CHAPTER VI. Analysis of the Principal Moral Concepts

ANALYSIS OF THE PRINCIPAL MORAL CONCEPTS

WE have assumed that the moral concepts are essentially generalisations of tendencies in certain phenomena to call forth moral emotions. We have further assumed that there are two kinds of moral emotions: indignation and approval. If these assumptions hold good, either indignation or approval must be at the bottom of every moral concept. That such is really the case will, I think, become evident from the present chapter, in which the principal of those concepts will be analysed.

Our analysis will be concerned with moral concepts formed by the civilised mind. Whilst the most representative of English terms for moral estimates have equivalents in the other European languages, I do not take upon myself to decide to what extent they have equivalents in non-European tongues. That all existing peoples, even the very lowest, have moral emotions is as certain as that they have customs, and there can be no doubt that they give expression to those emotions in their speech. But it is another question how far their emotions have led to such generalisations as are implied in moral concepts. Concerning the Fuegians M. Hyades observes, "Les idées abstraites sont chez eux à peu près nulles. Il est difficile de définir exactement ce qu'ils appellent un homme bon et un homme méchant; mais à coup sûr ils n'ont pas la notion de ce qui est bon ou mauvais, abstraction faite de l'individu ou de l'objet auquel ils appliqueraient l'un ou l'autre {132} de ces attributs." The language of the Californian Karok, though rich in its vocabulary, is said to possess no equivalent for "virtue." In the aboriginal tongues of the highlanders of Central India "there seem to be no expressions for abstract ideas, the few such which they possess being derived from the Hindí. . . . . The nomenclature of religious ceremony, of moral qualities, and of nearly all the arts of life they possess, are all Hindí." On a strict examination of the language of the Tonga Islanders, Mariner could discover "no words essentially expressive of some of the higher qualities of human merit, as virtue, justice, humanity; nor of the contrary, as vice, injustice, cruelty, &c. They have indeed expressions for these ideas," he adds, but these expressions "are equally applicable to other things. To express a virtuous or good man, they would say, tangata lillé, a good man, or tangata loto lillé, a man with a good mind; but the word lillé, good (unlike our word virtuous), is equally applicable to an axe, canoe, or anything else." Of the Australian natives about Botany Bay and Port Jackson Collins wrote, "That they have ideas of a distinction between good and bad is evident from their having terms in their language significant of these qualities." A fish of which they never ate, was wee-re, or bad, whereas the kangaroo was bood-yer-re, or good; and these expressions were used not only for qualities which they perceived by their senses, but for all kinds of badness and goodness, and were the only terms they had for wrong and right. "Their enemies were wee-re; their friends bood-yer-re. On our speaking of cannibalism, they expressed great horror at the mention, and said it was wee-re. On seeing any of our people punished or reproved for ill-treating them, they expressed their approbation, and said it was bood-yer-re, it was right."

{133} Considering, moreover, that even the European languages make use of such general terms as "good" and "bad" for the purpose of expressing moral qualities, it seems likely that, originally, moral concepts were not clearly differentiated from other more comprehensive generalisations, and that they assumed a more definite shape only by slow degrees. At the same time we must not expect to find the beginning of this process reflected in the vocabularies of languages. There is every reason to believe that a savage practically distinguishes between the "badness" of a man and the "badness" of a piece of food, although he may form no clear idea of the distinction. As Professor Wundt observes, "the phenomena of language do not admit of direct translation back again into ethical processes: the ideas themselves are different from their vehicles of expression, and here as everywhere the external mark is later than the internal act for which it stands." Language is a rough generaliser; even superficial resemblance between different phenomena often suffices to establish linguistic identity between them. Compare the rightness of a line with the rightness of conduct, the wrongness of an opinion with the wrongness of an act. And notice the different significations given to the verb "ought" in the following sentences:--"They ought to be in town by this time, as the train left Paris last night"; "If you wish to be healthy you ought to rise early"; "You ought always to speak the truth." Though it may be shown that in these statements the predicate "ought" signifies something which they all have in common--the reference to a rule,--we must by no means assume that this constitutes the essence of the moral "ought," or gives us the clue to its origin.

Discarding all questions of etymology as irrelevant to our subject, we shall, in our analysis of moral concepts, {134} endeavour to fix the true import of each concept by examining how, and under what circumstances, the term expressing it is generally applied. We shall restrict ourselves to the principal, typical terms which are used as predicates in moral judgments. If we succeed in proving that they are all fundamentally derived from either moral indignation or moral approval, there can be no reasonable doubt as to the origin of the rest.

The tendency in a phenomenon to arouse moral indignation is directly expressed by the term bad, and a disposition of mind which is characterised by some special kind of badness is called vice. Closely allied to the term "bad" is the term wrong. But there is a difference in the use of these words. Whilst "bad" may be applied both to a person's character and to his conduct, only his conduct may be said to be "wrong." The reason for this is that the concept of moral wrongness is modelled on the idea of a moral law, the breach of which is regarded as "wrong." And, by laying down a moral law, we only enjoin a certain mode of conduct; we do not command a person to have a certain character.

