C

O N T E N T S

INTRODUCTION by Gordon Marino ix

PART I: FROM PLATO TO KIERKEGAARD

1. PLATO Euihyphro, Crito, and The Republic: Book II 3

2. ARISTOTLE Nicomachean Ethics 43

3. EPICTETUS The Enchiridion 85

4. ST. AUGUSTINK City of God; Book XIX 107

5. ST. THOMAS AQUINAS Summa Theologica: Question XCIV 119

6. THOMAS HOBBES Leviathan: Part I. Of Man,

Part II. Of Commonwealth I 34

7. DAVID HUME An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals 149

8. IMMANUEL KANT Fundamental Principles of the

Metaphysics of Morals 188

9. JOHN STUART MILL Utilitarianism 225

10. ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER Parerga and Paralipomena 2 56

11. FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE On the Genealogy of Morality 274

12. SOREN KIERKEGAARD The Sickness Unto Death: Part II 299

PART II: THE MODERNS

1 3. RUTH BENEDICT Anthropology and the Abnormal 309

14. MARY MIDGLEY Trying Out One's New Sword 321

15. JKAN-PAUL SARTRE Existentialism and Human Emotion 328

16. PHILIP HALLIE From Cruelty to Goodness 333

viii • Contents

17. ROBERT COLES The Disparity Between Intellect and Character 3 50

18. Dr. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. Letter from a Birmingham Jail 356

19. J OHN RAWLS A Theory of Justice 378

20. ALASDAIB MACINTYRE After Virtue 396

21. NEL NODDINGS Caring A Feminine Approach to Ethics

and Moral Education 424

2 2. THOMAS NAGEL Mortal Questions 445

23. SUSAN WOLF Moral Saints 462

24. ALDO LEOPOLD A Sand County Almanac: The Land Ethic 486

25. PETER SINGER Rich and Poor 506

26. TOM REGAN The Case for Animal Rights 530

27. MICHAEL WALZER Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands 545

28. JUDITII JARVIS THOMSON A Defense of Abortion

DON MARQUIS Why Abortion Is Immoral 567

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 607

PERMISSION CREDITS 609

I N T R O D U C T I O N

Gordon Marino

T h e existentialists had one thing right. To live is to abide within the

chilly coordinates of constant choice, choices about what to value,

about how to live our lives, about ethics.

A few years back, I was at the bedside of a friend dying a slow,

painful death. T h e r e was no hope of a recovery and she was haunted

by the concern that she would be gobbling up all of her children's

resources by continuing in her agonizing half-life. Worse yet, she

feared that by the time the flames of pain had finished with her, all of

her good memories and her repository of loving feelings would be

cinder. "What," she once said with a sigh, "could be more humiliat-

ing, what could be worse than not caring anymore about anything

except being free of pain?" O n e night, she calmly asked me to hand

her a bottle of sleeping pills. I thought for a long moment: If her end

was going to be as bad as she imagined it, why not? But it felt too

much like playing God, and I demurred.

On my way to a party, I am accosted by an unkempt man who insists

that he needs taxi fare to take his feverish baby to the emergency

room. Maybe 1 should trust him and help him out, but then again,

would I only be lending a hand to make myself feel better? But

wait—what am I? Some kind of narcissist? W h a t difference do my

motives make to a potentially desperate individual?

x • Introduction

My m o t h e r passed away a few years ago. She had a dear aid friend whom

I started visiting. A bright, interesting, and kind nonagenarian, she very

m u c h looks forward to o u r chats. However, every time I go to see her,

I have to pass through a long ward of Alzheimer's patients and, much as I

am ashamed to admit it, the sight unnerves me. Between the grief trig-

gered about my mother and my two-way passage through the unit of

people who are here and yet not here, I invariably leave the nursing

h o m e so depressed that I am not much good to anyone else for about

twenty-four hours. Should 1 continue to visit my mother's friend?

Your friend has applied for a job and you are on the hiring c o m m i t -

tee. Objectively speaking, he is qualified but his application does not

exactly j u m p to the t o p of the pile. Years ago, he helped you find a

position. You know f r o m e x p e r i e n c e the g l a s s - i n - y o u r - g u t

feeling of

u n e m p l o y m e n t . Should you try to give his application a boost?

Would that be fair? T h e r e is an ancient and m u c h prized v i r t u e

called loyalty. H o w should we balance fairness and loyalty when they

c o m e into conflict?—and they w i l l c o m e into conflict.

Hitler, Mao, Pol Pot, t h e killing fields of Rwanda, t h e American h a r -

r o w i n g m a c h i n e of slavery, and t h e genocide of N a t i v e A m e r i c a n

s -

are h u m a n beings beasts? H o w can the h o r d e of us be so easily

c o r r u p t e d and transformed into murderers? Or take it one or two

notches up f r o m the moral abyss to the r e c e n t scandals on Wall

Street and in the banking industry: H o w could all of these Ivy

L e a g u e - e d u c a t e d businessmen and - w o m e n , stalwarts of their c o m
-

munities, d e f r a u d p e o p l e out of their life savings while sipping mar-

tinis in t h e H a m p t o n s ?

Abstract, concrete, and in between, the questions about ethics

abound. W h a t constitutes moral progress? W h a t criteria should we

use to evaluate conduct? C a n I morally justify my actions? Should I

do the so-called right thing if it is against my self-interest? W h a t is

the right t h i n g anyhow? Do good and evil exist i n d e p e n d e n t l y of

h u m a n s ? Is ethics a body of knowledge? If so, how do we acquire this

knowledge? From books? Experience? Both? T h e s e are some of t h e

p r o b l e m s that fall within the p u r v i e w of ethics and this collection.

But w h a t u n i t e s this family of concerns? W h a t is ethics?

Introduction • xi

S o m e say that what we call ethics is n o t h i n g m o r e n o r less than

custom. Listen to H e r o d o t u s . In Book T h r e e of his Histories, he

writes:

. . . I have no doubt that Cambyses was completely out of

his mind; it is the only possible explanation of his assault

upon, and mockery of, everything which ancient law and

custom have m a d e sacred in Egypt. If anyone, no matter

who, were given the o p p o r t u n i t y of choosing from

amongst all the nations in the world the set of beliefs

which he thought best, he would inevitably—after careful

considerations of their relative merits—choose that of his

own country. Everyone without exception believes his

own native customs, and the religion he was brought up in,

to be the best; and that being so, it is unlikely that anyone

but a madman would mock at such things. T h e r e is abun-

dant evidence that this is the universal feeling about the

ancient customs of one's country.

O n e m i g h t recall, f o r example, an a n e c d o t e of Darius. W h e n he was

king of Persia, he s u m m o n e d the G r e e k s who h a p p e n e d to be pres-

ent at his court, and asked t h e m what they would take to eat the dead

bodies of their fathers. T h e y replied that they would not do it for any

m o n e y in the world. Later, in the p r e s e n c e of the G r e e k s , and

t h r o u g h an interpreter, so t h a t they could u n d e r s t a n d what was said,

he asked s o m e Indians of the tribe called Callatiae, who do in fact eat

their parents' dead bodies, what they would take to b u r n them. T h e y

u t t e r e d a cry of h o r r o r and f o r b a d e him to m e n t i o n such a d r e a d

f u l

thing. O n e can see by this what custom can do.

In o t h e r words custom is king.

