from the beginning until the end of time, the epic which is daily poured forth from the heart of the whole human race, sometimes in rejoicing pæans, but oftener amid woeful lamentation, tears, and disappointed hopes—what is it but Paradise sought for?
6. Hence there has been a tendency in the minds of all men, whether rude or civilised, both in ancient and in modern times, to accept this fact as they found it; to set forth happiness as the summum bonum, the supreme good, the ultimate end of all human endeavour, the magnet whose power of attraction no human being could successfully resist. The general tendency of opinion, I say, has been to acknowledge the universal dominion exercised over man by the desire of happiness, and to accept this principle as his supreme rule of action, and as the basis of all ethical disquisition, whether practical or theoretical. To have denied that happiness was man's chief good and his ultimate aim, would have appeared to be flying in the face of truth, and setting nature herself at defiance.
7. But although philosophers, as well as mankind at large, have generally agreed that happiness is the greatest good, or the chief end of man, philosophers have differed as to what happiness itself is—as to what it consists in. By an easy transition, some people come to regard happiness as convertible with self-indulgence, or as centring in mere sensual pleasure. This was the most palpable, most vivid, and most intelligible sort of happiness with which they were acquainted; while physical pain, on the other hand, was the only misery which they could readily understand: and accordingly, in the early and rude periods of society, sensational pleasures were eagerly pursued, as the only true and distinct constituents of happiness, while sensational pains were carefully avoided, as the only true and distinct constituents of misery; and these are regarded as the true elements of happiness or of misery. Of course, instances would occur, even during such times, in which individuals, and even multitudes, would encounter danger and death under the excitement of some strong passion. But I speak of man in his ordinary state, and when left to the guidance of his natural and normal inclinations. These would prompt him to court sensational pleasure, and to shun sensational pain, whenever it was in his power to do so.
8. This, accordingly, was the opinion entertained by Aristippus in regard to happiness. He viewed it as convertible with pleasure; and in this respect he differed widely from the sentiments of Socrates, who, whatever his opinion as to happiness may have been, certainly did not regard it as centring in the pleasures and enjoyments of sense. Thus Aristippus, dissenting from the opinions of his master, although he may have supposed that he was reducing these opinions to greater clearness and precision, and conceiving happiness in its most obvious and palpable and intelligible form, in the form in which it was viewed by the vulgar, advocated a system of hedonism, as it has been called, from the Greek word ἡδονή, in which mere sensual pleasure is set forth as the great good and ultimate end of man.
9. It is evident that the sensational ethics of Aristippus had their roots in the sensational psychology, of which I have already spoken at sufficient length in expounding the opinions of the Sophists. They arose, not out of the comprehensive and profound γνῶθι σεαυτόν of Socrates, which resulted in the discovery that the true nature and essence of man was thought, but out of the superficial and contracted γνῶθι σεαυτόν of the Sophists, which had issued in the conclusion that sensation was the staple and the essence of humanity. If sensation be the true and proper nature of man, the pursuit of sensational enjoyment must be his true and proper duty, and in attaining sensational enjoyment he must attain his true and proper end. If sensation be man's true nature, the pleasures of sensation must be man's true good. The ethics of Aristippus are thus in perfect logical consistency with the psychology on which they were founded. The only way in which such ethics can be overruled, is by combating the psychology which is their groundwork; in other words, their refutation must be founded on the proof that the true nature of man does not centre in sensation, but in something very different; namely, in the free and self-originated activity of thought. But this part of the Socratic philosophy Aristippus had overlooked or misunderstood.