The moral law is expressed by the term ought, a term which, in modern ethics, generally occupies a central position among moral predicates. The notion which it embodies is frequently looked upon as ultimate and incapable of analysis--"too elementary" (to quote Professor Sidgwick) "to admit of any formal definition." This view, I think, instead of simplifying the matter, has been one of the chief causes of the prevailing confusion in ethical thought.

Far from being a simple notion, "ought" appears to me clearly decomposable, even though it have a special flavour of its own. First of all, it expresses a conation. When I feel that I ought to do a thing, I experience an impulse to do it, even though some opposite impulse may finally determine my action. And when I say to another man, "You ought to do this, or that," there is certainly implied {135} a purpose to influence his action in a certain direction. In the notion of duty, the ethical import of which is identical with that of "ought," this conative element is not so obvious.

Closely connected with the conative nature of "ought" is the imperative character it is apt to assume. But, though frequently used imperatively, "ought" is not necessarily and essentially imperative. Even if the "ought" which I address to myself, in a figurative sense, may be styled a command, it is hardly appropriate to speak of a present command with reference to past actions. The common phrase, "You ought to have done this, or that," cannot be called a command.

The conation expressed in "ought" is determined by the idea that the mode of conduct which ought to be performed is not, or will possibly not be, performed. It is also this idea of its not being performed that determines the emotion which gives to "ought" the character of a moral predicate. The doing of what ought not to be done, or the omission of what ought not to be omitted, is apt to call forth moral indignation--this is the most essential fact involved in the notion of "ought." Every "ought"-judgment contains implicitly a negation. Nobody would ever have dreamt of laying down a moral rule if the idea of its transgression had not presented itself to his mind. We may reverse the words of the Apostle, and say that where no transgression is, there is no law. When Solon was asked why he had specified no punishment for one who had murdered a father, he replied that he supposed it could not occur to any man to commit such a crime. Similarly, the modern Shintoist concludes that the primæval Japanese were pure and holy from the fact that they are represented as a people who had no moral commandments. It is this prohibitive character of "ought" that has imparted to duty that idea of antagonism to inclination which has found its most famous expression {136} in the Kantian ethics, and which made Bentham look upon the word itself as having in it "something disagreeable and repulsive." It is the intrinsic connection between "ought" and "wrong" that has given to duty the most prominent place in ethical speculation whenever moral pessimism has been predominant. Whilst the ancient Greeks, with whom happiness was the state of nature, never spoke of duty, but held virtue to be the Supreme Good, Christianity, on the other hand, which looked upon man as a being born and bred in sin, regarded morals pre-eminently as the science of duty. Then, again, in modern times, Kant's categorical imperative came as a reaction against that moral optimism which once more had given the preference to virtue, considering everything in the world or in humanity as beautiful and good from the very beginning. It is also worth noting that the feeling of self-complacency connected with the consciousness of having acted in accordance with the law of duty, has no distinctively expressive name in ordinary language, while the opposite feeling is known by so familiar and distinctive a term as "remorse." This is not, as has been said, "a significant indication of the moral condition of mankind," but a significant indication of the true import of the notion of duty itself.

It is not, then, in the emotion of approval that we must seek for the origin of this concept. We may undoubtedly applaud him who is faithful to his duty, but the idea of duty involves no applause. There is no contradiction in the omission of an act being disapproved of and the performance of it being praised. "Ought" and "duty" express only the tendency of an omission to call forth disapproval, and say nothing about the consequences of the act's performance. The conscientious man refuses the homage paid to him, by saying, "I have only done my duty." Duty is a "stern {137} lawgiver," who threatens with punishment, but promises no reward.

The ideas of "ought" and "duty" thus spring from the same source as the ideas of "bad" and "wrong." To say that a man ought to do a thing is, so far as the morality of his action is concerned, the very same thing as to say that it is bad, or wrong, of him not to do it--in other words, that the not-doing of it has a tendency to call forth moral disapproval.

"Wrong" is popularly regarded as the opposite of right, and they are really contradictories, but only within the sphere of positive moral valuation. We do not call the actions of irresponsible beings, like animals or infants, "right," although they are not wrong; nor do we pronounce morally indifferent actions of responsible beings to be "right," unless we wish thereby especially to mark their moral value as not being wrong. An act which is permissible is of course not wrong, and so far it may be said to be right; but it would be more accurate to say that people have a right to do it. The adjective "right," in its strict sense, refers to cases from which the indifferent is excluded. A right action is, on a given occasion, the right action, and other alternatives are wrong. "Right" is thus closely related to "ought," but at the same time "right" and "obligatory" are not identical. I cannot quite subscribe to the view of Professor Sidgwick, that "in the recognition of conduct as 'right' is involved an authoritative prescription to do it." What is right is in accordance with the moral law; the adjective "right" means that duty is fulfilled. It is true that the super-obligatory also is right. But "right" takes no notice of the super-obligatory as distinct from the obligatory, and what goes {138} beyond duty always involves the fulfilment of some duty. It may be admitted to be "not only right," but not to be more right. Right has no comparative. A duty is either fulfilled or not, and unless it be perfectly fulfilled the conduct is wrong. There are degrees of wrongness and of goodness, as the moral indignation and the moral approval may be stronger or weaker, but there are no degrees of rightness.

