In the writings of Bentham^[3] and his followers the ethical doctrine that actions are right or wrong according as they do or do not tend to produce maximum pleasure is founded upon the psychological theory that as a matter of fact nothing is or can be desired except pleasure. The most fundamental of all distinctions between ethical systems turns upon the attitude which they adopt towards this theory. It is of course possible for a Moral Philosopher to reject the hedonistic Psychology and still to remain a Hedonist. He may hold that it is, as a matter of psychological fact, possible to desire other things besides pleasure, but that pleasure is the only proper or rational object of desire. It is possible to contend that I may, as a matter of psychological fact, desire other things, but that, if I do so, I am a fool for my pains. On the other hand it is clear that if nothing but pleasure can be desired, it is useless, and indeed meaningless, to maintain that something other than pleasure ought to be desired. It will be well, therefore, to clear the ground by facing the psychological problem before we attack the ethical questions which depend, to a large extent, upon our answer to that problem.(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 1)

The plausibility of the doctrine that nothing but pleasure can be the object of desire depends mainly upon a confusion between three different senses in which it may be understood. The proposition that the motive of every action is pleasure may mean:--(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 2)

1. That I always do that which it gives me most pleasure at the moment to do;(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 3)

2. That the motive of every action is some future pleasure, although that future pleasure is not necessarily the most intense (it being for instance possible to choose the nearer but smaller pleasure in preference to one greater but more remote);(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 4)

3. That the motive of every act is always to get the greatest quantum of pleasure upon the whole.(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 5)

Now the doctrine explicitly maintained by psychological Hedonists is usually the last of these three positions: while its plausibility arises chiefly from its confusion with one or both of the former. The last proposition is, indeed, one of those which would hardly obtain a moment's acceptance but for the supposed consequences of denying it. Let us assume for the moment that nothing ever is desired except pleasure, and ask whether it is always the prospect of the greatest pleasure that moves us. That men do not always do that which will as a matter of fact bring them most pleasure will readily be admitted: need we hesitate to assert that the world would be a much better place if they did^[4]? Nor will it be denied that people often do actions which, before the time of acting, they know very well to be contrary to their real interest, understood in the most purely hedonistic sense. The drunkard--the poor drunkard at all events, who suffers from his vices in other than purely physiological ways--knows very well in the morning that he gets more pain than pleasure from his drink: he craves to get rid of the habit, and yet, as a matter of fact, he drinks on. That will be acknowledged, but it may be urged perhaps that at the moment of action such a man has always persuaded himself that the drink will produce a balance of pleasure on the whole. Admit, if you like, that he has. The question remains: how, on the assumptions of psychological Hedonism, is it possible to account for such a persuasion? Granted that at the time he acts he does not know that the thing is bad for him, how can a man who once knew that a thing was bad for himself come, however momentarily, to believe the contrary? Such conduct as that of the drunkard will hardly be accounted for by mere intellectual error, mere involuntary lapse of memory. If a man who in the morning knew that to drink a whole bottle of gin was not for his good, comes in the evening to believe the contrary, his ignorance must be to some extent voluntary: he must, as we say, have persuaded himself that it will do him no harm. And this voluntary ignorance, this bias in his judgment, has to be accounted for: and on the hedonistic theory (in the form in which it is now before us), it can be accounted for only in one way. On that theory there is only one desire or emotion that can ever affect the will, and so exercise a distorting influence upon the judgment, viz. desire for one's greatest pleasure on the whole. In the case supposed then desire for his greatest pleasure on the whole, steadily operating throughout the day, must somehow have changed the conviction that the man's greatest pleasure lies in abstinence or moderation into a conviction that his greatest pleasure lies in drunkenness. Is this an intelligible piece of Psychology?(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 6)