Scholars have noted that both the word "ethics" and the t e r m

"morals," which are o f t e n used interchangeably, derive respectively

f r o m the G r e e k and Latin words f o r "customs." O n e of Socrates's

i n t e r l o c u t o r s in Plato's Republic holds that ethics is n o t h i n g m o r e

than

m a n n e r s or conventions and as such it has no basis in nature. On this

account, t h e r e is n o t h i n g sacred about t h e injunction not to lie, n o t h -

ing f r o m on High d e m a n d i n g that we refrain f r o m cruelty. For

Socrates's antagonist and the t h r o n g who think like him, the only

xii • Introduction

law with objective f o r c e is written into o u r pulse and instincts in the

f o r m of an innate desire to p u r s u e o u r self-interests and to take care

of those close to us. It is the idea of "family values" writ large. From

this skeptical point of view, n o r m s are socially constructed rules t h a t

t h e s t r o n g individual has to learn how to feign following so that he or

she can at least appear to be just; but, a la Machiavelli, the appear-

ance is all that matters, and only so that the s t r o n g person can get

what he or she wants.

T h a t ethics has no objective reality, no basis in nature, is half of

t h e gist of the immortal Ring of Gyges myth (see page 40), again
f r o m Plato's Republic. A c c o r d i n g to the story with which G l a u c o n

regales Socrates, a s h e p h e r d h a p p e n s u p o n a r i n g that r e n d e r s

him

invisible when he rotates t h e facet inward. T h e shepherd m u r d e r s

the king and marries his wife. G l a u c o n insists that any intelligent

man w h o could slip such a ring u p o n his finger would and should do

t h e same. And if ethics is in fact just custom, a m a t t e r of p u t t i n g t h e

fork on t h e left side, then m a y b e G l a u c o n is c o r r e c t and t h e r e is no

reason to refrain f r o m cheating on our taxes and spouses.

In what t h e p h i l o s o p h e r Friedrich N i e t z s c h e would come to see as

a sin against h u m a n nature, Plato's Socrates reasons that n o t only

should we act justly with or w i t h o u t the magical ring, but that the

r i g h t e o u s individual w h o is w r o n g l y declared u n j u s t and severely

p u n i s h e d is h a p p i e r than the scoundrel who bamboozles p e o p l e and

receives h o n o r s f r o m t h e local c h a m b e r of c o m m e r c e . H e r e t h e
c o n -

nection between good living (ethics) and the good life ( eudaimonia.

happiness) looms up and begins its long march t h r o u g h the history of

reflections on ethics in t h e west.

In philosophical parlance, P l a t o and Socrates were both objec-

tivists and cognitivists. T h e y believed that G o o d n e s s exists i n d e p e n -

d e n t l y of the mores of a particular society and that we can c o m e to

know it. I n d e e d , it was with this t r a n s c e n d e n t standard of the G o o d

in m i n d that Socrates, the war h e r o and d e v o t e d citizen of his

beloved Athens, twice risked his life in acts of civil disobedience.

T h e r e are glaring p r o b l e m s with t h e ethics-equals-customs e q u a -

tion. It does n o t seem right to say that when we c o n d e m n slavery or

t o r t u r e we m e a n only that these practices are simply conventions

that h ave gone out of favor. Moreover, customs and m a n n e r s are by

definition a m a t t e r of taste akin to "You like bread p u d d i n g and I

Introduction • xiii

don't." C o m m o n wisdom has it that t h e r e is s o m e t h i n g m o r e p r o -

found at stake with m a t t e r s moral. W h e n we complain that t h e greed

of t h e champions of finance has w r o u g h t havoc on t h e American

e c o n o m y and working people, we mean s o m e t h i n g m o r e p o t e n t

than

the actions of these m o n e y - m o n g e r s is not to o u r taste. W h a t e v e r

ethics may be, it c a n n o t be strictly identified with customs. N e v e r -

theless, moral and social life are inextricably bound together. As

Alasdair M a c l n t y r e puts it:

Moral concepts change as social life changes. I deliber-

ately do not write "because social life changes," for this

might suggest that social life is one thing, morality

another, and that there is merely an external contingent

causal relationship between them. Moral concepts are

embodied in and are partially constitutive forms of social

life. {After Virtue)

But moral concepts are m o r e than social mores; they also differ f r o m

legal strictures. For the most part, except in the cases of certain types

of crimes, the law is not c o n c e r n e d with intentions. T h e law does not

care w h e t h e r or not you paid y o u r taxes with bitterness or alacrity; it

m e r e l y d e m a n d s t h a t you carry out or abstain f r o m certain types of

conduct. On most accounts of morals, the springs of y o u r actions

speak to t h e issue of the moral w o r t h of y o u r actions.

T h e r e are, moreover, m a n y acts that would raise t h e brows of c o n -

science b u t to which laws are indifferent, actions such as malicious

gossip and failing to help t h e poor. Finally, the halls of history are

h u n g with statutes that could only have been written by t h e devil.

C o n s i d e r s o m e of t h e N a z i legislation or o u r own miscegenation

laws of a m e r e sixty years ago. As T h o m a s Aquinas and his l o n g -

distance learning student, Dr. M a r t i n L u t h e r King, Jr., taught, ethics

provides a standard for the law. Legal strictures that do not m e a s u r e

up to that standard, and so poison rather than n u r t u r e life, are only

simulacra of a law and as such call for acts of civil disobedience.

Although t h e r e m a y be considerable overlap, ethics is n e i t h e r law

n o r custom. W h a t e v e r else it may be, ethics is the study of oughts and

of relationships; that is, of how we aught to relate to ourselves, ought to

relate to others, and as of late, of how we ought to relate to the earth.

xiv • Introduction

If t h e r e is a factual or descriptive side to this discipline, it inheres in

trying to c o m p r e h e n d h u m a n n a t u r e so as to g u i d e it.

T h e anthology b e f o r e you is an assemblage of classical texts on

t h e science of oughts. But b e f o r e squeaking open t h e d o o r to this col-

lection, we m i g h t press: W h a t is t h e use of s t u d y i n g these relation-

ships? Of b e c o m i n g a s t u d e n t of the literature on ethics?

In t h e first m o v e m e n t of his Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle responds

to this very question:

As then our present study, unlike the other branches of

philosophy, has a practical aim (for we are not investigat-

ing the nature of virtue for the sake of knowing what is,

but in order that we may become good w i t h o u t which

result our investigation would be of no use) . . .

N o t i c e , Aristotle does not o f f e r a preface of this ilk in any of his h u n -

d r e d s of o t h e r tracts. T h e end of t h e study of ethics should not be t h e

m e r e acquisition of knowledge or an increased ability to d e b a t e

about right and wrong. Instead, t h e study of ethics ought to trans-

form us in some way. H o w so? W h a t kind of t r a n s f o r m a t i o n am I

alluding to?

In his philosophical m a g n u m opus, The Concluding Unscientific Post-

script, Soren Kierkegaard observed that he w r o t e to make life m o r e

difficult for his readers. Almost t h e same could be said for a w o r t h -

while collection on ethics. My h o p e is that s p e n d i n g time in these

pages will make our lives m o r e difficult by illuminating p r o b l e m s

that used to fly u n d e r t h e radar of conscience. And while these r e a d -

ings should sharpen o u r moral insight, they should also e n h a n c e our

lives. For as the great Stoic Seneca puts it, " H e who studies with a

p h i l o s o p h e r " — o r , I think, with a book of p h i l o s o p h y — " s h o u l

d take

h o m e with him s o m e good t h i n g every day; he should daily r e t u r n

h o m e a s o u n d e r man, or on t h e way to b e c o m e sounder."

PART I

F R O M P L A T O TO K I E R K E G A A R D

C H A P T E R 1
PLATO

In a sense there are two authors responsible for these three texts:

Euthyphro, Crito, and the Republic. Plato composed the dialogues Euthy-

phro and Crito, but it is widely believed that the conversations that

comprise these magisterial works of literature and philosophy were

based on discussions that his teacher Socrates engaged in at the time

of his trial and death. T h e Republic is a later production and though

Socrates is the central character in this work, the views and argu-

ments expressed therein are widely held to be those of Plato himself.

Born in Athens in 469 B.C., Socrates revolutionized thinking to

such a degree that most scholars regard him and the dialectical

method he developed as the starting point of Western philosophy.