The fact that the right action is a duty fulfilled accounts for the erroneous opinion so generally held by ethical writers that "right" is intrinsically connected with moral approval. The choice of the right alternative may give us satisfaction and call forth in us an emotion of approval. This emotion may be the motive for our pointing out the rightness of the act, and the judgment in which we do so may even intrinsically contain applause. The manner in which the judgment "That is right," is pronounced, often shows that it is meant to be an expression of praise. But this does not imply that the concept "right" by itself has reference to moral approval and involves praise. It only means that in one word is expressed a certain concept--the concept that a duty is fulfilled--plus an emotion of approval. That "right" per se involves no praise is obvious from the fact that we regard it as perfectly right to pay a debt and to keep a promise, or to abstain from killing, robbing, or lying, although such acts or omissions generally have no tendency whatever to evoke in us an emotion of moral approval.

The concept of "right," then, as implying that the opposite mode of conduct would have been wrong, ultimately derives its moral significance from moral disapproval. This may seem strange considering that "right" is commonly looked upon as positive and "wrong" as its negation. But we must remember that language and popular conceptions in these matters start {139} from the notion of a moral rule or command. It is a matter of paramount importance that such modes of conduct as are apt to arouse moral indignation should be avoided. People try to prevent them by prohibitions and injunctions, often emphasised by threats of penalties for the transgressors. The whole moral and social discipline is based upon commands; customs are rules of conduct, and so are laws. It is natural, then, that the notion of a command should figure uppermost in popular conceptions of morality. Obedience to the command is right, a breach of it is wrong. But the fact which gives birth to the command itself is the indignation called forth by the act which the command forbids, or by the omission of that which it enjoins.

I have spoken here of "right" as an adjective. Used as a substantive, to denote a right, it also, in whatever sense it be used, expresses a concept which is rooted in the emotion of moral disapproval. To have a right to do a thing is to be allowed to do it, either by positive law, in the case of a legal right, or by the moral law, in the case of a moral right; in other words, to have a moral right to do a thing means that it is not wrong to do it. But generally the concept of "a right" means something more than this. From the fact that an act is allowable, that it is not wrong, it follows, as a rule, that it ought not to be prevented, that no hindrance ought to be put in the way of its performance; and this character of inviolability is largely included in the very concepts of rights. That a man has a right to live does not merely mean that he commits no wrong by supporting his life, but it chiefly means that it would be wrong of other people to prevent him from living, that it is their duty not to kill him, or even, as the case may be, that it is their duty to help him to live. And in order to constitute a right in him, the duty in question must be a duty to him. That a right belonging to A is not merely a duty incumbent on B, but a duty to A incumbent on B, will become evident from an example. To kill another {140} person's slave may be condemned as an injury done to the slave himself, in which case it is a duty to the slave not to kill him; or to kill another person's slave may be condemned on account of the loss it causes to the master, in which case it is deemed a duty to the master not to kill the slave. In the latter case we can hardly say that the duty of not killing the slave constitutes a right to live in the slave--it only constitutes a right in the master to retain his slave alive, not to be deprived of him by an act causing his death.

So commonly does the conception of a right belonging to a person contain the idea of a duty which other persons owe him, that it seems necessary to point out the existence of rights in which no such idea is involved. A man's right to defend his country, for instance, does not intrinsically imply that it is wrong of the enemy to disable him from doing so. But, on the other hand, there are rights which are nothing else than duties towards those who have the rights. A right is not always a person's right to a certain activity, or to abstaining from a certain activity; it may have exclusive reference to other people's acts or omissions. That a man has the right to be rewarded by his country only means that his country is under an obligation to reward him. That a father has a right to be obeyed by his children only means that it is a duty incumbent on his children to obey him. That a person has the right of bodily integrity only means that it is wrong to inflict on him a bodily injury. These rights may, no doubt, if violated, give rise to certain rights of activity: a man may have a right to claim the reward which is due to him, a father to exact from his children the obedience which they owe him, a person who is wronged to defend himself. But the rights of claiming a reward, of exacting obedience, of resisting wrong, are certainly not identical with the rights of being rewarded, of being obeyed, of not being wronged.

