Chapter I: The Subject-Matter of Ethics.
§ 5.
But our question What is good?
may still have another
meaning. We may, in the third place, mean to ask, not what thing or things are
good, but how good
is to be defined. This is an enquiry which belongs
only to Ethics, not to Casuistry; and this is the enquiry which will occupy us
first. (§ 5 ¶ 1)
It is an enquiry to which most special attention should be directed;
since this question, how good
is to be defined, is the most fundamental
question in all Ethics. That which is meant by good
is, in fact, except
its converse bad,
the only simple object of thought which is
peculiar to Ethics. Its definition is, therefore, the most essential point in
the definition of Ethics; and moreover a mistake with regard to it entails a far
larger number of erroneous ethical judgments than any other. Unless this first
question be fully understood, and its true answer clearly recognised, the rest
of Ethics is as good as useless from the point of view of systematic knowledge.
True ethical judgments, of the two kinds last dealt with, may indeed be made by
those who do not know the answer to this question as well as by those who do;
and it goes without saying that the two classes of people may live equally good
lives. But it is extremely unlikely that the most general ethical
judgments will be equally valid, in the absence of a true answer to this
question; I shall presently try to shew that the gravest errors have been
largely due to beliefs in a false answer. And, in any case, it is impossible
that, till the answer to this question be known, any one should know what is
the evidence for any ethical judgment whatsoever. But the main object of
Ethics, as a systematic science, is to give correct reasons for
thinking that this or that is good; and, unless this question be answered, such
reasons cannot be given. Even, therefore, apart from the fact that a false
answer leads to false conclusions, the present enquiry is a most necessary and
important part of the science of Ethics. (§ 5 ¶ 2)
§ 6.
What, then, is good?
How is good to be defined? Now it may be thought that this is a verbal question.
A definition does indeed often mean the expressing of one word’s meaning in
other words. But this is not the sort of definition I am asking for. Such a
definition can never be of ultimate importance to any study except lexicography.
If I wanted that kind of definition I should have to consider in the first place
how people generally used the word good
; but my business is not with its
proper usage, as established by custom. I should, indeed, be foolish if I tried
to use it for something which it did not usually denote: if, for instance, I
were to announce that, whenever I used the word good,
I must be
understood to be thinking of that object which is usually denoted by the word
table.
I shall, therefore, use the word in the sense in which I think it
is ordinarily used; but at the same time I am not anxious to discuss whether I
am right in thinking it is so used. My business is solely with that object or
idea, which I hold, rightly or wrongly, that the word is generally used to stand
for. What I want to discover is the nature of that object or idea, and about
this I am extremely anxious to arrive at an agreement. (§ 6 ¶ 1)
But if we understand the question in this sense, my answer to it may
seem a very disappointing one. If I am asked, What is good?
my answer is
that good is good, and that is the end of the matter. Or if I am asked How is
good to be defined?
my answer is that it cannot be defined, and that is all
I have to say about it. But disappointing as these answers may appear, they are
of the very last importance. To readers who are familiar with philosophic
terminology, I can express their importance by saying that they amount to this:
That propositions about the good are all of them synthetic and never analytic;
and that is plainly no trivial matter. And the same thing may be expressed more
popularly, by saying that, if I am right, then nobody can foist upon us such an
axiom as that Pleasure is the only good
or that The good is the
desired
on the pretence that this is the very meaning of the word
. (§ 6 ¶ 2)
§ 7.