T o d a y the philosophers who preceded Socrates, such as Anaximan-

der, Xenophanes, Protagoras, Heraclitus, and Parmenides, are rou-

tinely grouped together u n d e r the heading "the Pre-Socratics."*

Socrates never wrote a word, perhaps because he heHeved that

one needed to appropriate one's thoughts on philosophical matters

and that writing was merely an aid to rote memorization.1

In the Golden Age of Athens, in which Socrates matured and

' F o r die most part, the reflections of these early sages were a combination of
myth and
natural science.

'See Plato's seventh letter on this issue.

4 • Plato

flourished, the ability to p e r s u a d e assumed n e w importance. T h e

great city state was a d e m o c r a c y and in order to a c c r u e power in this

t y p e of government you had to learn how to convince others of y o u r

opinion. Philosophical sparring was c o m m o n over questions such as:

Are morals based in n a t u r e or in custom? C a n v i r t u e be taught?

T h o u g h a stonemason by trade, Socrates was an intellectual m a r -

tial artist by calling. He b e c a m e both f a m o u s and i n f a m o u s for p u b -

licly dissecting the reasoning of the powerful and elite, often m a k i n g

t h e m seem foolish in t h e eyes of the crowd g a t h e r e d at these exami-

nations. A cadre of admirers swirled around him and listened intently

as he debated sophists such as Gorgias and Protagoras.

Socrates did not regard his skills of analysis as a tool for amassing

p o w e r in t h e worldly sense, but rather as a means of f e r r e t i n g out the

truth. His thinking m a y have been that both t h e internal and external

worlds are always shifting. In o r d e r to achieve s o m e degree of stabil-

ity, h u m a n s need to have a compass. T h e only reliable compass in the

face of flux is reason and a r g u m e n t . Socrates is not alone a m o n g o u r

moral philosophers in seeking this ballast within the self.

In a way, Socrates had n o t h i n g to teach b u t a m e t h o d . After all, he

c l a i m e d only o n e piece of knowledge, namely, that he knew t h a t he

did not know anything. Paradoxically enough, it was on t h e basis of

this self-awareness that t h e oracle at Delphi judged him to be t h e

wisest p e r s o n in the world. Plato, who was born in 4 2 8 / 4 2 7 B.C. and

died in 347 B.C., was o n e of Socrates's informal students: informal

b e c a u s e unlike the Sophists, Socrates accepted no fees and did not

profess anything.

As Aristophanes's brilliant play The Clouds reveals, there w e r e cit-

izens who believed that Socrates's style of q u e s t i o n i n g u n d e r m i n e d

faith in the gods of the city, and it was for this lack of faith that

A t h e n s was being punished. Socrates was b r o u g h t up on charges of

sowing doubts about the gods and of c o r r u p t i n g the youth. He was

unsuccessful in his ironic self-defense and was executed by being

forced to drink hemlock. O n e of the selections, Crito, is set in

Socrates's prison cell as he awaits execution.

P l a t o was surely p r e s e n t at his mentor's trial. A stern critic of

democracy, P l a t o recognized the intimate b o n d b e t w e e n t h e health

of the individual and t h a t of t h e state. On his account, o n e n e e d e d to

know the G o o d in o r d e r to steer the state in a good direction. T r y i n g

Ethics: The Essential Writing.r • 5

to put theory into practice, Plato, on more than one occasion, u n d e r -

took the task of trying to transform upstart kings into philosophers.

T h e s e adventures ended in disaster, making for a certain hidebound

quality to Plato's late works.

It is difficult to parse out the ethical positions of Socrates from

those of his genial student, Both placed enormous emphasis on the

relation between knowledge and moral goodness; so much so that it

seems that Socrates, at least, held the extreme view that moral virtue

is essentially knowledge. If you truly know the Good, you will do it.

For him there is no weakness of the will. Also, as the renowned clas-

sicist T e r e n c e Irwin notes, Socrates seems to have held that we ought

to lead a moral life whether or not such a life leads to happiness.

Plato, in contrast, argues that the righteous life is not only good in

itself but also a necessary condition of a eudaimonia or a happy life.

T h e s e issues as well as t h e question of whether or not moral laws are

customs or objective realities are taken up in the Ring of Gyges

excerpt from Book II of the Republic.

E U T H Y P H R O

PERSONS OV THE DIALOGUE

Socrates Euthyphro

SCENE:— The Porch of the KingArchon

EUTHYPHRO: Why have you left the Lyceum, Socrates? and what are

you doing in the porch of the King Archon? Surely you can not be

engaged in an action before the king, as 1 am.

SOCRATES: N o t in an action, Euthyphro ; impeachmen t is the word

which the Athenians use.

EUTH: What! 1 suppose that some one has been prosecuting you, for I

can not believe that you are the prosecutor of another.

soc: Certainly not.

EUTH: T h e n some one else has been prosecuting you?

soc: Yes.

EUTH: A n d w h o i s h e ?

soc: A young man who is little known, Euthyphro; and I hardly know

him: his name is Meletus, and'he is of the d e m e of Pitthis. Perhaps

you may remember his appearance; he has a beak, and long

straight hair, and a beard which is ill grown.

EUTH: No, I do not r e m e m b e r him, Socrates. And what is the charge

which he brings against you?

Euthyphro • 7

s o c : W h a t is the charge? Well, a very serious charge, which shows a

good deal of character in the y o u n g man, and for which he is

certainly n o t to be despised. He says he knows how the y o u t h are

c o r r u p t e d and who are their corruptors. I fancy that he must be a

wise man, and seeing that 1 am anything but a wise man, he has

found me out, and is going to accuse me of c o r r u p t i n g his y o u n g

friends. And of this o u r m o t h e r the state is to be the judge. Of all

o u r political men he is the only one w h o seems to me to begin in

the right way, with the cultivation of virtue in youth; he is a good

h u s b a n d m a n , and takes care of the shoots first, and clears away us

who are the destroyers of them. T h a t is the first step; he will

afterward attend to the elder branches; and if he goes on as he has

begun, he will be a very great public benefactor.

EUTH: T h o p e that he may; hut I r a t h e r fear, Socrates, that the reverse

will turn out to be the truth. My opinion is that in attacking you

he is simply aiming a blow at the state in a sacred place. But in

w h a t way does he say that you c o r r u p t the young?

s o c : He brings a w o n d e r f u l accusation against me, which at first

hearing excites surprise: he says t h a t T am a poet or maker of gods,

and that I make new gods and d e n y the existence of old ones; this

is the ground of his indictment.

EUTH: I u n d e r s t a n d , Socrates; he m e a n s to attack you about the

familiar sign which occasionally, as you say, comes to you. He

thinks that you are a neologian, and he is going to have you up

before the court for this. He knows that such a charge is

readily received, for the world is always jealous of novelties in

religion. And I know that when I myself speak in the assembly

a b o u t divine things, and foretell t h e f u t u r e to t h e m , they laugh at

me as a m a d m a n ; and yet every word that 1 say is true. But they are

jealous of all of us. I suppose that we m u s t be brave and not m i n d

them.

s o c : T h e i r laughter, f r i e n d E u t h y p h r o , is not a m a t t e r of m u c h

consequence. For a m a n may be t h o u g h t wise; but the Athenians,

I suspect, do not care m u c h about this, until he begins to make

o t h e r men wise; and then for s o m e reason or other, perhaps, as you

say, from jealousy, they are angry.

EUTH: I have no desire to try conclusions with them about this,

s o c : 1 d a r e say that you d o n ' t make yourself c o m m o n , and are not apt

8 • Plato

to i m p a r t y o u r wisdom. But I have a b e n e v o l e n t habit of p o u r i n g

o u t myself to everybody, and would even pay for a listener, and I

am afraid that the Athenians know this; and therefore, as I was

saying, if the A t h e n i a n s would only laugh at me as you say t h a t

they laugh at you, the time might pass gaily e n o u g h in t h e court;

b u t p e r h a p s they may be in earnest, and t h e n w h a t the end will be

you soothsayers only can predict.