It is commonly said that rights have their corresponding duties. But if this expression is to be used, it must be {141} remembered that the duty which "corresponds" to a right, as a matter of fact, is either included in that right or simply identical with it. The identity between the right and the duty, then, consists in this, that the notion of a right belonging to a person is identical with the notion of a duty towards him. Rights and duties are not identical in the sense that it is always a duty to insist on a right, though this has been urged. If anybody prevents me from making use of my right it may no doubt be deemed a duty on my part not to tolerate the wrong committed against me, but nothing of the kind is involved in the concept of a right. And the same may be said with reference to the assertion that a right to do a thing is always, at the same time, a duty to do it--an assertion which is a consequence of the doctrine that there is nothing morally indifferent and nothing that goes beyond duty; in other words, that all conduct of responsible beings is either wrong or obligatory. Even if this doctrine were psychologically correct--which it is not--even if there were a constant coincidence between the acts which a person has a right to perform and acts which it is his duty to perform, that would not constitute identity between the concepts of rights and duties. According to the meaning of a right, A's right may be B's duty towards A, but A's right cannot be A's duty towards B or anybody else.

Closely connected with the notions of wrongness and rightness are the notions of injustice and justice. Injustice, indeed, is a kind of wrongness. To be unjust is always to be unjust to somebody, and this implies a doing of wrong to somebody, a violation of somebody's right. "Justice," again, is a kind of rightness. It involves the notion that a duty to somebody, a duty corresponding to a right, is fulfilled; we say that justice "demands" that it should be fulfilled. As an act is "right" if its omission {142} is wrong, so an act is "just," in the strict sense of the word, if its omission is unjust. But, like the adjective "right," the adjective "just" is also sometimes used in a wider sense, to denote that something is "not unjust." As non-obligatory acts that are "not wrong" can hardly be denied to be "right," so non-obligatory acts that are "not unjust" can hardly be denied to be "just," although they are not demanded by justice.

At the same time, "injustice" and "justice" are not simply other names for violating or respecting rights. Whenever we style an act "unjust," we emphasise that it involves partiality. We do not denominate murder and robbery unjust, but wrong or criminal, because the partiality involved in their commission is quite obscured by their general wrongness or criminality; but we at once admit their gross injustice when we consider that the murderer and robber indulged their own inclinations with utter disregard of their neighbours' rights. And we look upon "unjust" as an exceedingly appropriate term for a judge who condemns an innocent man with the intention to save the culprit, and for an employer who keeps for himself a profit which he ought to share with his employees. Again, when we style an act "just," in the strict sense of the term, we point out that an undue preference would have been shown to somebody by its omission. It is true that, as Adam Smith observes, "we may often fulfil all the rules of justice by sitting still and doing nothing," and that the man who barely abstains from violating either the person or the estate or the reputation of his neighbours so far does justice to them; but in such a case we hardly apply the epithet "just," simply because there is no reason for emphasising the partiality involved in the opposite mode of conduct. On the other hand, we say it is just, or, more emphatically, that justice demands, that the innocent should not suffer in the place of the guilty, or that the employer should give his employees all their dues.

It is necessary to note that the impartiality which justice {143} demands is impartiality within the recognised order of rights, whether these rights themselves have a partial origin or not. A father is unjust if he gives away property to one of his children in preference to others, in case all of them are recognised to have a right to an equal share in his property, even though it be only a conditional right; and a man is unjust if he keeps for himself a profit to which another man has an equal right. But in a society which regards slavery as a morally permissible institution, a man is not necessarily deemed unjust if he beats a slave in a case where it would have been wrong to beat a freeman. However, in the case of unequal rights, justice admits of no greater difference of treatment than what the difference in rights implies. It may be just to punish a man who by a crime has forfeited that right to be protected from wilfully inflicted pain which every law-abiding citizen possesses, but it is unjust to extend the inequality between his condition and the condition of others beyond the inequality of their rights by inflicting upon him a punishment which is unduly severe.

It is the emphasis laid on the duty of impartiality that gives justice a special prominence in connection with punishments and rewards. A man's rights depend to a great extent upon his actions. Other things being equal, the criminal has not the same rights to inviolability as regards reputation, or freedom, or property, or life, as the innocent man; the miser and egoist have not the same rights as the benefactor and the philanthropist. On these differences in rights due to differences in conduct, the terms "just" and "unjust" lay stress; for in such cases an injustice would have been committed if the rights had been equal. When we say of a criminal that he has been "justly" imprisoned we point out that he was no victim of undue partiality, as he had forfeited the general right to freedom on account of his crime. When we say of a benefactor that he has been "justly" rewarded, we point out that no favour was partially bestowed upon him in preference to others, as he had acquired the special right of being rewarded. But the {144} "justice" of a punishment or a reward, strictly speaking, involves something more than this; as we have seen, what is strictly "just" is always the discharge of a duty corresponding to a right which would have been in a partial manner disregarded by a transgression of the duty. If it is just that a person should be rewarded, he ought to be rewarded, and to fulfil this duty is to do him justice. Again, if it is just that a person should be punished, he ought to be punished, and his not being punished is an injustice to other persons. It is an injustice towards all those whose condemnation of the wrong act finds its recognised expression in the punishment, inasmuch as their rightful claim that the criminal should be punished, their right of resisting wrong, is thereby violated in favour of the wrong-doer. Moreover, his not being punished is an injustice towards other criminals, who have been punished for similar acts, in so far as they have a right to demand that no undue preference should be shown to anybody whose guilt is equal to theirs. Retributive justice may admit of a certain latitude as to the retribution. It may be a matter of small concern from the community's point of view whether men are fined or imprisoned for the commission of a certain crime. But it may be a demand of justice that, under equal circumstances, all of them should be punished with the same severity, since the crime has equally affected their rights.