Perhaps the matter may be made plainer by a slightly different illustration. If there is a certain piece of hedonistic calculus in the world, it is that the pleasure of eating something very bad for one is not worth the indigestion which it causes. The pleasure, unlike that of quantitative or qualitative errors in drinking, is slight and almost momentary: the pain may be continuous and severe. Ask a man with a delicate digestion whether the wise dyspeptic Hedonist will eat lobster salad. Ask him in the morning, ask him the moment before dinner, ask him while he is actually tasting his soup, and he will say emphatically No. It has almost always disagreed with me; it certainly is not worth the risk of temporary indigestion and the danger of bringing back that chronic indigestion which it took me so long to get over a year ago. Yet it may be that, as the dinner proceeds and conversation flows and spirits rise, the lobster salad comes round, and he eats. Now I admit that in cases like that it is scarcely possible to account for the man's action without supposing at least a momentary intellectual vacillation. Very likely he does say to himself, After all the consequences are not certain: I have upon occasion taken lobster salad without suffering much. I am better now than when I ate it last, and so on. But the question remains, Why should he seek in this way to deceive himself? Do not these efforts at self-deception imply that the man is not, as the theory supposes him to be, an absolutely impartial judge between the pleasure of the next moment and the pleasure of the next morning or the next week? Were he unbiased by desire of lobster salad, or of the pleasure attending its consumption, he would unquestionably have retained his well-grounded conviction as to the inadvisability of eating it. Supposing, at the very moment before he took the fatal resolution, he were to be consulted by a no less dyspeptic neighbour, he would have no hesitation whatever about the matter. By no means eat lobster salad, he would have said. And when in his own case he acts differently, it is evident that at that moment he cares more for present pleasure (in so far as his desire is really a desire for pleasure at all) than for his pleasure on the whole. There is a bias in his judgment--a bias derived from desire--which prevents him from correctly balancing present against future pains. He has, in short, other desires besides a desire for the greatest quantum of pleasure, though it may be (for anything we have seen so far) that he still cares about nothing but pleasure. At all events, the nearer pleasure exercises more attractive power than the more remote.(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 7)

We have seen reason to reject the third interpretation of the hedonistic formula; now let us look at the first. It undoubtedly sounds plausible to say that, if I do a thing, I do it because it pleases me to do it; and from this it does not seem a large step to the admission that, if I prefer one alternative to another, it is because it pleases me more, and from that to the admission that I always do that which pleases me most. It might be enough to point out that we are really misled by an ambiguity of language. It pleases me to do it, it is my pleasure (placet) that it shall be done, means merely I will that it should be done; as to why I will it, the phrase tells us nothing. But let us admit that we are justified in interpreting this placet by It gives me at this moment more pleasure to do this than to do anything else^[5]. The question still remains Why does this course of action give me so much momentary pleasure as to determine my will to adopt it? It certainly cannot always be the pleasure resulting at the moment of action that moves me t odo it. For the most selfish people clearly do many things which are painful at the time for the sake of some future end. Granted that it always gives me most pleasure to do what I have made up my mind to do, the question remains, What leads me to make up my mind? And this certainly cannot be the mere momentary pleasure involved in the act itself. If I thought only of my own momentary sensations while preparing for a bath on a very cold morning, I certainly should not take it. Still less, should I go to the dentist when my tooth is not actually aching. If I do these unpleasant things, it must be for the sake of something--a feeling of my own or otherwise--which lies beyond that moment. That brings us to the second possible sense of the psychological-hedonist doctrine--that I always act for the sake of some future pleasure^[6], though not necessarily for the sake of the greatest quantum of pleasure on the whole.(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 8)

Why then should one pleasure or sum of pleasures attract me more than another, apart from its being greater in amount? It may be said that I am more attracted by the nearer than by the remoter pleasure. That is intelligible, and it was admitted by Bentham, who did not see that the admission was fatal to the doctrine, implied if not expressed in the writings of himself and his followers, that what is desired is always the greatest prospective sum of pleasures. Of course in so far as remoteness involves uncertainty, that may logically be taken into account by the hedonistic calculus. But in so far as a remote pleasure is practically just as certain as a nearer one, it ought on Benthamite principles to prove equally attractive. And yet it is matter of experience that it very often does not. And this involves the admission that what I desire in such cases is not pleasure, but immediate pleasure. The pleasure in the hand as treated as if it were worth two in the bush, even when the pleasure in the bush is as certain as that in the hand.(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 9)