E U T H : I dar e say tha t t h e affair will en d in nothing , Socrates, an d t h a t

you will win your cause; and I think that I shall win mine,

s o c : And what is y o u r suit? and are you t h e p u r s u e r or d e f e n d a n t ,

E u t h y p h r o ?

EUTH: I am p u r s u e r ,

s o c : O f whom?

EUTH: You will think me mad when I tell you w h o m I am pursuing.

s o c : Why, has the fugitive wings?

EUTII: Nay, he is n o t very volatile at his t i m e of life.

s o c : W h o is he?

EUTH: M y f a t h e r .

SOC: Your father! good heavens, you don't m e a n that?

E U T H : Y e s .

s o c : And of what is he accused?

EUTH: M u r d e r , Socrates.

s o c : By t h e powers, E u t h y p h r o ! how little does the c o m m o n h e r d

know of the n a t u r e of right and truth. A man must be an

e x t r a o r d i n a r y man and have m a d e great strides in wisdom, b e f o r e

he could have seen his way to this.

EUTH: Indeed, Socrates, he must have m a d e great strides,

s o c : I suppose t h a t the man w h o m y o u r f a t h e r m u r d e r e d was one
of

y o u r relatives; if he had been a stranger you would never have

t h o u g h t of p r o s e c u t i n g him.

EUTH: I am amused, Socrates, ac y o u r m a k i n g a distinction b e t w e e n

o n e w h o is a relation and o n e who is not a relation; for surely the

pollution is the s a m e in either case, if you knowingly associate

with the m u r d e r e r when you ought to clear yourself by p r o c e e d i n g

against him. T h e real question is w h e t h e r t h e m u r d e r e d man

has been justly slain. If justly, then your d u t y is to let the m a t t e r

alone; but if unjustly, t h e n even if the m u r d e r e r is u n d e r the same

roof with you and eats at the same table, p r o c e e d against him.

Euthyphro • 9

N o w the m a n who is dead was a p o o r d e p e n d a n t of m i n e

who worked for us as a field laborer at Naxos, and o n e day in a

fit of d r u n k e n passion he got into a quarrel with o n e of our

domestic servants and slew him. My father bound him hand and

foot and threw him i n t o a ditch, and then sent to A t h e n s to ask of

a diviner what he should do with him. M e a n t i m e he had no care

or t h o u g h t of him, being u n d e r the impression that he was a

m u r d e r e r ; and that even if he did die t h e r e would be no great

harm. And this was just what h a p p e n e d . For such was the effect of

cold and h u n g e r and chains u p o n him, that before the messenger

r e t u r n e d from the diviner, he was dead. And my father and family

are angry with me f o r taking the part of the m u r d e r e r and

p r o s e c u t i n g my father. T h e y say that he did not kill him, and if he

did, the dead man was but a m u r d e r e r , and I ought not to take any

notice, for that a son is impious who prosecutes a father. T h a t

shows, Socrates, how little they know of the opinions of the gods

about piety and impiety,

s o c : G o o d heavens, E u t h y p h r o ! and have you such a precise

knowledge of piety and impiety, and of divine things in general,

that, supposing the circumstances to be as you state, you are not

afraid that you too may be doing an i m p i o u s thing in bringing an

action against y o u r father?

EUTH: T h e best of E u t h y p h r o , and t h a t which distinguishes him,

Socrates, from o t h e r men, is his exact knowledge of all these

matters. W h a t should 1 be good for w i t h o u t that?

s o c : Rare friend! I think that T can not do b e t t e r than be y o u r disciple,

b e f o r e the trial with M e l e t u s comes on. T h e n I shall challenge

him, and say that 1 have always had a great interest in religious

questions, and now, as he charges me with rash imaginations and

innovations in religion, I have b e c o m e y o u r disciple. N o w you,

M e l e t u s , as I shall say to him, acknowledge E u t h y p h r o to be a

great theologian, and sound in his opinions; and if you think that

of him you o u g h t to think the same of me, and not have me into

court; you should begin by indicting him who is my teacher, and

who is the real c o r r u p t o r , not of the young, but of the old; that is

to say, of myself w h o m he instructs, and of his old father w h o m he

a d m o n i s h e s and chastises. A n d if M e l e t u s refuses to listen to me,

but will go on, and will not shift the i n d i c t m e n t f r o m me to you, I

10 • Plato

can n o t do better than say in the c o u r t that T challenged him in this

way.

EUTH: Yes, Socrates; and if he attempts to indict me I am mistaken if

I don't find a flaw in him; the c o u r t shall have a great deal m o r e to

say to him than to me.

s o c : I know that, dear friend; and that is the reason why T desire to be

y o u r disciple. For 1 observe that no one, not even Meletus, a p p e a r s

to notice you; but his s h a r p eyes have f o u n d me out at once, and

he has indicted me f o r impiety. And therefore, I a d j u r e you to tell

me the n a t u r e of piety and impiety, which you said that you k n e w

so well, and of m u r d e r , and the rest of t h e m . What are they? Is n o t

piety in every action always t h e same? and impiety, again, is n o t

that always the opposite of piety, and also the same with itself,

having, as impiety, o n e notion which includes whatever is impious?

E U T H : T O b e sure, Socrates,

s o c : And what is piety, and what is impiety?

EUTH: P i e t y is doing as I am doing; that is to say, prosecuting any o n e

who is guilty of m u r d e r , sacrilege, or of any o t h e r similar c r i m e —

w h e t h e r he be y o u r f a t h e r or mother, or s o m e other person, t h a t

makes no d i f f e r e n c e — a n d n o t p r o s e c u t i n g t h e m is impiety.
And

please to consider, Socrates, what a notable proof I will give you of

t h e t r u t h of what 1 am saying, which 1 have already given to

others:—of the t r u t h , I mean, of the principle that t h e impious,

whoever he may be, o u g h t not to go u n p u n i s h e d . For do not m e n

regard Zeus as the best and m o s t righteous of t h e gods?—and even

they admit that he b o u n d his f a t h e r ( C r o n o s ) because he wickedly

d e v o u r e d his sons, and t h a t he too had p u n i s h e d his own father

(Uranus) for a similar reason, in a nameless manner. And yet w h e n

I p r o c e e d against my father, they are angry with me. T h i s is their

inconsistent way of talking when the gods are c o n c e r n e d , and

when I am concerned,
s o c : M a y not this be t h e reason, E u t h y p h r o , why I am charged with

i m p i e t y — t h a t I can n o t away with these stories about the gods?

and t h e r e f o r e I s u p p o s e that p e o p l e think me wrong. But, as you

w h o are well i n f o r m e d about t h e m approve of them, I can n o t do

b e t t e r than assent to y o u r superior wisdom. For w h a t else can I say,

confessing as 1 do, that I know n o t h i n g of them. I wish you would

tell me w h e t h e r you really believe that they are true?

Euthyphro • 11

EUTH: Yes, Socrates; and things m o r e w o n d e r f u l still, of which the

world is in ignorance,

s o c : And do you really believe that the gods fought with one another,

and had dire quarrels, battles, and the like, as the poets say, and as

you may see r e p r e s e n t e d in t h e works of great artists? T h e

t e m p l e s are full of them; and notably t h e robe of Athene, which is

carried up to t h e Acropolis at the great P a n a t h e n a e a , is

e m b r o i d e r e d with them. Are all these tales of t h e gods true,

E u t h y p h r o ?

EUTH: Yes, Socrates; and, as I was saying, I can tell you, if you would

like to hear them, m a n y o t h e r things a b o u t the gods which would

quite amaze you.

s o c : T d a r e say; and you shall tell me them at s o m e o t h e r time when I

have leisure. But just at present I would r a t h e r hear f r o m you a

m o r e precise answer, which you have n o t as yet given, my friend,

to t h e question, W h a t is "piety"? In reply, you only say that piety

is, D o i n g as you do, charging your f a t h e r with murder?