Let us, then,
consider this position. My point is that good
is a simple notion, just as
yellow
is a simple notion; that, just as you cannot, by any manner of
means, explain to anyone who does not already know it, what yellow is, so you
cannot explain what good is. Definitions of the kind that I was asking for,
definitions which describe the real nature of the object or notion denoted by a
word, and which do not merely tell us what the word is used to mean, are only
possible when the object or notion in question is something complex. You can
give a definition of a horse, because a horse has many different properties and
qualities, all of which you can enumerate. But when you have enumerated them
all, when you have reduced a horse to his simplest terms, you can no longer
define those terms. They are simply something which you think of or perceive,
and to anyone who cannot think of or perceive them, you can never, by any
definition, make their nature known. It may perhaps be objected to this that we
are able to describe to others, objects which they have never seen or thought
of. We can, for instance, make a man understand what a chimaera is, although he
has never heard of one or seen one. You can tell him that it is an animal with a
lioness’s head and body, with a goat’s head growing from the middle of its back,
and with a snake in place of its tail. But here the object which you are
describing is a complex object; it is entirely composed of parts, with which we
are all perfectly familiar—a snake, a goat, a lioness; and we know, too, the
manner in which those parts are to be put together, because we know what is
meant by the middle of a lioness’s back, and where her tail is wont to grow. And
so it is with all objects not previously known, which we are able to define:
they are all complex; all composed of parts, which may themselves, in the first
instance, be capable of similar definition, but which must in the end be
reducible to simplest parts, which can no longer be defined. But yellow and
good, we say, are not complex: they are notions of that simple kind, out of
which definitions are composed and with which the power of further defining
ceases. (§ 7 ¶ 1)
§ 8.
When we say, as
Webster says, The definition of horse is
we may, in fact, mean three different things. (1) We may mean
merely A hoofed quadruped of the genus
Equus,
When I say
This might be called the arbitrary
verbal definition: and I do not mean that good is indefinable in that sense. (2)
We may mean, as Webster ought to mean: horse,
you are to understand that I am talking about
a hoofed quadruped of the genus Equus.When most English people say
This may be
called the verbal definition proper, and I do not say that good is indefinable
in this sense either; for it is certainly possible to discover how people use a
word: otherwise, we could never have known that horse,
they mean a hoofed quadruped of the genus Equus.good
may be translated by
gut
in German and by bon
in French.
But (3) we may, when we define horse, mean something much more important. We may
mean that a certain object, which we all of us know, is composed in a certain
manner: that it has four legs, a head, a heart, a liver, etc., etc., all of them
arranged in definite relations to one another. It is in this sense that I deny
good to be definable. I say that it is not composed of any parts, which we can
substitute for it in our minds when we are thinking of it. We might think just
as clearly and correctly about a horse, if we thought of all its parts and their
arrangement instead of thinking of the whole: we could, I say, think how a horse
differed from a donkey just as well, just as truly, in this way, as now we do,
only not so easily; but there is nothing whatsoever which we could substitute for
good; and that is what I mean, when I say that good is indefinable. (§ 8 ¶ 1)
§ 9.
But I am afraid I have still not removed the chief difficulty which
may prevent acceptance of the proposition that good is indefinable. I do not mean
to say that the good, that which is good, is thus indefinable; if I did
think so, I should not be writing on Ethics, for my main object is to help towards
discovering that definition. It is just because I think there will be less risk of
error in our search for a definition of the good,
that I am now insisting
that good is indefinable. I must try to explain the difference between
these two. I suppose it may be granted that good
is an adjective. Well,
the good,
that which is good,
must therefore be the substantive to
which the adjective good
will apply: it must be the whole of that to which
the adjective will apply, and the adjective must always truly apply to it.
But if it is that to which the adjective will apply, it must be something
different from that adjective itself; and the whole of that something different,
whatever it is, will be our definition of the good. Now it may be that
this something will have other adjectives, beside good,
that will apply
to it. It may be full of pleasure, for example; it may be intelligent; and if
those two adjectives are really part of its definition, then it will certainly
be true, that pleasure and intelligence are good. And many people appear to
think that, if we say Pleasure and intelligence are good,
or if we say
Only pleasure and intelligence are good,
we are defining good.
Well, I cannot deny that propositions of this nature may sometimes be called
definitions; I do not know well enough how the word is generally used to decide
upon this point. I only wish it to be understood that that is not what I mean
when I say there is no possible definition of good, and that I shall not mean
this if I use the word again. I do most fully believe that some true proposition
of the form Intelligence is good and intelligence alone is good
can be
found; if none could be found, our definition of the good would be
impossible. As it is, I believe the good to be definable; and yet I
still say that good itself is indefinable. (§ 9 ¶ 1)
§ 10.