10. But although Aristippus represented pleasure as the chief end of man, we are not to suppose that he broached his system, or advocated this doctrine of hedonism, for the purpose of exciting man's desires, or of stimulating him to the pursuit of mere sensual indulgences. That, in his opinion, would have been a very unnecessary task, a work of supererogation. He must have held that man required no philosophy to urge him forward in the path along which he was already so vehemently propelled by his nature. But although man requires no stimulus to urge him forward in the pursuit of pleasure, he may require, and he does require, a monitor to direct him in the pursuit, and even at times to hold him back; and this monitor appears in the moral philosophy of Aristippus. It is true that the hedonism which he inculcates chimes in with the ordinary sentiments of mankind, in so far as it holds that sensational enjoyment is the chief end of man: it admits that, by the very law of life, pleasure is to be pursued, that pain is to be shunned; but it differs from the ordinary sentiments of mankind in this respect, that while they would impose no restraint on our pursuit of pleasure, or in our avoidance of pain, the philosophy of Aristippus teaches that these are to be pursued and shunned only under certain restraints; that is, only on the terms which prudence dictates. The philosophic position of Aristippus was this: he accepted as an undeniable truth the fact that pleasure was fixed by nature as man's ultimate aim; but seeing that this end would be defeated by reckless and inordinate indulgence, it exhorted to moderation and self-restraint; exhortations which were much needed, inasmuch as nature, although she speaks to man in very distinct and decided terms when she summons him to enjoyment, delivers herself in terms by no means so articulate when she warns him to refrain.
11. The class of systems to which the hedonism of Aristippus belongs have existed during every period, the earliest as well as the latest, in the history of ethical philosophy. They are known under the names of Hedonism, or the philosophy of pleasure, from ἡδονή; of Epicureanism, or the philosophy of ease and enjoyment, from Epicurus, its founder; of Eudaimonism, or the philosophy of happiness, from εὐδαιμονία, and in modern times they pass generally under the name of Utilitarianism. All these schemes, in whatever minor respects they may differ, agree in this respect, that they accept as a fact not to be gainsaid the truth that the summum bonum, the supreme good for man, is his own felicity; and that this felicity is for the most part, or principally, of a sensational character. The systems thus characterised stand, as you are aware, in no very good repute; they are usually represented as inimical to virtue, preaching maxims of immorality, as inculcating a life of enjoyment and self-indulgence; but it is truer to say of them that the scope and tendency of their exhortations rather is to impose a check on the vehemence of man's passions, to curb his appetites, and to set limits to his irregular inclinations. Even the lowest of these systems, even mere hedonism, goes as far as this; it does not inculcate the pursuit of pleasure; it assumes that that requires no teaching, having been already sufficiently taught by nature; but it holds that, in connection with this pursuit, there is something which does require to be 'taught, something in respect to which nature affords us no lessons; and that is, prudence and moderation in the indulgence of our appetites and desires. Indulge your appetites and inclinations, say these systems, speaking with the voice of nature; but indulge them wisely and with moderation, they add, speaking with the voice of philosophy, otherwise the very happiness which is your aim will be dashed to pieces in the moment of enjoyment. It is a mistake, therefore, to suppose that these systems are essentially of an immoral character. Their standard of morality may not be high, but it rises above the standard of mere nature. Nature's dictate is, Pursue pleasure. These systems add, But let your pursuit be guided and controlled by prudential considerations. And in so far as this advice was attended to in the primitive ages of mankind, we may surely believe that something was thereby reclaimed to the moral world from the waste regions of rude and undisciplined nature.
12. I proceed to give you a short account of the moral philosophy of the Cynics. If it was the tendency of the Cyrenaic school to push to an extreme the doctrine that man's good or happiness consisted in his attainment of mere sensational enjoyment, so the tendency of the Cynics was to go into the opposite extreme, and to maintain that man's good or happiness consisted in his freedom from pleasures of sensation. The Cyrenaics inculcated, as man's chief good, an indulgence, in so far as prudence permitted, in sensual gratifications; the Cynics, on the other hand, inculcated, as man's chief good, an abnegation, in so far as nature allowed, of all such gratifications. These counter-opinions came out more fully afterwards in the systems of the Epicureans and the Stoics, of which I shall have occasion to speak hereafter. Meanwhile, you have to bear in mind that the precursors of these later and more celebrated sects were the Cyrenaics and the Cynics.
13. The Cynical philosophy, of which Antisthenes is regarded as the founder, contended that man's true good was virtue, and not pleasure; and that virtue consisted in a freedom from all sensational indulgences. This freedom, too, might be said to be man's true happiness. Not pleasure, but the negation and rejection of pleasure, was the ultimate good, the chief end of man. This philosophy taught that man's wants and desires should be reduced to the smallest possible amount; that all sensational enjoyments must be as much as possible forsworn, as being of an enslaving tendency, and as at variance with the true nature of man.