This admission by itself makes a very large inroad into the apparently logical and coherent system of the hedonistic Psychology. Ethically it is of little importance, so long as the only characteristic which can give to one foreseen pleasure an increased attractiveness as compared with some other foreseen pleasure is supposed to be its greater proximity. But the admission may perhaps prepare the way for the recognition of the fact that there are other sources of (so to speak) differential attractiveness in pleasure besides (1) expected intensity and (2) proximity. Let us emphasize the admission that has so far been made. It is admitted, we may assume, that foreseen greater intensity of pleasure does not always carry with it greater constraining power over the will. The human mind is not the mere impartial calculating machine which it is represented to be by the hedonistic Psychology in its most logical form. We have in fact recognized the existence of passion in the human soul, though at present we may be disposed to interrupt passion as a mere liability to be more affected by a nearer than by a remoter pleasure. but is that a possible explanation of the extraordinary motive power possessed at certain moments by one pleasure as compared with another which, upon a calm review, would be recognized as being of far greater intensity? Take the case of an angry man. On a calm review of the pleasure of avenging some trifling or imagined slight (at the cost perhaps of some serious and forseen penalty), the man himself would usually be disposed to admit that the game was not worth the candle. The pleasure, he would admit, would not be worth the sacrifice of even a week's freedom and ordinary enjoyment of life. Yes, it will be said, but then the prospect of the pleasure is near, its more clearly perceived intensity triumphs over a chaos of remote, indefinite, and indistinctly envisaged enjoyments such as might be purchased by self-restraint. Well, at that rate, the offer of some other pleasure more intense and equally near should at once hold back the uplifted hand, and transform the angry countenance. Once assume that the attraction lies wholly in pleasure--that the man is indifferent to the kind of pleasure, except so far as kind of pleasure implies to him a difference of intensity--and this consequence must follow. But does it? The average wife-beating ruffian would probably admit on reflection that the pleasure of beating his wife on one particular occasion was not worth a pot of beer. But tender him the pot of beer when he is angry, and will the uplifted hand inevitably be lowered to grasp it? No, it will be said, this is what he would do if he calmly reflected; but at such a moment he does not reflect; his mind is so concentrated upon that one imagined pleasure that the other fails to obtain an entrance. But why does he not reflect? The determination to reflect or not to reflect is just as much a voluntary action as the determination to strike or not to strike. And, if the hedonistic Psychology is right, this action must be itself determined by a calculation as to the greater pleasantness of reflection or non-reflection. If then a man gets angry and so fails to reflect upon the consequences of what he is doing, that must be, it would seem, because he has come to the conclusion that (in this particular case) non-reflection will be the pleasanter course. But what should lead him to such a conclusion? Experience? Are we then really prepared to say that a hot-tempered man is one who has been taught by experience to believe that at certain moments non-reflection upon the relative value of pleasures, necessarily involving the choice of pleasures which calm reflection would show to be of less intensity, is itself conducive to obtaining the greatest amount of pleasure or at least of immediate pleasure? If any one is really prepared to admit this analysis of passion, there is no more to be said. If he is not, he must concede that, even if we allow the object of choice to be always a pleasure, there is something which causes a man at times to prefer one pleasure rather than another, irrespective of its greater nearness or greater intensity. What is this something? I know of no better way of expressing it than to say that the man desires one pleasure (assuming for the moment that it really is pleasure which is desired) rather than another^[7]. It is an ultimate fact that one desire is stronger than another^[8]. The strength of the desire does not depend wholly upon the intensity of the imagined pleasure. And in so far as it does not depend upon such imagined intensity, it is not really a desire for pleasure qua pleasure. If all that is desired is pleasure--as much of it as possible, and for as long as possible--it must be a matter of indifference to the man in what form (so to speak) his pleasure is served up to him, so long as he gets enough of it. But the existence of such passions as we have alluded to is by itself a sufficient proof that it is not pleasure in general but some particular kind of pleasure that is desired in such cases. Now it seems clear that desire for a particular kind of pleasure is not really desire for pleasure and nothing else. Even if we supposed that pleasure was always part of his object, we should have to admit that the man desires not only pleasure but also a particular sort of pleasure, not necessarily thought of as more intense than other pleasures. Desire of pleasure then is not the only motive which is capable of inspiring action.(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 10)

And having got so far, we may be prepared to go a step further and admit that the desire of pleasure need not really be present at all. At least there need be no desire for anything which would be a pleasure apart from the fact that it is desired. The fact that a thing is desired no doubt implies that the satisfaction of the desire will necessarily bring pleasure. There is undoubtedly pleasure in the satisfaction of all desire. But that is a very different thing from asserting that the object is desired because it is thought of as pleasant, and in proportion as it is thought of as pleasant. The hedonistic Psychology involves, according to the stock phrase, a hysteron-proteron; it puts the cart before the horse. In reality, the imagined pleasantness is created by the desire, not the desire by the imagined pleasantness.(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 11)