Good,
then, if we mean by it that quality which we assert to belong to a thing, when
we say that the thing is good, is incapable of any definition, in the most
important sense of that word. The most important sense of definition
is
that in which a definition states what are the parts which invariably compose a
certain whole; and in this sense good
has no definition because it is
simple and has no parts. It is one of those innumerable objects of thought which
are themselves incapable of definition, because they are the ultimate terms of
reference to which whatever is capable of definition must be defined.
That there must be an indefinite number of such terms is obvious, on reflection;
since we cannot define anything except by an analysis, which, when carried as
far as it will go, refers us to something, which is simply different from
anything else, and which by that ultimate difference explains the peculiarity of
the whole which we are defining: for every whole contains some parts which are
common to other wholes also. There is, therefore, no intrinsic difficulty in the
contention that good
denotes a simple and indefinable quality. There are
many other instances of such qualities. (§ 10 ¶ 1)
Consider yellow, for example. We may try to define it, by describing its physical equivalent; we may state what kind of light-vibrations must stimulate the normal eye, in order that we may perceive it. But a moment’s reflection is sufficient to shew that those light-vibrations are not themselves what we mean by yellow. They are not what we perceive. Indeed, we should never have been able to discover their existence, unless we had first been struck by the patent difference of quality between the different colours. The most we can be entitled to say of those vibrations is that they are what corresponds in space to the yellow which we actually perceive. (§ 10 ¶ 2)
Yet a mistake of this simple kind has commonly been made about
good.
It may be true that all things which are good are also
something else, just as it is true that all things which are yellow produce a
certain kind of vibration in the light. And it is a fact, that Ethics aims at
discovering what are those other properties belonging to all things which are
good. But far too many philosophers have thought that when they named those
other properties they were actually defining good; that these properties, in
fact, were simply not other,
but absolutely and entirely the same with
goodness. This view I propose to call the naturalistic fallacy
and of it
I shall now endeavour to dispose. (§ 10 ¶ 3)
§ 11.
Let us consider what it is such philosophers say. And first it is to be noticed that they do not agree among themselves. They not only say that they are right as to what good is, but they endeavour to prove that other people who say that it is something else, are wrong. One, for instance, will affirm that good is pleasure, another, perhaps, that good is that which is desired; and each of these will argue eagerly to prove that other people who say that it is something else, are wrong. One, for instance, will affirm that good is pleasure, another, perhaps, that good is that which is desired; and each of these will argue eagerly to prove that the other is wrong. But how is that possible? One of them says that good is nothing but the object of desire, and at the same time tries to prove that it is not pleasure. But from his first assertion, that good just means the object of desire, one of two things must follow as regards his proof: (§ 11 ¶ 1)
(1) He may be trying to prove that the object of desire is not
pleasure. But, if this be all, where is his Ethics? The position he is
maintaining is merely a psychological one. Desire is something which occurs in
our minds, and pleasure is something else which so occurs; and our would-be
ethical philosopher is merely holding that the latter is not the object of the
former. But what has that to do with the question in dispute? His opponent held
the ethical proposition that pleasure was the good, and although he should prove
a million times over the psychological proposition that pleasure is not the
object of desire, he is no nearer proving his opponent to be wrong. The position
is like this. One man says a triangle is a circle: another replies, A
triangle is a straight line, and I will prove to you that I am right:
for
(this is the only argument) a straight line is not a
circle.
That is quite true,
the other may reply; but nevertheless
a triangle is a circle, and you have said nothing whatever to prove the
contrary. What is proved is that one of us is wrong, for we agree that a
triangle cannot be both a straight line and a circle: but which is wrong, there
can be no earthly means of proving, since you define triangle as straight line
and I define it as circle.
—Well, that is one alternative which any
naturalistic Ethics has to face; if good is defined as something else,
then it is impossible either to prove that any other definition is wrong or even
to deny such definition. (§ 11 ¶ 2)
(2) The other alternative will scarcely be more welcome. It is
that the discussion is after all a verbal one. When A says Good means
pleasant
and B says Good means desired,
they may merely wish to
assert that most people have used the word for what is pleasant and for what is
desired respectively. And this is quite an interesting subject for discussion:
only it is not a whit more an ethical discussion than the last was. Nor do I
think that any exponent of naturalistic Ethics would be willing to allow that
this was all he meant. They are all so anxious to persuade us that what they
call the good is what we really ought to do. Do, pray, act so, because the
word
: such,
on this view, would be the substance of their teaching. And in so far as they
tell us how we ought to act, their teaching is truly ethical, as they mean it to
be. But how perfectly absurd is the reason they would give for it! good
is generally used to denote actions of this natureYou are to
do this, because most people use a certain word to denote conduct such as
this.