14. I remark, in conclusion, that this doctrine obviously has its roots in the Socratic psychology, which I formerly endeavoured to expound to you; in the doctrine, namely, that thought, and not sensation, is that which constitutes the true nature of man; that thought, the opposite of sense, is itself an act in which man frees himself from sensation, appetite, and desire; and that, therefore, this act or thought itself testifies in its very origin what the duty of man is, what the obligation is under which he lies; testifies, namely, that he is bound to rise superior to the lower promptings of his nature, and to refuse to be the slave of the passive modifications of his soul. Such is the groundwork of the Cynical ethics. They were built upon a right foundation. They inculcated self-restraint, not on mere prudential grounds, as the Cyrenaics did, but on deeper grounds, lying in the very constitution of man himself; for they held that it was only through self-restraint, or a liberation from his sensational condition, that man was truly man. Their error lay in their pushing this doctrine to an extreme, and in preaching and practising it in a form too abstract for human nature to endure; for in a right and complete ethical system allowance must be made for the unessential as well as for the essential elements of human nature; the sensational no less than the higher and antagonist elements of his being must be taken into account. All that is necessary is that the lower principles should not be allowed to predominate: it is neither necessary nor possible that they should be altogether extirpated or suppressed. Such extirpation or suppression was what the Cynical philosophy inculcated, and therefore it erred in being abstract and extreme; and in being abstract and extreme it became partial and one-sided; in a word, it became a form of imperfect Socraticism.
15. The founder of the Megaric sect was Euclid, a philosopher whom you must not confound with the mathematician of that name. On the death of Socrates, in the year 399 B.C., Euclid retired to his birthplace, Megara, a town distant about twenty-six miles from Athens; and here he established the Megaric school of philosophy. The chief characteristic of this school was, that it set forth "the good" as the main category, the leading universal in all things. Whatever was real was good. The Megaric philosophers derived their doctrines from the Eleatics no less than from Socrates. What the Eleatics called Being, that, namely, which must be thought of in all that is thought, the Megarics called the good. Everything is good in so far as it is. Evil is mere defect, want, or privation. Evil is a mere negation; the good alone is positive. Whatever truly exists, or is thought of as truly existing, must exist as good, and must be thought of as good. The good, then, is the common quality, the element of agreement in all things which exist; it is the supreme category of the universe. The Megaric school was likewise famous for the logical puzzles with which it perplexed itself and its neighbours. One of these was called the Sorites, or the heap. Is one grain of corn a heap? it is asked. No. Are two grains? No. Three grains? No. And so on, until the person interrogated either says now there is a heap, in which case one grain will have made the difference between a heap and no heap, which seems to be absurd; or else he will say that no number of grains make up a heap, which seems still more absurd. Another puzzle was called Cornutus, or the horned. You have that which you have not lost, have you not? Yes. Then you have horns, for you have not lost horns.
16. In the novel of 'Don Quixote,' a Megaric puzzle, or a case which may be regarded as such, is brought under our notice. Sancho Panza, having been appointed governor of the island of Baratria, has to deal with many perplexing law cases when seated on the bench, and among others with the following: There was a bridge over a river in the neighbourhood, which a certain rich man had built for the benefit of travellers, and close by it there stood a gallows. The condition on which people were allowed to cross the bridge was, that they should speak the truth in regard to whither they were going. If they lied, they were to be tied up to the gibbet. Now on one occasion a traveller came to the bridge, and on being asked whither he was going, he replied that he was going to be hanged on that gallows. This answer threw the toll-keepers into great perplexity. For supposing that they hanged the man, in that case he had spoken the truth, and it was their duty to have let him pass. But again, supposing that they let him pass, in that case he had told a lie, and it was their duty to have hanged him. In these perplexing circumstances they appealed to the wisdom of the governor Sancho, and he pronounced the judicious verdict, that in so doubtful and difficult a case it was better to lean to the side of mercy, and allow the traveller to go free, even at the expense of logical consistency.