EUTH: And t h a t is t r u e , Socrates.

s o c : I dare say, E u t h y p h r o , but there are m a n y o t h e r pious acts.

EUTH: T h e r e a r e .

s o c : R e m e m b e r that I did not ask you to give me two or three

examples of piety, b u t to explain t h e general idea which makes all

pious things to be pious. Do you not recollect that t h e r e was o n e

idea which m a d e t h e impious impious, and the pious pious?

EUTH: I r e m e m b e r .

s o c : Tell me what this is, and t h e n T shall have a standard to which I

may look, and by which I may m e a s u r e t h e n a t u r e of actions,

w h e t h e r yours or any o n e else's, and say that this action is pious,

and that impious?

EUTH: 1 will tell you, if you like,

s o c : I should very m u c h like.

EUTH: Piety, then, is that which is dear to t h e gods, and impiety is t h a t

which is n o t dear to them,

s o c : Very good, E u t h y p h r o ; you have now given me just the sort of

answer which I wanted. But w h e t h e r it is t r u e or not I can n o t as

yet tell, although I make no douht t h a t you will prove the t r u t h of

y o u r words.

EUTH: O f c o u r s e .

12 • Plato

s o c : C o m e , then, and let us examine what we are saying. T h a t thing

or p e r s o n which is d e a r to the gods is pious, and that thing or

person which is h a t e f u l to t h e gods is impious. Was not t h a t said?

EUTH: Yes, t h a t was said.

s o c : And t h a t seems to have been very well said too?

EUTH: Yes, Socrates, I think that; it was certainly said,

s o c : And further, E u t h y p h r o , the gods w e r e admitted to have

e n m i t i e s and hatreds and d i f f e r e n c e s — t h a t was also said?

EUTH: Yes, that was said.

SOC: And what sort of d i f f e r e n c e creates e n m i t y and anger? S u p p o s

e

for e x a m p l e that you and I, my good friend, d i f f e r about a n u m b e r ;

do differences of this sort make us enemies and set us at variance

with o n e another? Do we not go at once to calculation, and end

t h e m by a sum?

EUTH: T r u e .
s o c : Or s u p p o s e that we differ about magnitudes, do we not quickly

p u t an end to that d i f f e r e n c e by measuring?

EUTH: T h a t is true.

soc: And we end a controversy about heavy and light by resorting to

a weighing-machine?

E U T H : T O be sure.

s o c : But what differences are those which, because they can not be

thus decided, make us angry and set us at e n m i t y with one another?

I dare say t h e answer does not occur to you at the m o m e n t , and

t h e r e f o r e I will suggest that this h a p p e n s when t h e matters of

difference are the just and unjust, good and evil, honorable and

dishonorable. Are not these the points about which, w h e n differing,

and u n a b l e satisfactorily to decide o u r differences, we quarrel,

w h e n we do quarrel, as you and I and all m e n experience?

EUTH: Yes, Socrates, that is the n a t u r e of the differences about which

we quarrel.

s o c : And the quarrels of the gods, noble E u t h y p h r o , when they occur,

are of a like nature?

EUTH: T h e y are.

s o c : T h e y have differences of opinion, as you say, about good and

evil, just and unjust, h o n o r a b l e and dishonorable: t h e r e would

have been no quarrels a m o n g them, if t h e r e had been no such

d i f f e r e n c e s — w o u l d t h e r e now?

Euthyphro • 13

EUTH: You are quite right.

s o c : Does not every man love that which he d e e m s noble and just and

good, and hate the opposite of them?

EUTH: Very true.

s o c : But then, as you say, p e o p l e regard t h e same things, s o m e as just

and others as unjust; and they dispute about this, and t h e r e arise

wars and fightings a m o n g them.

EUTH: Yes, that is true.

s o c : T h e n the same things, as appears, are hated by the gods and

loved by the gods, and are both hateful and d e a r to them?

EUTH: T r u e .

s o c : T h e n upon this view the same things, E u t h y p h r o , will be pious

and also impious?

EUTH: T h a t , 1 suppose, is true.

s o c : T h e n , my friend, I remark with surprise that you have n o t

answered what I asked. For I certainly did n o t ask what was that

which is at once pious and impious: and that which is loved by the

gods appears also to be hated by them. And therefore, E u t h y p h r o ,

in thus chastising y o u r father you may very likely be doing what is

agreeable to Z e u s b u t disagreeable to C r o n o s or Uranus, and what

is acceptable to H e p h a e s t u s but u n a c c e p t a b l e to H e r a , and t h e r e

may be other gods who have similar differences of opinion.

EUTH: But 1 believe, Socrates, t h a t all the gods would be agreed as to

the p r o p r i e t y of p u n i s h i n g a m u r d e r e r : t h e r e would be no

d i f f e r e n c e of opinion a b o u t that,

s o c : Well, but speaking of men, E u t h y p h r o , did you ever h e a r any

o n e arguing that a m u r d e r e r or any sort of evil-doer o u g h t to be

let off?

EUTH: I should r a t h e r say t h a t they are always arguing this, especially

in courts of law: they c o m m i t all sorts of crimes, and t h e r e is

n o t h i n g t h a t they will n o t do or say in o r d e r to escape p u n i s h m e n t

,

s o c : But do they admit their guilt, E u t h y p h r o , and yet say that they

o u g h t n o t to be punished?

EUTH: N o ; t h e y d o not.

s o c : T h e n there are s o m e things which they do n o t v e n t u r e to say

and do: for they do n o t v e n t u r e to a r g u e that the guilty are to be

u n p u n i s h e d , b u t they d e n y their guilt, do they not?

EUTH: Yes.
14 • Plato

s o c : T h e n they do not argue that t h e evil-doer should not be

p u n i s h e d , but they a r g u e about the fact of who the evil-doer is,

and what he did and when?

EUTH: T r u e .

s o c : And the gods are in t h e same case, if as you imply they quarrel

about just and unjust, and some of t h e m say that they w r o n g o n e

another, and others of t h e m d e n y this. For surely n e i t h e r G o d n o r

man will ever v e n t u r e to say that t h e d o e r of evil is not to be

p u n i s h e d : — y o u d o n ' t m e a n to tell me that?

EUTH: T h a t is true, Socrates, in t h e main.

s o c : But they join issue a b o u t particulars; and this applies not only to

m e n b u t to the gods; if they d i s p u t e at all they dispute about s o m e

act which is called in question, and which s o m e affirm to be just,

others to be unjust. Is not that true?

EUTH: Q u i t e true.

s o c : Well then, my d e a r f r i e n d E u t h y p h r o , do tell me, for my better

i n s t r u c t i o n and i n f o r m a t i o n , what p r o o f have you that in the

Opinion of all the gods a servant who is guilty of murder, and is p u t

in chains by the m a s t e r of the dead man, and dies because he is p u t

in chains b e f o r e his c o r r e c t o r can learn f r o m the i n t e r p r e t e r s

what

he o u g h t to do with him, dies unjustly; and that on behalf of such

an one a son ought to p r o c e e d against his f a t h e r and accuse him of

m u r d e r . H o w would you show that all the gods absolutely agree in

a p p r o v i n g of his act? Prove to me that, and I will applaud y o u r

wisdom as long as you live.

EUTH: T h a t would not be an easy task, a l t h o u g h I could m a k e the

m a t t e r very clear i n d e e d to you.

s o c : I u n d e r s t a n d ; you m e a n to say that I am not so quick of

a p p r e h e n s i o n as the judges: f o r to t h e m you will be sure to prove

that the act is unjust, and hateful to the gods.