You are to say the thing which is not, because most people call it
lying.
That is an argument just as good!—My dear sirs, what we want to
know from you as ethical teachers, is not how people use a word; it is not even,
what kind of actions they approve, which the use of this word good
may
certainly imply: what we want to know is simply what is good. We may
indeed agree that what most people do think good, is actually so; we shall at
all events be glad to know their opinions: but when we say that their opinions
about what is good, we do mean what we say; we do not care whether they
call that thing horse
or table
or chair,
gut
or bon
or ἀγαθός
; we want to know
what it is that they so call. When they say Pleasure is good,
we cannot
believe that they merely mean Pleasure is pleasure
and nothing more than
that. (§ 11 ¶ 3)
§ 12.
Suppose a man
says I am pleased
; and suppose it is not a lie or a mistake but the
truth. Well, if it is true, what does that mean? It means that his mind, a
certain definite mind, distinguished by certain definite marks from all others
has at this moment a certain definite feeling called pleasure. Pleased
means nothing but having pleasure, and though we may be more pleased or
less pleased, and even, we may admit for the present, have one or another kind
of pleasure; yet in so far as it is pleasure we have, whether there be more or
less of it, and whether it be of one kind or another, what we have is one
definite thing, absolutely indefinable, some one thing that is the same in all
the various degrees and in all the various kinds of it that there may be. We may
be able to say how it is related to other things: that, for example, it is in
the mind, that it causes desire, that we are conscious of it, etc., etc. We can,
I say, describe its relations to other things, but define it we can
not. And if anybody tried to define pleasure for us as being any other
natural object; if anybody were to say, for instance, that pleasure
means the sensation of red, and were to proceed to deduce from that
that pleasure is a colour, we should be entitled to laugh at him and to distrust
his future statements about pleasure. Well, that would be the same fallacy which
I have called the naturalistic fallacy. That pleased
does not mean
having the sensation of red,
or anything else whatever, does not prevent
us from understanding what it does mean. It is enough for us to know that
pleased
does mean having the sensation of pleasure,
and though
pleasure is absolutely indefinable, though pleasure is pleasure and nothing else
whatever, yet we feel no difficulty in saying that we are pleased. The reason
is, of course, that when I say I am pleased,
I do not mean that I
am the same thing as having pleasure.
And similarly no difficulty need be
found in my saying that pleasure is good
and yet not meaning that
pleasure
is the same thing as good,
that pleasure means
good, and that good means pleasure. If I were to imagine that when I
said I am pleased,
I meant that I was exactly the same thing as
pleased,
I should not indeed call that a naturalistic fallacy, although
it would be the same fallacy as I have called naturalistic with reference to
Ethics. The reason of this is obvious enough. When a man confuses two natural
objects with one another, defining the one by the other, if for instance, he
confuses himself, who is one natural object, with pleased
or with
pleasure
which are others, then there is no reason to call the fallacy
naturalistic. But if he confuses good,
which is not in the same sense a
natural object, with any natural object whatever, then there is a reason for
calling that a naturalistic fallacy; its being made with regard to good
marks it as something quite specific, and this specific mistake deserves a name
because it is so common. As for the reasons why good is not to be considered a
natural object, they may be reserved for discussion in another place. But, for
the present, it is sufficient to notice this: Even if it were a natural object,
that would not alter the nature of the fallacy nor diminish its importance
one whit. All that I have said about it would remain quite equally true: only
the name which I have called it would not be so appropriate as I think it is.