17. To say a word in conclusion, and by way of summing up these three systems. I remarked at the outset that Socrates had left the conception of the good very vague and indeterminate. He had strong utilitarian, even eudaimonistic, tendencies. But it is equally true that he strove to promulgate a profounder morality than that of mere utility or eudaimonism. He wavered, however, between the two; at one time he appears as a mere utilitarian, who makes happiness all in all; at another time he inculcates a higher morality, the aim of which is rather the perfection than the happiness of our nature. Hence two paths of moral inquiry were opened up to his disciples. The Cyrenaics, led by Aristippus, entered on the one of these paths, and proclaimed happiness, in the sense of mere pleasure, as the summum bonum, or ultimate good, for man; while the Cynics, led by Antisthenes, maintained that virtue, or the perfecting of his nature, was man's true end, and that this end was to be attained only by repressing his desires and curtailing his wants within the smallest possible limits. The Megarics, again, left the Socratic conception of the good in its original indetermination; or, at any rate, the only explanation of it which they suggested was, that the good in itself and true Being in itself were identical—a proposition not without value and significance, when we consider that man, in fostering his true being, is promoting his true good, and that he attains to what is truly his good just in proportion as he attains to what is truly his being. So much, then, in regard to the imperfect Socraticists, the Cyrenaic, the Cynic, and the Megaric schools of philosophy.
18. Before going on with the history of philosophy, I shall introduce at this place an ethical discussion of a somewhat digressive character, attempting to explain a subject on which I touched in the preceding paragraph: I mean the obscurity in which Socrates left his conception of the good, and his vacillating attitude in regard to the question whether is happiness or virtue the summum bonum, the great end, of man. No particular blame attaches to Socrates on this score, for I think it may be said with truth, that in no ethical work whatsoever is any satisfactory and conclusive answer to be found to this question, no answer which settles the problem on scientific principles. In the remarks which I have now to make, I shall perhaps be no more successful than others have been before me. I shall not indeed attempt a complete solution of the question; I shall merely indicate the direction in which I think the solution is to be found.
19. The question, then, is this: Is happiness or utility, or wellbeing of one kind or another, the great and sole end of man—the goal at which all his efforts point, and towards which they tend? or is something else, something different from happiness, the proper end and object of his pursuit? This is the question which still divides and perplexes the philosophical world, as it perplexed them in the days of Socrates. On the side of utility, as its strongest champion, stands Mr J. S. Mill; on the other side stands Dr Whewell, who contends for the right as something distinct from the useful, and who holds that a man must aim at doing right, however disastrous the consequences may be to himself and to the world. This, I say, is the great moral question of the day. I put aside at present the theory of the selfish moralists, who maintain that a man's own personal happiness is what he always aims at. I enlarge the question, and take it up as the most enlightened utilitarians state it; and I ask, Is the happiness of ourselves and others the proper end of our exertions, or is something different from this the proper end of our exertions? That, I again say, is the question, and it divides moral philosophers into two opposite camps.
20. As preliminary to the settlement of this question, I remark that man may be viewed in two different characters—first, as man simply; and secondly, as man susceptible of pleasure and pain, enjoyment and suffering, happiness and misery. Now, I conceive that one scheme of morality will be applicable to him when viewed under the first of these relations, and that another scheme of morality will be applicable to him when under the second of these relations. First, let me explain what I mean by man considered as a man simply. By man simply I mean man as a mere being or existence, and not as a happy or miserable being. We can abstract happiness and misery from man, and yet leave him in existence as a man. But there are some qualities which we cannot abstract in thought from man, and leave him in existence as a man; and these qualities are thought, reason, self-consciousness. Take away these qualities, and man ceases to be man, he becomes an animal; but take away enjoyment or take away suffering from a man, and he does not cease to be a man; he does not become an animal. Man, then, considered as man simply, is man endowed with thought, reason, self-consciousness. These cannot be disunited, for these are his very essence. Such is the character and constitution of man, considered as man simply. Secondly, of man considered as susceptible of pleasure and of pain. This point requires no explanation. Pleasure and pain, I may merely say, are not essential to man, as thought and intelligence and self-consciousness are. Man can be man without them. You can readily understand that happiness and misery are something which are superinduced upon man; at least, are not so intimately his as those other qualities which have been specified—viz., thought, reason, and self-consciousness.