EUTH: Yes indeed, Socrates; at least if they will listen to me.

s o c : But they will be sure to listen if they find that you are a good

speaker. T h e r e was a notion t h a t c a m e into my mind while you

w e r e speaking; I said to myself "Well, and w h a t if E u t h y p h r o does

prove to me that all the gods regarded the death of the serf as

u n j u s t , how do I k n o w anything m o r e of t h e n a t u r e of piety and

impiety? for granting that this action may be hateful to the gods,

still these distinctions have no bearing on the definition of piety

Euthyphro • 15

and impiety, for that which is hateful to the gods has been shown
to be also pleasing and d e a r to them." And therefore, E u t h y p h r o , I

don't ask you to prove this; I will suppose, if you like, that all the

gods c o n d e m n and a b o m i n a t e such an action. But 1 will amend the

definition so far as to say that what all the gods hate is impious,

and what they love pious or holy; and w h a t some of t h e m love and

others hate is both or neither. Shall this be o u r definition of piety

and impiety?

EUTH: W h y n o t , S o c r a t e s ?

soc: W h y not! certainly, as far as 1 am concerned, E u t h y p h r o . But

w h e t h e r this admission will greatly assist you in t h e task of

instructing me as you promised, is a m a t t e r for you to consider.

EUTH: Yes, I should say that what all the gods love is pious and holy,

and the opposite which they all hate, impious,

s o c : O u g h t we to i n q u i r e into the t r u t h of this, E u t h y p h r o , or

simply

to accept the m e r e s t a t e m e n t on our own authority and t h a t of

others?

EUTH: We should inquire; and 1 believe that the s t a t e m e n t will stand

the test of inquiry,

s o c : T h a t , my good friend, we shall know b e t t e r in a little while. T h e

point which I should first wish to u n d e r s t a n d is w h e t h e r the pious

or holy is beloved by the gods because it is holy, or holy because it

is beloved of the gods.

EUTH: I d o n ' t u n d e r s t a n d y o u r meaning, Socrates,

s o c : 1 will endeavor to explain: we speak of c a r r y i n g and we speak of

being carried, of leading and being led, seeing and being seen.

A n d h e r e is a difference, the n a t u r e of which you u n d e r s t a n d .

EUTH: I think that I u n d e r s t a n d .

s o c : And is not that which is beloved distinct f r o m that which loves?

EUTH: C e r t a i n l y .

s o c : Well; and now tell me, is that which is carried in this state of

carrying because it is carried, or for s o m e o t h e r reason?

EUTH: N O ; t h a t is th e reason.

s o c : A n d the same is t r u e of that which is led and of that which is

seen?

EUTH: T r u e .

s o c : And a thing is not seen because it is visible, but conversely,

visible because it is seen; nor is a thing in the state of being led

16 • Pla to

because it is led, or in the state of being carried because it is

carried, but the converse of this. And now I think, Euthyphro, that

my meaning will be intelligible; and my meaning is, that any state

of action or passion implies previous action or passion. It does not

become because it is becoming, but it is becoming because it

comes; neither does it suffer because it is in a state of suffering, but

it is in a state of suffering because it suffers. Do you admit that?

EUTH: Y e s .

soc: Is not that which is loved in some state either of becoming or

suffering?

EUTH: Y e s .

soc: And the same holds as in the previous instances; the state of

being loved Follows the act of being loved, and not the act the

state.

EUTH: T h a t is certain.

soc: And what do you say of piety, Euthyphro: is not piety, according

to your definition, loved by all the gods?

E U T H : Y e s .

soc: Because it is pious or holy, or for some other reason?

EUTH: No, that is the reason.

soc: It is loved because it is holy, not holy because it is loved?

E U T H : Y e s .

soc: And that which is in a state to be loved of the gods, and is dear

to them, is in a state to be loved of them because it is loved of

them?

EUTH: C e r t a i n l y .

soc: T h e n that which is loved of God, Euthyphro, is not holy, nor is

that which is holy loved of God, as you affirm; but they are two

different things.

E U T H : H O W do you mean, Socrates?

s o c : 1 mean to say that the holy has been acknowledged by us to be

loved of G o d because it is holy, not to be holy because it is loved.

E U T H : Y e s .

s o c : But that which is dear to the gods is dear to them because it is

loved by them, not loved by them because it is dear to them.

EUTH: T r u e .

s o c : But, friend Euthyphro, if that which is holy is the same as that

which is dear to God, and that which is holy is loved as being holy,

Euthyphro • 17

then that which is d e a r to G o d would have been loved as being

dear to God; b u t if that which is dear to G o d is dear to him

because loved by him, then that which is holy would have been

holy because loved by him. Rut now you see that the reverse is t h e

case, and t h a t they are q u i t e d i f f e r e n t f r o m o n e another. For o n e

(-deocpiXeQ is of a kind to be loved b e c a u s e it is loved, and t h e

o t h e r ( 8 o i o v ) is loved because it is of a kind to be loved. T h u s you

appear to me, E u t h y p h r o , when T ask you what is t h e essence of

holiness, to offer an attribute only, and not the e s s e n c e — t h e

attribute of being loved by all t h e gods. But you still r e f u s e to

explain to me the n a t u r e of piety. And therefore, if you please, 1

will ask you n o t to h i d e your treasure, b u t to tell me o n c e m o r e

what piety or holiness really is, w h e t h e r d e a r to t h e gods or not

(for that is a m a t t e r about which we will not quarrel). And what is

impiety?

EUTH: I really do not know, Socrates, how to say what I mean. For

s o m e h o w or other o u r arguments, on whatever g r o u n d we rest

them, seem to t u r n r o u n d and walk away,

s o c : Your words, E u t h y p h r o , are like the handiwork of my ancestor

Daedalus; and if I w e r e the sayer or p r o p o u n d e r of t h e m , you

m i g h t say that this comes of my being his relation; and t h a t this is

the reason why my a r g u m e n t s walk away and won't remain fixed

w h e r e they are placed. But now, as t h e notions are y o u r own, you

m u s t find s o m e o t h e r gibe, for they certainly, as you yourself

allow, show an inclination to be on the move.

EUTH: Nay, Socrates, 1 shall still say that you are t h e D a e d a l u s who

sets arguments in motion; not I, certainly, make them move or go

r o u n d , for they would never have stirred, as far as I am concerned,

s o c : T h e n 1 m u s t be a g r e a t e r than Daedalus; for whereas he only

m a d e his own inventions to move, 1 m o v e those of o t h e r p e o p l e as

well. And t h e b e a u t y of it is, that I would r a t h e r not. For I would

give the wisdom of Daedalus, and t h e wealth of T a n t a l u s to be

able to detain t h e m and keep t h e m fixed. But enough of this. As I

perceive t h a t you are indolent, I will myself endeavor to show you

how you m i g h t instruct me in the n a t u r e of piety; and I h o p e that

you will not g r u d g e y o u r labor. Tell me, t h e n , — I s not that which

is pious necessarily just?

EUTH: Y e s .

18 • Plato

s o c : And is, then, all which is just pious? or, is t h a t which is pious all

just, but t h a t which is just only in part and not all pious?

EUTH: 1 don't u n d e r s t a n d you, Socrates.

s o c : And yet 1 know that you are as m u c h wiser than I am, as you are

younger. But, as I was saying, revered f r i e n d , the a b u n d a n c e of

y o u r wisdom makes you indolent. Please to exert yourself, for

t h e r e is no real difficulty in u n d e r s t a n d i n g me. W h a t I mean I may

explain by an illustration of what I do not mean. T h e p o e t

(Stasinus) sings—
Of Zeus, the author and creator of all these things,

You will not tell: for where there is fear there is also

reverence.

And T disagree with this poet. Shall I tell you in what 1 disagree?