The emphasis which "injustice" lays on the partiality of a certain mode of conduct always involves a condemnation of that partiality. Like every other kind of wrongness, "injustice" is thus a concept which is obviously based on the emotion of moral disapproval. And so is the concept of "justice," whether it involves the notion that an injustice would be committed if a certain duty were not fulfilled, or it is simply used to denote that a certain mode of conduct is "not unjust." But there is yet another sense in which the word "just" is applied. It may emphasise the impartiality of an act in a tone of praise. Considering how difficult it is to be perfectly impartial and to give every man his due, especially when one's own interests are {145} concerned, it is only natural that men should be applauded for being just, and consequently that to call a person just should often be to praise him. So, also, "justice" is used as the name for a virtue, "the mistress and queen of all virtues." But all this does not imply that an emotion of moral approval enters into the concept of justice. It only means that one word is used to express a certain concept--a concept which, as we have seen, ultimately derives its import from moral disapproval--plus an emotion of approval. That the concept of justice by itself involves no reference to the emotion of moral approval appears from the fact that it is no praise to say of an act that it is "only just."

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From the concepts springing from moral disapproval we pass to those springing from moral approval. Foremost among these ranks the concept good.

Though "good," being affixed to a great variety of objects, takes different shades of meaning in different cases, there is one characteristic common to everything called "good." This is hardly, as Mr. Spencer maintains, its quality of being well adapted to a given end. It is true that the good knife is one which will cut, the good gun one which carries far and true. But I fail to see that "good" in a moral sense involves any idea of an adaptation to a given purpose, and, by calling conduct {146} "good," we certainly do not mean that it "conduces to life in each and all." "Good" simply expresses approval or praise of something on account of some quality which it possesses. A house is praised as "good" because it fulfils the end desired, a wine because it has an agreeable taste, a man on account of his moral worth. "Good," as a moral epithet, involves a praise which is the outward expression of the emotion of moral approval, and is affixed to a subject of moral valuation on account of its tendency to call forth such an emotion.

"Good" has commonly been identified with "right," but such an identification is incorrect. A father does right in supporting his young children, inasmuch as he, by supporting them, discharges a duty incumbent upon him, but we do not say that he does a good deed by supporting them, or that it is good of him to do so. Nor do we call it good of a man not to kill or rob his neighbours, although his conduct is so far right. The antithesis between right and wrong is, in a certain sense at least, contradictory, the antithesis between good and bad is only contrary. Every act--provided that it falls within the sphere of positive moral valuation--that is not wrong is right, but every act that is not bad is not necessarily good. Just as we may say of a thing that it is "not bad," and yet refuse to call it "good," so we may object to calling the simple discharge of a duty "good," although the opposite mode of conduct would be bad. On the other hand, no confusion of ethical concepts is involved in attributing goodness to the performance of a duty, or, in other words, praising a man for an act the omission of which would have incurred blame. To say of one and the same act that it is right and that it is good, really means that we look upon it from different points of view. Since moral praise expresses a benevolent attitude of mind, it is commendable for a man not to be niggard in his acknowledgment of other people's right conduct; whereas, self-praise being objectionable, only the other point of view is deemed proper when he passes a {147} judgment upon himself. He may say, without incurring censure, "I have done my duty, I have done what is right," but hardly, "I have done a good deed"; and it would be particularly obnoxious to say, "I am a good man." The best man even refuses to be called good by others:--"Why callest thou me good? there is none good but one, that is, God."

Whilst "goodness" is the general expression for moral praise, virtue denotes a disposition of mind which is characterised by some special kind of goodness. He who is habitually temperate possesses the virtue of temperance, he who is habitually just the virtue of justice. And even when a man is simply said to be "virtuous," this epithet is given to him, more or less distinctly, with reference to some branch of goodness which constitutes his virtue. A Supreme Being, to whom is attributed perfect goodness, is not called virtuous, but good.