21. We have now to ask, What kind of moral scheme will be applicable to man, considered simply as man? The answer is, that the scheme of morals which will suit him will be such as the anti-Utilitarians contend for. Happiness cannot be his summum bonum, nor can misery be his summum malum, for, considered as man simply, he has no sense either of happiness or of misery. Something else, therefore, must be his chief good and his chief evil; something different from happiness must be what he pursues; something different from misery must be what he shuns. What must these be? They can be no other than the maintenance or the perfection of his being on the one hand, and its impairment or imperfection on the other hand. The obligatory law, the duty which binds him, will be to do everything to maintain and strengthen his power of thought, of reason, of self-consciousness, and to avoid everything by which these may be weakened or overpowered. In short, his morality will consist in his doing all that he can to maintain and preserve and strengthen himself as a man simply—that is, as a rational and thinking being—and in his avoiding all that may imperil his rational existence. He will maintain himself as a moral being in maintaining himself as an intelligent and self-conscious being; and if we suppose, as we very well may, that virtue consists in the perfecting of our nature, the end of this being will be virtue, and there will be no happiness, none, at least, different from virtue itself, to distract him from this end. Such then, I think, is the morality applicable to man considered simply as man. It consists in the pursuit of virtue, in the perfecting of our rational nature, and not in the pursuit of happiness. Here then we have a morality which would please the anti-Utilitarians. I may add that, on such a condition, it would be a man's duty to strive not only after his own natural perfection, but to assist others in striving after theirs.
22. But this condition is only a part of our condition as human beings. Man is man simply, but he is also more than this; in his actual state, he is in this; in his actual state, he is in man susceptible of pleasure and pain, of happiness and the reverse. We have now to ask what is the moral scheme applicable to man in this more complicated state. A new element has been introduced into his condition; that, namely, of happiness and misery, and the moral code by which he is to be directed must be accommodated so as to suit and take into account this new element. The modification or addition which the moral code must receive will be understood if we consider the nature of happiness or pleasure, and the nature of misery or pain. The former of these has attractions almost irresistible; the latter has a power of repulsion which naturally drives us back as far as it is possible for us to recoil. Here then we have something which sets itself up as a new summum bonum and as a new summum malum, as a summum bonum and summum malum different from those which attracted and repelled man considered simply as man. Then, the proper end of man's pursuit was the perfection of his rational existence. Now, the proper end of man's pursuit seems to be, indeed I may say is, something different from this; it is happiness, the happiness of himself and others; in a word, his conduct is now tested by its utility, that is, by its tendency to promote or to obstruct the interests and wellbeing of himself and of mankind.
23. It now then appears as if we had two chief ends set up as the proper objects of human pursuit. The one end comes before us when we put happiness and misery aside, and look at man simply as man. In this case the proper end of all his actions and aspirations will be to maintain and strengthen his true being; that is to say, his rational nature. The other end comes before us when we take happiness and misery into account, and view man as susceptible of these qualities. In this case, the proper end and aim of man's existence will be the attainment and the diffusion of happiness. Both should be treated and adjusted in a complete system of moral philosophy.
24. Now it may often happen that there will be no discrepancy between these two ends. We may admit that they are usually in harmony with one another, and that in attaining the one end we attain the other as well. But cases must, and do, occur in which both of these cannot be attained; cases may occur in which a man, in attaining what he conceives to be, and what indeed is, his happiness, must sacrifice the perfection of his rational being; or again, cases may occur in which a man, in maintaining the perfection of his rational being, must sacrifice what he feels to be his happiness. In these cases, which end must he cling to, and which end must he give up? I answer that he must cling to that end which consists in the preservation and perfecting of his rational nature, and must give up that end which consists in happiness or pleasure, whether that happiness be his own or that of others; and I give this answer for this reason, that it is of more importance that man should be a man, truly a man, than that he should be a happy man. To be happy, we must first of all be men, and to be men we must first of all be rational. Whatever, therefore, strikes at the root of reason or thought is to be avoided, however much it may promote our happiness, for our reason is our existence. But it does not follow that whatever strikes at the root of our happiness is to be avoided, however much it may promote our rational perfection, for our happiness is not our existence. On these grounds I conceive that when the two ends come into conflict, the preference is to be given to that end which is regarded by man considered as man simply; for this end, its preservation and attainment, is his very essence and existence: and that the preference is not to be given to that end which is set in view before man considered as susceptible of happiness and misery, for in this end his essence and his existence do not centre, happiness and misery being merely accessories to human nature, and not human nature itself.