EUTH: By all m e a n s .

s o c : 1 should not say t h a t w h e r e t h e r e is fear there is also reverence;

for I am sure that m a n y persons fear poverty and disease, and t h e

like evils, but I do not perceive that they r e v e r e n c e the objects of

t h e i r fear.

EUTH: Very true.

s o c : But w h e r e r e v e r e n c e is, t h e r e is fear; for he who has a feeling of

r e v e r e n c e and s h a m e about t h e commission of any action, fears

and is afraid of an ill reputation.

EUTH: N o d o u b t .

s o c : T h e n are we w r o n g in saying that w h e r e t h e r e is fear t h e r e is

also reverence; and we should say, w h e r e t h e r e is r e v e r e n c e t h e r e

is also fear. But t h e r e is not always r e v e r e n c e w h e r e t h e r e is fear;

for fear is a m o r e e x t e n d e d notion, and r e v e r e n c e is a part of fear,

just as the odd is a p a r t of number, and n u m b e r is a m o r e e x t e n d e d

notion than, the odd. 1 s u p p o s e that you follow me now?

EUTH: Q u i t e well.
s o c : T h a t was the sort of question which I m e a n t to raise when asking

w h e t h e r t h e just is t h e pious, or the pious t h e just; and w h e t h e r

t h e r e may not be justice w h e r e t h e r e is not always piety; for justice

is t h e m o r e extended notion of which piety is only a part, Do you

agree in that?

EUTH: Yes; that, 1 think, is correct-

Euthyphro • 19

s o c : T h e n , now, if piety is a p a r t of justice, T suppose that we inquire

what part? If you had p u r s u e d the injury in the previous cases; for

instance, if you had asked me what is an even number, and what

part of n u m b e r t h e even is, I should have had no difficulty in

replying, a n u m b e r which represents a figure having two equal

sides. Do you agree?

EUTH: Y e s .

s o c : In like manner, I want you to tell me w h a t p a r t of justice is piety

or holiness; that I may be able to tell M e l e t u s not to do me

injustice, or indict me for impiety; as I am now adequately

instructed by you in the n a t u r e of piety or holiness, and their

opposites.

EUTH: Piety or holiness, Socrates, appears to me to be that p a r t of

justice which attends to the gods, as t h e r e is the o t h e r p a r t of

justice which attends to men.

s o c : T h a t is good, E u t h y p h r o ; yet still there is a little point about

which I should like to have f u r t h e r information. W h a t is t h e

m e a n i n g of "attention"? For attention can hardly be used in the

same sense when applied to t h e gods as w h e n applied to o t h e r

things. For instance, horses are said to r e q u i r e attention, and not

every person is able to attend to them, but only a person skilled in

horsemanship. Is n o t that true?

EUTH: Q u i t e true.

s o c : I should s u p p o s e that the art of h o r s e m a n s h i p is t h e art of

a t t e n d i n g to horses?

EUTH: Y e s .

soc: N o r is every o n e qualified to attend to dogs, b u t only the

huntsman.

EUTH: T r u e .

s o c : And I should also conceive that the art of the h u n t s m a n is the an

of a t t e n d i n g to dogs?

EUTH: Yes.

s o c : As the art of the o x h e r d is the art of attending to oxen?

EUTH: Very true.

s o c : And as holiness or piety is t h e art of a t t e n d i n g to the gods?—that

would be y o u r meaning, E u t h y p h r o ?

EUTH: Yes.

s o c : And is not attention always designed for the good or benefit of

20 • Plato

that to which the attention is given? As in the case of horses, you

may observe that when a t t e n d e d to by t h e h o r s e m a n ' s art they are

benefited and i m p r o v e d , are they not?

EUTH: T r u e .

soc: As the dogs are benefited by the h u n t s m a n ' s art, and the oxen by

the art of the oxherd, and all o t h e r things are t e n d e d or a t t e n d e d

for their good and n o t for their hurt?

EUTH: Certainly, not for t h e i r hurt,

soc: But for their good?

EUTH: Of c o u r s e .

soc: And does piety or holiness, which has been defined as t h e art of

attending to the gods, benefit or improve them? Would you say

that when you do a holy act you make any of t h e gods better?

EUTH: N o , no; t h a t is certainly not my meaning,

soc: Indeed, E u t h y p h r o , I did not s u p p o s e that this was y o u r

meaning; far otherwise. And that was the reason why I asked you

the nature of this attention, because I t h o u g h t that this was not

your meaning.

EUTH: You do me justice, Socrates; for t h a t is not my meaning,

soc: Good: b u t I m u s t still ask what is this a t t e n t i o n to the gods which

is called piety?

EUTH: It is such, Socrates, as servants show to their masters,

soc: 1 u n d e r s t a n d — a sort of ministration to the gods.

EUTH: Exactly.

soc: Medicine is also a sort of ministration or service, t e n d i n g to the

attainment of s o m e o b j e c t — w o u l d you not say health?

EUTH: Yes.

soc: Again, there is an art which ministers to t h e s h i p - b u i l d e r with a

view to the a t t a i n m e n t of s o m e result?

EUTH: Yes, Socrates, with a view to the b u i l d i n g of a ship,

soc: As there is an art which ministers to the h o u s e - b u i l d e r with a

view to the building of a house?

EUTH: Yes.

SOC: And now tell me, my good friend, a b o u t this art which ministers

to the gods: what work does that h e l p to accomplish? For you m u s t

surely know if, as you say, you are of all men living the o n e who is

best instructed in religion.

EUTH: And that is true, Socrates.

Euthyphro • 21

soc: Tell me then, oh tell m e — w h a t is that fair work which t h e gods

do by t h e help of us as their ministers?

EUTH:.Many and fair, Socrates, are the works which they do.

soc: Why, my friend, and so are those of a general. But t h e chief of

them is easily told. Would you not say that victory in war is t h e

chief of them?

EUTH: C e r t a i n l y .

soc: M a n y and fair, too, are the works of the husbandman, if I am not

mistaken; but his chief work is the production of food f r o m the earth?

EUTH: Exactly.

soc: And of the many and fair things which the gods do, which is t h e

chief and principal one?

EUTH: I have told you already, Socrates, that to learn all these things

accurately will be very tiresome. L e t me simply say t h a t piety is

learning how to please the gods in word and deed, by prayers and

sacrifices. T h a t is piety, which is the salvation of families and

states, just as t h e impious, which is u n p l e a s i n g to the gods, is their

ruin and destruction,

soc: I think that you could have answered in m u c h fewer words the

chief question which I asked, E u t h y p h r o , if you had chosen. But T

see plainly t h a t you are not disposed to instruct me: else why,

when we had reached the point, did you turn aside? H a d you only

answered me T should have learned of you by this t i m e t h e n a t u r e

of p i e t y N o w , as the asker of a question is necessarily d e p e n d e n t

on the answerer, w h i t h e r he leads I m u s t follow; and can only ask

again, what is the pious, and what is piety? Do you mean that they

are a sort of science of praying and sacrificing?

KUTH: Y e s , I d o .

soc: And sacrificing is giving to the gods, and prayer is asking of t h e

gods?

JIUTH: Yes, Socrates.

soc: U p o n this view, then, piety is a science of asking and giving?

EUTH: You u n d e r s t a n d me capitally, Socrates.

soc: Yes, my friend; the reason is that I am a votary of y o u r science,

and give my m i n d to it, and t h e r e f o r e n o t h i n g which you say will

be t h r o w n away u p o n me. Please then to tell me, what is the n a t u r e

of this service to the gods? Do you mean t h a t we p r e f e r requests

and give gifts to them?

22 • Plato

EUTH: Y e s , I d o .

SOC: Is not the right way of asking to ask of them what we want?
EUTH: C e r t a i n l y .

soc: And the right way of giving is to give to them in return what they

want of us. T h e r e would be no meaning, in an art which gives to

any one that which he does not want.

EUTH: Very true, Socrates.

soc: T h e n piety, Euthyphro, is an art which gods and men have of

doing business with one another?