It was the opinion of Aristotle that virtue is imperfect so long as the agent cannot do the virtuous action without a conflict of impulses. Others maintain, on the contrary, that virtue essentially expresses effort, resistance, and conquest. It has been represented as "mediation through pain"; according to Kant, it is "the moral disposition in struggle." But I do not see that virtue presupposes struggle, nor that it is lessened by being exercised with little or no effort. A virtue consists in the disposition to will or not to will acts of a certain kind, and is by no means reduced by the fact that no rival impulses make themselves felt. It is true that by struggle and conquest a man may display more virtue, namely, the virtue of self-restraint in addition to the virtue gained by it. The vigorous and successful contest against temptation constitutes a virtue by itself. For instance, the quality of mind which is exhibited in a habitual and victorious effort to conquer strong sexual passions is a virtue distinguishable from that of chastity. But even this virtue of {148} resisting seductive impulses is not greater, ceteris paribus, in proportion as the victory is more difficult. Take two men with equally strong passions and equally exposed to temptations, who earnestly endeavour to lead a chaste life. He who succeeds with less struggle, thanks to his greater power of will, is surely inferior neither in chastity nor in self-restraint. Suppose, again, that the two men were exposed to different degrees of temptation. He who overcomes the greater temptation displays more self-restraint; yet the other man may possess this virtue in an equal degree, and his chastity is certainly not made greater thereby. He may have more merit, but merit is not necessarily proportionate to virtue.

The virtues are broad generalisations of mental dispositions which, on the whole, are regarded as laudable. Owing to their stereotyped character, it easily happens, in individual cases, that the possession of a virtue confers no merit upon the possessor; and, at least from the point of view of the enlightened moral consciousness, a man's virtues are no exact gauge of his moral worth. In order to form a just opinion of the value of a person's character, we must take into account the strength of his instinctive desires and the motives of his conduct. There are virtues that pay no regard to this. A sober man, who has no taste for intoxicants, possesses the virtue of sobriety in no less degree than a man whose sobriety is the result of a difficult conquest over a strong desire. He who is brave with a view to be applauded is not, as regards the virtue of courage, inferior to him who faces dangers merely from a feeling of duty. The only thing that the possession of a virtue presupposes is that it should have been tried and tested. We cannot say that people unacquainted with intoxicants possess the virtue of sobriety, and that a man who never had anything to spend distinguishes himself for frugality. For to attribute a virtue to somebody is always to bestow upon him some degree of praise, and it is no praise, only irony, to say of a man that he "makes a virtue of necessity."

{149} Attempts have been made to reconcile the Aristotelian and the Kantian views of the relation between virtue and effort, by saying that virtue is the harmony won and merit is the winning of it. This presupposes that a man to whom virtue is natural has had his fights. But, surely, it is not always so. Who could affirm that every temperate, or charitable, or just man has acquired the virtue only as a result of inward struggle? There are people to whom some virtues at least are natural from the beginning, and others who acquire them with a minimum of effort.

There has been much discussion about the relation between virtue and duty. It has been said that "they are co-extensive, the former describing conduct by the quality of the agent's mind, the latter by the nature of the act performed"; that they express the same ideal, virtue subjectively, duty objectively; or that virtue, in its proper sense, is "the quality of character that fits for the discharge of duty," and that it "only lives in the performance of duty." At the same time it is admitted that "the distinctive mark of virtue seems to lie in what is beyond duty," and that "though every virtue is a duty, and every duty a virtue, there are certain actions to which it is more natural to apply the term virtuous." Prof. Sidgwick, again, in his elaborate chapter on 'Virtue and Duty,' remarks that he has "thought it best to employ the terms so that virtuous conduct may include the performance of duty as well as whatever good actions may be commonly thought to go beyond duty; though recognising that virtue in its ordinary use is most conspicuously manifested in the latter."

It can be no matter of surprise that those who regard the notion of "duty" as incapable of being analysed, or {150} who fail to recognise its true import, are embarrassed by its relation to virtue. We do not call it a virtue if a man habitually abstains from killing or robbing, or pays his debts, or performs a great number of other duties. We do call chastity and temperance and justice virtues, although we regard it as obligatory on a man to be chaste, temperate, just. We also call hospitality, generosity, and charity virtues in cases where they go beyond the strict limits of duty. "The relation of virtue and duty is complicated," says Professor Alexander. "In its common use each term seems to include something excluded from the other," observes Professor Sidgwick. But, indeed, the relation is not complicated, for there is no other intrinsic relation between them than their common antagonism to "wrong." That something is a duty implies that its non-performance tends to evoke moral indignation, that it is a virtue implies that its performance tends to evoke moral approval. That the virtues actually cover a comparatively large field of the province of duty is simply owing to their being dispositions of mind. We may praise the habits of justice and gratitude, even though we find nothing praiseworthy in an isolated just or grateful act.

There has been no less confusion with regard to the relation between duty and merit. Like the notions of "good" and "virtue," the "meritorious" derives its origin from the emotion of moral approval; but while the former merely express a tendency to give rise to such an emotion, "meritorious" implies that the object to which it refers merits praise, that it has a just claim to praise, or, in other words, that it ought to be recognised as good. This makes the term "meritorious" more emphatic than the term "good," but at the same time it narrows its province in a peculiar way. Just as the expression that something ought to be done implies the idea of its not being done, so the word "meritorious" suggests the idea of goodness which may fail of due recognition. And as it is meaningless to speak of duty in a case where the {151} opposite mode of conduct is entirely out of the question, so it would be an absurdity to attribute merit to somebody for an act the goodness of which is universally admitted. Thus "meritorious" involves a restriction. It would be almost blasphemous to call the acts of a God conceived to be infinitely good meritorious, since it would suggest a limitation of his goodness.