25. In the latter part of yesterday's lecture I was led into a discussion of a somewhat digressive character. It arose out of the ambiguity in which Socrates had left the conception of the good, meaning by that word the great and proper object of all human pursuit. Is happiness the chief end of man? Is this the object which he is designed unremittingly to pursue on his own account, and to the utmost of his ability to diffuse on account of others? Or is virtue his chief end? Is the right as distinct from the useful, the just as distinct from the expedient, the object which it is his duty to strive after? Socrates does not seem to have returned any very explicit answer to this question; and hence he has not settled definitely what the good for man is, inasmuch as he has not declared categorically whether it is happiness or virtue. From the spirit of the Socratic teaching we may infer that he regarded virtue as the supreme good; but the scientific grounds on which he rested this conclusion are not apparent. Nor are they apparent in the writings of any subsequent moralists. Many moralists have declared that we must do what is right at all hazards, that we must act rightly irrespective of all considerations of utility. And when we ask why? why must we act rightly? the only answer we get from them is, that we must act aright because it is right to do what is right. This mode of reasoning—and I believe it is a fair representation of the reasoning of Dr Whewell and the other anti-utilitarians—is not very satisfactory. The anti-utilitarian moralists may, however, be regarded as returning an articulate answer to the question, What is summum bonum, the chief end of man? They declare that it is virtue.
26. On the other hand, the utilitarians or Eudaimonists define the good as centring in happiness. To act aright is to act in such a way as will promote either our own happiness or the happiness of those around us, or the happiness of the world at large. Whatever conduct has this effect is right conduct; whatever conduct has a contrary effect is wrong conduct. In answer, then, to the question, Why must I do what is right? the utilitarian answer is, Because by so doing you will contribute something to the wellbeing of the world. It is your duty to act in a particular way, in the way which we call right, because by acting in this way you will promote the happiness of yourself and others, and will thus attain the end which all human beings are born to strive after. Here, also, we have a categorical answer to the question, What is the summum bonum, the chief end of man? The utilitarians declare that happiness is the good.
27. This theory of the good which makes it convertible with happiness seems to labour under a defect precisely the opposite of that which we charged against the anti-utilitarian scheme. There we were disposed to accept the conclusion, but to find fault with the premises as insufficient or null. Here we are indisposed to embrace the conclusion, although the premises seem reasonable and strong. That a particular action should redound to the advantage of myself or others seems a very sufficient reason why it should be performed. The advantage expected to arise from it seems to make the performance of it a duty. That is an intelligible position, more so than the ground occupied by the anti-utilitarians. We feel, nevertheless, that there is something defective in the scheme which sets aside virtue as the good, and enthrones happiness in its place. So far as we can see, there is a flaw somewhere in the system of the utilitarians, and also in the system of their opponents. We are not willing to throw virtue overboard, and join the utilitarians in setting up happiness alone as the supreme good for man; nor are we willing to join their opponents in throwing happiness overboard, and in setting up virtue alone as the ultimate object of his pursuit. We must try whether we cannot fall on some method by which the two, virtue and happiness, may be conciliated, conciliated on scientific grounds.
28. It was as a step towards this conciliation that I drew your attention, in my last lecture, to a distinction which may be of service to us in our attempt to adjust and to resolve this difficult moral question as to the supreme good: I mean the distinction between man considered as man simply, and man considered as susceptible of happiness and of misery. I stated what was meant by man simply, and what his qualities were, and also what man was in his more complex condition as the subject of happiness or the reverse. I stated that a different system of morals would apply to him in the simple state from what would apply to him in the complex state; in other words, that the good or ultimate end would be different in the case of man simply, from what it would be in the case of man as capable of happiness and of misery. In the former case, it would be the preserving and the perfecting of his rational nature; in the latter case, the end would, to a large extent, be happiness or pleasure—that is, something less intimately connected with himself than the perfection of his intelligent nature. I also stated, that these two ends might frequently coincide, in which case no collision would arise; but they also might come into conflict, and when this happened, I stated that the end called happiness must be sacrificed in favour of the other end, which we may very well call virtue. I also gave you my reason for this conclusion, and it is one which, though then briefly stated, appears to me to be more scientific, logical, or reasonable than any which I have yet fallen in with. Stated again, very shortly and simply, the reason why we should sacrifice our happiness to our virtue is this, that in sacrificing happiness to virtue we do not cease to be men, we only cease to be happy men; but in sacrificing virtue to happiness, we do cease to be men, because virtue is the preservation and perfecting of our rational nature, and therefore whatever is at variance with virtue is at variance with the preservation of our true being, and is pro tanto a curtailment or destruction of our moral and intelligent life.