And I do not care about the name: what I do care about is the fallacy. It does
not matter what we call it, provided we recognise it when we meet with it. It is
to be met with in almost every book on Ethics; and yet it is not recognised: and
that is why it is necessary to multiply illustrations of it, and convenient to
give it a name. It is a very simple fallacy indeed. When we say that an orange
is yellow, we do not think our statement binds us to hold that orange
means nothing else than yellow,
or that nothing can be yellow but an
orange. Supposing the orange is also sweet! Does that bind us to say that
sweet
is exactly the same thing as yellow,
that sweet
must
be defined as yellow
? And supposing it be recognised that yellow
just means yellow
and nothing else whatever, does that make it any more
difficult to hold that oranges are yellow? Most certainly it does not: on the
contrary, it would be absolutely meaningless to say that oranges were yellow
unless yellow did in the end mean just yellow
and nothing else
whatever—unless it was absolutely indefinable. We should not get any very
clear notion about things, which are yellow—we should not get very far
with our science, if we were bound to hold that everything which was yellow,
meant exactly the same thing as yellow. We should find we had to hold
that an orange was exactly the same thing as a stool, a piece of paper, a lemon,
anything you like. We could prove any number of absurdities; but should we be
the nearer to the truth? Why, then, should it be different with good
?
Why, if good is good and indefinable, should I be held to deny that pleasure is
good? Is there any difficulty in holding both to be true at once? On the
contrary, there is no meaning in saying that pleasure is good, unless good is
something different from pleasure. It is absolutely useless, so far as Ethics is
concerned, to prove, as Mr Spencer tries to do, that increase of pleasure
coincides with increase of life, unless good means something different
from either life or pleasure. He might just as well try to prove that an orange
is yellow by shewing that it is always wrapped up in paper. (§ 12 ¶ 1)
§ 13.
In fact, if it
is not the case that good
denotes something simple and indefinable, only
two alternatives are possible: either it is a complex, a given whole, about the
correct analysis of which there could be disagreement; or else it means nothing
at all, and there is no such subject as Ethics. In general, however, ethical
philosophers have attempted to define good, without recognising what such an
attempt must mean. They actually use arguments which involve one or both of the
absurdities considered in § 11. We are, therefore,
justified in concluding that the attempt to define good is chiefly due to want
of clearness as to the possible nature of definition. There are, in fact, only
two serious alternatives to be considered, in order to establish the conclusion
that good
does denote a simple and indefinable notion. It might possibly
denote a complex, as horse
does; or it might have no meaning at all.
Neither of these possibilities has, however, been clearly conceived and
seriously maintained, as such, by those who presume to define good; and both may
be dismissed by a simple appeal to facts. (§ 13 ¶ 1)
(1) The hypothesis that disagreement about the meaning of good is
disagreement with regard to the correct analysis of a given whole, may be most
plainly seen to be incorrect by consideration of the fact that, whatever
definition may be offered, it may always, be asked, with significance, of the
complex so defined, whether it is itself good. To take, for instance, one of the
more plausible, because one of the more complicated of such proposed
definitions, it may easily be thought, at first sight, that to be good may mean
to be that which we desire to desire. Thus if we apply this definition to a
particular instance and say When we think that A is good, we are thinking
that A is one of the things which we desire to desire,
our proposition may
seem quite plausible. But, if we carry the investigation further, and ask
ourselves Is it good to desire to desire A?
it is apparent, on a little
reflection, that this question is itself as intelligible, as the original
question, Is A good?
—that we are, in fact, now asking for exactly the
same information about the desire to desire A, for which we formerly asked with
regard to A itself. But it is also apparent that the meaning of this second
question cannot be correctly analysed into Is the desire to desire A one of
the things which we desire to desire?
: we have not before our minds anything
so complicated as the question Do we desire to desire to desire to desire
A?
Moreover any one can easily convince himself by inspection that the
predicate of this proposition—good
—is positively different
from notion of desiring to desire
which enters into its subject: That
we should desire to desire A is good
is not merely equivalent to
That A should be good is good.