The emphatic claim to praiseworthiness made by the "meritorious" has rendered it objectionable to a great number of moralists. It has been identified with the "super-obligatory"--a conception which is to many an abomination. From what has been said above, however, it is manifest that they are not identical. As the discharge of a duty may be regarded as a good act, so it may also be regarded as an act which ought to be recognised as good. Practically, no doubt, there is a certain antagonism between duty and merit. We praise, and, especially, we regard as deserving praise, only what is above the average, and we censure what is below it. No merit is conferred upon him who performs a duty which is seldom transgressed, or the transgression of which would actually incur punishment or censure. We do not think that a man ought to be praised for what his own interest prompts him to perform; and, since the transgression of a moral command which is usually obeyed is generally censured or punished, there is under ordinary circumstances nothing meritorious in performing a duty. But though thus probably most acts which are deemed meritorious fall outside the limits of duty as roughly drawn by the popular mind, we are on the other hand often disposed to attribute merit to a man on account of an act which, from a strict point of view, is his duty, but a duty which most people, under the same circumstances, would have left undischarged. This shows that the antagonism between duty and merit is not absolute. And in the concept of merit per se no such antagonism is involved.

{152} I confess that I fail to grasp what those writers really mean who identify the "meritorious" with the "super-obligatory," and at the same time deny the existence of any super-obligatory. Do they shut their eyes to the important psychical fact indicated by the term "merit," or do they look upon it as a chimera inconsistent with a sufficiently enlightened moral consciousness? For my own part, I cannot see how the moral consciousness could dispense with the idea that there are actions which merit praise or reward, which ought to be praised or rewarded. The denial of merit can be defended from a purely theological point of view, but then only with regard to man's relation to God. It is obvious that a fallen being who is sinning even when he does his best, could not be recognised as good by God and could have no merit. But it is hardly just, nor is it practically possible, that a man should measure his fellow-man by a superhuman standard of perfection, and try to suppress the natural emotion of moral approval and the claims springing from it, by persuading himself that there is no mortal being who ever does anything which ought to be recognised as good.

Quite distinct from the question of merit, then, is that of the super-obligatory. Can a man do more than his duty, or, in other words, is there anything good which is not at the same time a duty? The answer depends on the contents given to the commandments of duty, hence it may vary without affecting the concept of duty itself. If we consider that there is an obligation on every man to promote the general happiness to the very utmost of his ability, we must also maintain that nobody can ever do anything good beyond his duty. The same is the case if we regard "self-realisation," or a "normal" exercise of his natural functions, as a man's fundamental duty. In all these cases "to aim at acting beyond obligation," as Price puts it, is "the same with aiming at acting contrary to obligation, and doing more than is fit to be done, the same with doing wrong." It can hardly be denied, however, {153} that those who hold similar views have actually two standards of duty, one by which they measure man and his doings in the abstract, with reference to a certain ideal of life which they please to identify with duty, and another by which they are guided in their practical moral judgments upon their own and their neighbours' conduct. The conscientious man is apt to judge himself more severely than he judges others, partly because he knows his own case better than theirs, and partly because he is naturally afraid of being intolerant and unjust. He may indeed be unwilling to admit that he ever can do more than his duty, seeing how difficult it is even to do what he ought to do, and impressed, as he would be, with the feeling of his own shortcomings. Yet I do not see how he could conscientiously deny that he has omitted to do many praiseworthy or heroic deeds without holding himself blamable for such omissions.

Professor Sidgwick observes that "we should not deny that it is, in some sense, a man's strict duty to do whatever action he judges most excellent, so far as it is in his power." This, as it seems to me, is not a matter of course, and nothing of the kind is involved in the notion of duty itself. We must not confound the moral law with the moral ideal. Duty is the minimum of morality, the supreme moral ideal of the best man is the maximum of it. Those who sum up the whole of morality in the word "ought" identify the minimum and the maximum, but I fail to see that morality is better for this. Rather it is worse. The recognition of a "super-obligatory" does not lower the moral ideal; on the contrary it raises it, or at any rate makes it more possible to vindicate the moral law and to administer it justly. It is nowadays a recognised principle in legislation that a law loses part of its weight if it cannot be strictly enforced. If the realisation of the highest moral ideal is commanded by a moral law, such a law will always remain a dead letter, and morality will gain nothing. Far above the anxious {154} effort to fulfil the commandments of duty stands the free and lofty aspiration to live up to an ideal, which, unattainable as it may be, threatens neither with blame nor remorse him who fails to reach its summits. Does not experience show that those whose thoughts are constantly occupied with the prescriptions of duty are apt to become hard and intolerant?