29. Let me illustrate this subject somewhat further. Suppose that a man had no pleasure in eating, but that the food he took merely served to keep him in health and strength, without ministering any further than this to his enjoyment His palate, we suppose, has no sense of taste. His food keeps him alive and in vigour, and that is all. He has no relish, neither has he any repugnance, to any kind of food: all is equally indifferent. Now, in so far as eating is concerned, what would this person's end or object or supreme good be? It would be to keep himself in life, and, moreover, in bodily soundness and activity. That would be his proper end or aim; and what would his duty be? His duty would consist in eating those meats which conduced most effectually to that end, and to eschew the viands which impaired his powers of life and diminished his activity and strength. In abstaining from the latter, and in pursuing the former, he would be walking in the path of duty, because he would be in the way of attaining to his proper end, the preservation of his life and the maintenance and perfecting of his health and strength. This individual, his end, and his duty, illustrate in a lower matter the analogous case in the moral world of which I spoke, and which I called man simply.
30. Let us continue our observation of this individual. Suppose that after a time his food no longer merely keeps him alive and well, but affords a positive and no inconsiderable pleasure to his palate. And let us further suppose that some of those dishes which minister most to his enjoyment are exceedingly prejudicial to his health, while some of those which are rather bitter in the mouth make amends for their repulsiveness by filling him with redundant life, activity, and strength. Now he is in a condition analogous to the position of man considered as susceptible of happiness and misery. But let us ask what change in the end at which he aims, and what change in the duty which guides him in the pursuit, are likely to be brought about by this altered state of things? The following change, I apprehend, is very likely to ensue. He will be very apt to set up the personal pleasure derived from eating and drinking as his end, instead of the old end, a vigorous and active life: and, aiming at this new end, he will be inclined to devour those meats which contribute most to his enjoyment, without caring how injurious they are to his life and health, while, heedless of its sanitary properties, he will avoid that food which offers no great temptation to his palate. This change in the end will be very apt to bring along with it a change in his conception of duty. Enjoyment being now fixed as his end, he will be very apt to suppose that his duty must consist in attaining to that end at all hazards; and thus he will be led, as I said, to indulge his gluttonous propensities, not keeping his eye on that other end, his health, which the new object of his desire, the new summum bonum, has thrown into the shade.31. To carry on the illustration. Here, then, we have two ends soliciting this individual,—the old end, life, health, and strength; and the new end, the enjoyment arising from eating and drinking. These two ends are also frequently incompatible with each other. In cases where enjoyment is pursued, health must frequently be sacrificed; while health again is sometimes to be purchased only by the relinquishment of pleasure. In these circumstances, the question is, Which is the end to be pursued? Is health to be postponed to enjoyment, or is enjoyment to be postponed to health? or is there any way in which the two ends can be reconciled? Three answers may be returned to this question. First, it may be said that health is to be postponed to enjoyment; that enjoyment is the chief, and health only the subordinate end. This position may illustrate the scheme of such utilitarians or Eudaimonists as set up happiness (with little or no regard to virtue) as the end. Or, secondly, it may be said that enjoyment is to be postponed to health; that health is the chief, and enjoyment only the subordinate end, not properly an end at all. This position may illustrate the scheme of those moralists who set up virtue (with little or no regard to happiness) as the end. Or, thirdly, it may be said that both health and enjoyment may be set up as the chief end; that they admit of conciliation, and that rules may be laid down for their extrication when they come into conflict. This position will illustrate the scheme which, though often attempted, is still a desideratum in the science of morals.