It may indeed be true that what we desire
to desire is always good; perhaps, even the converse may be true: but it is very
doubtful whether this is the case, and the mere fact that we understand very
well what is meant by doubting it, shews clearly that we have to different
notions before our mind. (§ 13 ¶ 2)
(2) And the same consideration is sufficient to dismiss the
hypothesis that good
has no meaning whatsoever. It is very natural to
make the mistake of supposing that what is universally true is of such a nature
that its negation would be self-contradictory: the importance which has been
assigned to analytic propositions in the history of philosophy shews how easy
such a mistake is. And thus it is very easy to conclude that what seems to be a
universal ethical principle is in fact an identical proposition; that, if, for
example, whatever is called good
seems to be pleasant, the proposition
Pleasure is the good
does not assert a connection between two different
notions, but involves only one, that of pleasure, which is easily recognised as
a distinct entity. But whoever will attentively consider with himself what is
actually before his mind when he asks the question Is pleasure (or whatever
it may be) after all good?
can easily satisfy himself that he is not merely
wondering whether pleasure is pleasant. And if he will try this experiment with
each suggested definition in succession, he may become expert enough to recognise
that in every case he has before his mind a unique object, with regard to the
connection of which with any other object, a distinct question may be asked.
Every one does in fact understand the question Is this good?
When he
thinks of it, his state of mind is different from what it would be, were he
asked Is this pleasant, or desired, or approved?
It has a distinct
meaning for him, even though he may not recognise in what respect it is
distinct. Whenever he thinks of intrinsic value,
or intrinsic
worth,
or says that a thing ought to exist,
he has before his mind
the unique object—the unique property of things—that I mean by
good.
Everybody is constantly aware of this notion, although he may never
become aware at all that it is different from other notions of which he is also
aware. But, for correct ethical reasoning, it is extremely important that he
should become aware of this fact; and as soon as the nature of the problem is
closely understood, there should be little difficulty in advancing so far in
analysis. (§ 13 ¶ 3)
§ 14.
Good,
then, is indefinable; and yet, so far as I know,
there is only one ethical writer, Prof. Henry Sidgwick, who has clearly recognised
and stated this fact. We shall see, indeed, how far many of the most reputed
ethical systems fall short of drawing the conclusions which follow from such a
recognition. At present I will only quote from one instance, which will serve to
illustrate the meaning and importance of this principle that good
is
indefinable, or, as Prof. Sidgwick says, an
unanalysable notion.
It is an instance to which Prof. Sidgwick himself refers in a note on the passage,
in which he argues that ought
is unanalysable. (§ 14
¶ 1)
Bentham,
says Sidgwick, explains that his fundamental
principle
; and yet
states the greatest happiness of all those whose interest is in
question as being the right and proper end of human action
his language in other passages of the same chapter would seem to imply
that he means by the word right
conducive to the general
happiness.
Prof. Sidgwick sees that, if you take these two statements
together, you get the absurd result that greatest happiness is the end of
human action, which is conducive to the general happiness
; and so absurd
does it seem to him to call this result, as Bentham calls it, the fundamental
principle of a moral system,
that he suggests that Bentham cannot have meant
it. Yet Prof. Sidgwick himself states elsewhere that
Psychological Hedonism is not seldom confounded with Egoistic Hedonism
;
and that confusion, as we shall see, rests chiefly on that same fallacy, the
naturalistic fallacy, which is implied in Bentham’s statements. Prof. Sidgwick admits therefore that this fallacy is
sometimes committed, absurd as it is; and I am inclined to think that Bentham
may really have been one of those who committed it. Mill, as we shall see,
certainly did commit it. In any case, whether Bentham committed it or not, his
doctrine, as above quoted, will serve as a very good illustration of this
fallacy, and of the importance of the contrary proposition that good is
indefinable. (§ 14 ¶ 2)
Let us consider this doctrine. Bentham seems to imply, so Prof.
Sidgwick says, that the word right
means conducive to general
happiness.
Now this, by itself, need not necessarily involve the
naturalistic fallacy. For the word right
is very commonly appropriated to
actions which lead to the attainment of what is good; which are regarded as
means to the ideal and not as ends-in-themselves. This use of
right
, as denoting what is good as a means, whether or not it also be
good as an end, is indeed the use to which I shall confine the word. Had Bentham
been using right
in this sense, it might be perfectly consistent for him
to define right as conducive to the general happiness
provided only (and note this proviso) he had already proved, or laid
down as an axiom, that general happiness was the good, or (what is
equivalent to this) that general happiness alone was good. For in that case he
would have already defined the good as general happiness (a position
perfectly consistent, we have seen, with the contention that good
is
indefinable), and, since right was to be defined as conducive to the
good,
it would actually mean conducive to general happiness.