The truth is that to deny the existence of disinterested desires, i.e. desires for objects other than greatest anticipated pleasure^[9], destroys the possibility of acocunting for nearly all our interests except those of a purely sensual character^[10]. It is admitted on all hands that different people get different amounts of pleasure from the same external sources. Why so? In the case of mere physical sensation we can account for the difference between man and man by differences of physical constitution. Whether a man likes port or champagne depends upon the constitution, as modified by education, of his palate and nervous system. It has nothing to do with the strength of any pre-existing impulse towards the one or the other. His preference is not, in any direct and immediate way, determined by his character. Apart from the anticipated pleasure, he is perfectly impartial or unbiased in his decision between the two wines. Nothing but experience of their comparative pleasantness determines his judgment as to which of them he will take, so far as no considerations of health, or economy, or the like may dictate the choice of one rather than the other^[11]. Suppose a glass of champagne to be administered to a life-long teetotaller and called a glass of lemonade. He may have been wholly innocent of a desire for champagne; he may have habitually denounced it as liquid poison; all his anticipations may have been confined to the unexhilarating lemonade. And yet, given the requisite nervous organization, he will probably exclaim, Why, this is the very best lemonade that I have ever tasted in the whole course of my life! On the other hand, when we turn to moral, intellectual, or other ideal pleasures^[12], we find that their attractiveness depends entirely upon their appealing to some pre-existing desire, though no doubt some accidental and undesired experience may sometimes awaken a desire not previously felt. To the mind that does not desire knowledge, knowledge is not pleasant; knowledge compulsorily admitted is often found to be productive of anything but pleasure. Benevolence does not give pleasure to people who are not benevolent. The psychological Hedonist analyses Benevolence into a liking for benevolent pleasure. No doubt to the benevolent man Benevolence does give pleasure, but it gives him pleasure only because he has previously desired the good of this or that person, or of mankind at large. Where there is no such desire, benevolent conduct is not found to give pleasure. and so with many bad pleasures: for it is extremely important to insist that disinterested desires are not necessarily good pleasures^[13] If I have set my heart upon the death of an enemy, it will give me pleasure to kill him. Apart from such a desire, there is nothing in the mere physical process which could possibly account for the pleasure. It would be no pleasure at all to kill some other person by precisely the same means, unless indeed my desire is not a desire for vengeance, but a disinterested malevolence towards humanity in general^[14]. In all such cases it is a certain idea which is pleasant, the idea of an object which is or may be something quite different from my own sensations, whether of a purely physical character or of any more exalted kind which a hedonistic Psychology may be able to recognize. It is not the representation of my being pleased in the future which makes the idea of the sick man relieved or of the wrong avenged pleasant to me, and so moves my will; my desire is that the actual objective result shall be achieved. Of course if I am to be influenced by such a desire, I must, as we say, take an interest in the desired object. So far every desire might no doubt be called an interested desire. But the question at issue is just this--whether I am capable of taking an interest in other things besides my own sensations, actual in the present or imagined as being enjoyed by me in the future. To deny that I am capable of taking such an interest would make it scarcely possible to explain how anything could please me except purely physical sensations, an interest in which is, so to speak, compulsory. The pleasantness may no doubt be stimulated by an effort of voluntary attention, or diminished by a voluntary effort of abstraction, which will usually take the form of voluntary attention to something else. But it does not rest with us--it does not depend upon our will, or our character, or our desires--whether we shall or shall not feel the sensations and feel them to be pleasant.(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 12)

It is extremely important to insist upon the full extent of ground covered by this class of disinterested desires. A prejudice is sometimes created against the doctrine of disinterested desires just on account of its ethical import. The greater part of our desires are assumed to be interested, and in asserting some few of them to be disinterested, we are suspected of trying to introduce questionable exceptions in the interests of edification. It is, therefore, desirable to insist that the possibility of being interested in something besides our own sensations is as distinctly implied by the momentary absorption in the plot of a novel, or the most evanescent and morally indifferent sympathy with its characters, as by the most sublime heroism or the most systematic philanthropy. The spectator of a tragedy who had no disinterested desires would simply exclaim, What is Hebuca to me, or I to Hecuba, that I should weep for her? Prove to me that my own future pleasures are somehow involved in the fate of Hecuba, and then I shall begin to be interested in her story, but not till then. No pleasures in short are explicable on the hypothesis of psychological Hedonism except those of a purely sensual character, and I may add, aesthetic pleasures, which after all have a purely sensuous basis, however many higher intellectual activities and sympathies may be involved in them. When a beautiful landscape bursts upon us unexpectedly, the enjoyment of it is not dimmed by the fact that we were not craving for it beforehand. Nor does it appear that a craving for beauty in general precedes or is implied in the first development of the aesthetic faculties; it is rather experience of their pleasantness which begets the love of beauty. For, although beauty is not merely a particular kind of pleasure, the pleasure is certainly an inseparable element of the beauty, and this pleasure does not seem to imply any previous desire^[15]. But directly Art begins to involve anything more than contemplation of immediately beautiful form and colour and sound^[16], it interests us only by appealing to desires or interests which are not merely desires for pleasure. A man who cared about nothing but his own sensations might derive pleasure from a beautiful sunset, but he could hardly appreciate a beautiful character or a beautiful plot, and even the appreciation of physical beauty probably has its roots to some extent in a kind of sympathy, however strongly we may repudiate Hume's attempt to analyse away our appreciation of the elegance of a swan's long neck into sympathy with its utility to the swan. Any further analysis of aesthetic pleasure would here be out of place. I merely note that the aesthetic pleasures, or an element in them, seem to be the most prominent case of pleasure, not in the ordinary sense purely sensual, which does not necessarily imply desire for anything besides the pleasure itself^[17].(Bk. 1 Ch. 2 § 1 ¶ 13)