Those who deny the existence of anything morally "praiseworthy" which is not a duty, are also generally liable to deny the existence of anything morally indifferent in the conduct of responsible beings. The "super-obligatory" and the "indifferent" have this in common, that they are "ultra-obligatory," and the denial of the one as well as of the other is an expression of the same tendency to look upon the moral law as the sole fact of the moral consciousness. Even Utilitarianism cannot consistently admit of anything indifferent within the province of moral valuation, since two opposite modes of conduct can hardly produce absolutely the same sum of happiness. Such a repudiation of the "indifferent" being quite contrary to the morality of common sense, which, after all, no ethical theory can afford to neglect, considerable ingenuity has been wasted on vain attempts to show that the "indifferent" is nothing but a rude popular conception unable to keep its ground against a thoroughgoing examination. Professor Ziegler ironically asks:--"Such outward matters as eating and drinking are surely morally indifferent? And yet is eating and drinking too much, is spending too much time in outdoor exercise, is lounging idly about, morally indifferent? or, on the other hand, is it morally allowable or wholesome to reduce oneself and make oneself weak and ill by fasting, or to become a hypochondriac by continually staying indoors?" This argument, however, involves a confusion of different volitions. The fact that eating or drinking generally, or eating or drinking too much or too little, are no matters of indifference, surely does not prevent {155} eating or drinking on some certain occasion from being indifferent. Mr. Bradley again observes:--"It is right and a duty that the sphere of indifferent detail should exist. It is a duty that I should develop my nature by private choice therein. Therefore, because that is a duty, it is a duty not to make a duty of every detail; and thus in every detail I have done my duty." This statement also shows a curious confusion of entirely different facts. It may be very true that it is a duty to recognise certain actions as indifferent. This is one thing by itself. But it is quite another thing to perform those actions. And if it is a duty to recognise certain actions as indifferent how could it possibly at the same time be held a duty to perform them?

It has been maintained that the sphere of the indifferent forms the totality of "ought"; that when the same end may be reached by a variety of means, an action may be indifferent merely in relation to the choice of means, but not so far as regards the attainment of the end, and hence is only apparently indifferent. "If it is my moral duty to go from one town to another," says Mr. Bradley, "and there are two roads which are equally good, it is indifferent to the proposed moral duty which road I take; it is not indifferent that I do take one or the other; and whichever road I do take, I am doing my duty on it, and hence it is far from indifferent: my walking on road A is a matter of duty in reference to the end, though not a matter of duty if you consider it against walking on road B; and so with B--but I can escape the sphere of duty neither on A nor on B." All this is true, but forms no argument against the "indifferent." The statement, "You ought to go to the town and to take either road A or B," refers to two volitions which are regarded as wrong, namely, the volition not to go to the town at all, and the volition to take any road not A or B; and it {156} refers also to two pairs of volitions in reference to which it indicates that the choice between the volitions constituting each pair is indifferent. You may choose to take road A or not to take it; you may choose to take road B or not to take it. The "indifferent" is always an alternative between contradictories. It can therefore never form part of an "ought"-totality, being itself a totality as complete as possible. This is somewhat disguised by a judgment which makes an obligation of a choice between A and B, but becomes conspicuous if we consider a simple case of indifference. Suppose that it is considered indifferent whether you speak or do not speak on a certain occasion. What is here the "ought" that forms the totality of the indifferent? Would there be any sense in saying that you ought either to speak or not to speak? or is the alternative, speaking--not speaking, only a link in an indefinite chain of alternatives, each of which is by itself indifferent, in a relative sense, but the sum of which forms the "ought"? You may be permitted--it will perhaps be argued--in a given moment to speak or to abstain from speaking, to write or to abstain from writing, to read or to abstain from reading, and so on; but however wide the province of the permissible may be, there must always be a limit inside which you ought to remain. That you do this or that may be a matter of indifference, but only of relative indifference, for it is not indifferent what you do on the whole; hence there is nothing absolutely indifferent. Such an argument, however, involves a misapprehension of the true meaning of the "indifferent." The predicate expressing indifference refers to certain definite volitions and their contradictories, not to the whole of a man's conduct in a certain moment. The whole of a man's conduct is never indifferent. But neither is the whole of a man's conduct ever wrong. In the moment when a murderer kills his victim he is fulfilling an endless number of duties: he abstains from stealing, lying, committing adultery, suicide, and so on. The predicate "wrong" only marks the moral {157} character of a special mode of conduct. Why should not the indifferent be allowed to do the same?

It has, finally, been observed that the so-called "indifferent" is something "the morality of which can only be individually determined." This remark calls attention to the fact that no mode of conduct can be regarded as indifferent without a careful consideration of individual circumstances, and that much which is apparently indifferent is not really so. This, however, does not involve an abolition of the indifferent. Such an abolition would be the extreme of moral intolerance. He who tried to put it into practice would be the most insupportable of beings, and to himself life would be unbearable. Fortunately, such a man has never existed. The attempts to make every action, even the most trivial, of responsible beings a matter of moral concern, are only theoretical fancies without practical bearing, a hollow and flattering tribute to the idol of Duty.