32. I continue the illustration. I go on to show you what the rules are by which the extrication just referred to may be effected. In the matter of eating and drinking, the first rule is, that life and health and strength are above all things to be attended to. These are the paramount considerations; for these are in fact our very existence as physical beings. This rule is so fundamental and elementary, that it may be said to precede or underlie any gastronomical code, any code, that is, that may be formed on the subject of eating and drinking, and the accompanying pleasures. This rule being understood and taken for granted, the next rule is, that every enjoyment which eating and drinking can procure may be freely indulged in, so far as they do not violate the aforesaid rule. I am considering man at present as a purely physical being, and I say that, health and strength being taken for granted as endowments which must on no account be impaired, pleasure may very well be set up as the great and chief end of eating and drinking, and in so far as duty may be alluded to in connection with so insignificant a matter, we may say that it is our duty to get all the enjoyment that we can out of the occupations of the table, subject to the restriction referred to. We thus perceive that, although life and health and strength must never be violated by any excess in eating or drinking, it is nevertheless quite reasonable to set forth enjoyment as the end, and even as the chief end, which we have in view in taking food. The other end—life, namely, and health—having been laid down as an end to be taken for granted, as an end which must be attained in the very preservation of our existence, our attention will now be very properly fixed on enjoyment as our great and ultimate aim; it will be our duty to apply ourselves to the food for which we have the greatest liking, and to shun that for which we have the greatest loathing; subject, I again say, to the restriction already spoken of, but subject to no other limitation.
33. Still to continue the illustration. We see that the individual, whom we are supposing to have now two ends set before him, has two standards to direct him. He has the old standard, his life, namely, and health and strength. This was his standard when he was supposed to derive no enjoyment from eating and drinking; and he has the new standard, the enjoyment, namely, which after a time we supposed him to acquire. The old standard still retains its force, but so long as it is not violated, so long as life and health are preserved entire, it remains quiescent and allows the new standard to prevail. This new standard rules the day, it directs the man, it carries everything before it; and it properly does so, provided the fundamental law of his life and health be preserved inviolate. Thus I conceive the two ends, which we also called standards, are reconciled. In the matter of eating and drinking, health permits enjoyment to put herself forward as the ultimate aim, provided her claims be not compromised, while enjoyment finds her advantage in conciliating health by never being inordinate in her excesses.
34. The application of this somewhat lengthened illustration is this, that just as the preservation of life and health, and the attainment of enjoyment in regard to our body, are two ends quite compatible with each other in the humble and perhaps rather ignoble occupation of eating and drinking; so the maintenance of our rational life, and of the health of the soul, is an end quite consistent with that other, and generally more eagerly pursued end, which goes by the name of happiness. It also sometimes happens that the pursuit of what we regard as happiness is not consistent with the rational life and health of the soul, in which case happiness must be foregone in favour of the soul's preservation, just as in analogous cases pleasure must be surrendered out of consideration for the health of the body. But this being understood, it being understood that man, in the affections which he harbours, and in the actions which he performs, is bound not to do violence to his true and rational nature, this being taken for granted, the other end, his own happiness, namely, and that of others, may now be set full in his view as the proper and only object of his pursuit; and to the eager pursuit and active diffusion of this happiness, he may be exhorted as a duty which cannot be too abundantly fulfilled.
35. We thus see that a complete body of ethics should embrace two codes, two systems of rules, the one of which we may call the fundamental or antecedent, or under-ground ethics, as underlying the other; and the other of which we may call the upper or subsequent, or above-ground ethics, as resting on, and modified by the former. The under-ground ethics would inculcate on man the necessity of being what he truly is, namely, a creature of reason and of thought; in short, the necessity of being a man, and of preserving to himself this status. Here the end is virtue, that is, the life and health of the soul, and nothing but this. The above-ground ethics would inculcate on man the necessity of being a happy man. It is not enough for man to be; he must, moreover, if possible, be happy. The fundamental ethics look merely to his being, i.e., his being rational; the upper ethics look principally to his being happy, but they are bound to take care that in all his happiness he does nothing to violate his rationality, the health and virtue of the soul.
36. We now see more clearly than we have yet done the error into which the anti-utilitarians fall. They make the under-ground ethics all in all. They allow no end but virtue. They shut off happiness from being the ultimate aim, the proper object of out pursuit. They deal with the one half of morals to the exclusion of the other. On the other hand, the utilitarians fall into the opposite error. They deal only with the upper or above-ground ethics; they overlook the groundwork. They do not see that, before a man can be a happy man, he must first of all be a man, that is, a rational being. In their scheme no provision is made for his being man, but only for his being happy. Happiness, in short, is laid down as the end or chief good of man, without any guarantee being given that this position holds true only in so far as man's rational and fundamental nature is not compromised by its acceptance. Such a guarantee is provided in what we have called the under or fundamental ethics of his condition.