But this method of escape from the charge of having committed the naturalistic
fallacy has been closed by Bentham himself. For his fundamental principle is, we
see, that the greatest happiness of all concerned is the right and
proper end of human action. He applies the word right,
therefore, to the end, as such, not only to the means which are conducive to it;
and that being so, right can no longer be defined as conducive to the general
happiness,
without involving the fallacy in question. For now it is obvious
that the definition of right as conducive to general happiness can be used by
him in support of the fundamental principle that general happiness is the right
end; instead of being itself derived from that principle. If right, by
definition, means conducive to general happiness, then it is obvious that
general happiness is the right end. It is not necessary now first to prove or
assert that general happiness is the right end, before right is defined as
conducive to general happiness—a perfectly valid procedure; but on the
contrary the definition of right as conducive to general happiness proves
general happiness to be the right end—a perfectly invalid procedure, since
in this case the statement that general happiness is the right end of human
action
is not an ethical principle at all, but either, as we have seen, a
proposition about the meaning of words, or else a proposition about the
nature of general happiness, not about its rightness or its goodness.
(§ 14 ¶ 3)
Now, I do not wish the importance I assign to this fallacy to be misunderstood. The discovery of it does not at all refute Bentham’s contention that greatest happiness is the proper end of human action, if that be understood as an ethical proposition, as he undoubtedly intended it. That principle may be true all the same; we shall consider whether it is so in the succeeding chapters. Bentham might have maintained it, as Prof. Sidgwick does, even if the fallacy had been pointed out to him. What I am maintaining is that the reasons which he actually gives for his ethical proposition are fallacious ones so far as they consist in a definition of right. What I suggest is that he did not perceive them to be fallacious; that, if he had done so, he would have been led to seek for other reasons in support of his Utilitarianism; and that, had he sought for other reasons, he might have found none which he thought to be sufficient. In that case he would have changed his whole system—a most important consequence. It is undoubtedly also possible that he would have thought other reasons to be sufficient, and in that case his ethical system, in its main results, would still have stood. But, even in this latter case, his use of the fallacy would be a serious objection to him as an ethical philosopher. For it is the business of Ethics, I must insist, not only to obtain true results, but also to find valid reasons for them. The direct object of Ethics is knowledge and not practice; and any one who uses the naturalistic fallacy has certainly not fulfilled this first object, however correct his practical principles may be. (§ 14 ¶ 4)
My objections to Naturalism are then, in the first place, that it
offers no reason at all, far less any valid reason, for any ethical principle
whatever; and in this it already fails to satisfy the requirements of Ethics, as
a scientific study. But in the second place I contend that, though it gives a
reason for no ethical principle, it is the cause of the acceptance of
false principles—it deludes the mind into accepting ethical principles,
which are false; and in this it is contrary to every aim of Ethics. It is easy
to see that if we start with a definition of right conduct as conduct conducive
to general happiness; then, knowing that right conduct is universally conduct
conducive to the good, we very easily arrive at the result that the good is
general happiness. If, on the other hand, we once recognise that we must start
our Ethics without a definition, we shall be much more apt to look about us,
before we adopt any ethical principle whatever, and the more we look about us,
the less likely we are to adopt a false one. It may be replied to this: Yes, but
we shall look about us just as much, before we settle on our definition, and are
therefore just as likely to be right. But I will try to shew that this is not
the case. If we start with the conviction that a definition of good can be
found, we start with the conviction that the good can mean nothing else
than some one property of things, and our only business will then be to discover
what that property is. But if we recognise that, so far as the meaning of good
goes, anything whatever may be good, we start with a much more open mind.
Moreover, apart from the fact that, when we think we have a definition, we
cannot logically defend our ethical principles in any way whatever, we shall
also be much less apt to defend them well, even if illogically. For we shall
start with the conviction that good must mean so and so, and shall therefore be
inclined either to misunderstand our opponent’s arguments or to cut them
short with the reply, This is not an open question: the very meaning of the
word decides it; no one can think otherwise except through confusion.
(§ 14 ¶ 5)
§ 14, n. 1: Methods of Ethics, Bk. I, Chap. iii, § 1 (6th edition). ↩