EUTH: T h a t is an expression which you may use, if you like,

soc: But I have no particular liking for anything but the truth. I wish,

however, that you would tell me what benefit accrues to t h e gods

from our gifts. T h a t they are the givers of every good to us is clear;

but how we can give any good thing to them in return is far from

being equally clear. If they give everything and we give nothing,

that must be an affair of business in which we have very greatly

the advantage of them.

EUTI-I: And do you imagine, Socrates, that any benefit accrues to the

gods from what they receive of us?

s o c : But if not, Euthyphro, what sort of gifts do we confer upon the

gods?

EUTH: W h a t should we confer upon them, but tributes of honor; and,

as I was just now saying, what is pleasing to them?

soc: Piety, then, is pleasing to the gods, but not beneficial or dear to

them?

EUTH: 1 should say that nothing could be dearer.

s o c : T h e n once more the assertion is repeated that piety is dear to

the gods?

E U T H : N O doubt.

soc: And when you say this, can you wonder at your words not

standing firm, but walking away? Will you accuse me of being the

Daedalus who makes t h e m walk away, not perceiving that there is

another and far greater artist than Daedalus who makes t h e m go

round in a circle; and that is yourself: for the argument, as you will

perceive, comes round to the same point. I think that you must

r e m e m b e r our saying that the holy or pious was not the same as

that which is loved of the gods. Do you r e m e m b e r that?

E U T H : I d o .

Euthyphro • 23

soc: And do you not see t h a t what is loved of the gods is holy, and

that this is the same as what is dear to them?

ICUTH: T r u e .

soc: T h e n e i t h e r we w e r e w r o n g in t h a t admission; or, if we were

right then, we are w r o n g now.

KUTH: I suppose that is t h e case.

soc: T h e n we must begin again and ask, W h a t is piety? T h a t is an

inquiry which I shall never be weary of p u r s u i n g as far as in me

lies; and I e n t r e a t you not to scorn me, b u t to apply y o u r m i n d to

the utmost, and tell me the truth. For, if any man knows, you are

he; and t h e r e f o r e I shall detain you, like Proteus, until you tell. For

if you had not certainly known the n a t u r e of piety and impiety, I

am confident t h a t you would never, on behalf of a serf, have

charged y o u r aged father with m u r d e r . You would not have r u n

such a risk of d o i n g w r o n g in t h e sight of t h e gods, and you would

have had too m u c h respect for the opinions of men. I am sure,

therefore, that you know the n a t u r e of piety and impiety. Speak

out then, my dear E u t h y p h r o , and do not h i d e y o u r knowledge.

LCUTH: A n o t h e r time, Socrates; for I am in a hurry, and m u s t go now.

soc: Alas! my c o m p a n i o n , and will you leave me in despair? I was

h o p i n g t h a t you would instruct me in the n a t u r e of p i e t y and

impiety, so that I m i g h t have cleared myself of M e l e t u s and his

indictment. T h e n I might have proved to him that I had been

converted by E u t h y p h r o , and had d o n e with rash innovations and

speculations, in which I had indulged t h r o u g h ignorance, and was

about to lead a b e t t e r life.

C R I T O

PERSONS OF T H E DIALOGUE

Socrates Crito

SCENE:— The Prison of Socrates

SOCRATES: W h y have you come at this hour, Crito? it must be quite

early?

C R I T O : Y e s , c e r t a i n l y ,

soc: W h a t is the exact time?

CR: T h e dawn is breaking.

SOC: I wonder that t h e keeper of the prison would let you in.

CR: He knows me, because I often come, Socrates; moreover, 1 have

done him a kindness,

s o c : And are you only just come?

CR: No, I came some time ago.

s o c : T h e n why did you sit and say nothing, instead of awakening me

at once?

CR: Why, indeed, Socrates, T myself would rather not have all this

sleeplessness and sorrow. But I have been wondering at your

peaceful slumbers, and that was the reason why I did not awaken

you, because I wanted you to be out of pain. I have always thought

you happy in the calmness of your temperament; but never did 1

Crito • -?7

see t h e like of the easy, cheerful way in which you bear this

calamity.

soc: Why, Crito, w h e n a man has reached my age he ought not to be

r e p i n i n g at the p r o s p e c t of death.

CR: And yet o t h e r old m e n find themselves in similar misfortunes,

and age does not p r e v e n t t h e m f r o m repining,

s o c : T h a t m a y be. But you have not told me why you come at this

early hour.

CR: I c o m e to bring you a message which is sad and pain; not, as I

believe, to yourself, but to all of us who are your friends, and

saddest of all to me.

s o c : What! I suppose that the ship has c o m e f r o m Delos, on the

arrival of which 1 am to die?

CR: N o , t h e ship has not actually arrived, but she will probably be

h e r e to-day, as persons who have c o m e f r o m S u n i u m tell me that

they left her there; and t h e r e f o r e to-morrow, Socrates, will be the

last day of y o u r life,

s o c : Very well, Crito; if such is the will of G o d , I am willing; but my

belief is that there will be a delay of a day.

CR: W h y do you say this?

s o c : I will tell you. 1 am to die on the day after the arrival of the ship?

CR: Yes; that is what the authorities say.

s o c : But 1 do not think that the ship will be h e r e until to-morrow;

this I gather f r o m a vision which I had last night, or rather only

just now, when you f o r t u n a t e l y allowed me to sleep.

CR: And what was the n a t u r e of t h e vision?

s o c : T h e r e c a m e to me the likeness of a woman, fair and comely,

clothed in white raiment, who called to me and said: O Socrates,

The third day hence to Phthia shalt thou go.

CR: W h a t a singular d r e a m , Socrates!

s o c : T h e r e can be no doubt about the meaning, Crito, I think.

CR: Yes; t h e m e a n i n g is only too clear. But, Oh! my beloved Socrates,

let me e n t r e a t you o n c e m o r e to take my advice and escape. For if

you die I shall not only lose a friend who can never be replaced,

but t h e r e is a n o t h e r evil: p e o p l e who do not know you and me will

believe that I might have saved you if I had been willing to give

26 • Plato

money, b u t that T did not care. Now, can t h e r e be a worse disgrace

than t h i s — t h a t T should be t h o u g h t to value m o n e y m o r e than t h e

life of a friend? For t h e m a n y will not be p e r s u a d e d that I wanted

you to escape, and that you refused.

SOC: But why, my d e a r Crito, should we care about the opinion of t h e

many? G o o d men, and they are t h e only persons who are w o r t h

considering, will think of these things truly as they h a p p e n e d .

CR: But do you see, Socrates, that the o p i n i o n of the m a n y m u s t

be regarded, as is e v i d e n t in y o u r own case, because they can

do the very greatest evil to any one w h o has lost their good

opinion.

s o c : T only wish, Crito, t h a t they could; f o r then they could also do

t h e greatest good, and that would be well. But the truth is, that

they can do n e i t h e r good nor evil: they can not make a man wise

or make him foolish; and whatever they do is t h e result of chance.

CR: Well, T will not d i s p u t e about that; but please to tell me, Socrates,

w h e t h e r you are not acting out of regard to me and y o u r o t h e r

friends: are you not afraid that if you escape h e n c e we may get

into trouble with t h e i n f o r m e r s for having stolen you away, and

lose e i t h e r the whole or a great part of o u r p r o p e r t y ; or that even

a worse evil may h a p p e n to us? Now, if this is y o u r fear, be at ease;

f o r in o r d e r to save you, we ought surely to r u n this, or even a

g r e a t e r risk; be p e r s u a d e d , then, and do as I say.

s o c : Yes, Crito, that is o n e fear which you m e n t i o n , but by no m e a n s

the only one.

CR: Fear not. T h e r e are p e r s o n s who at no great cost are willing to

save you and bring you o u t of prison; and as f o r the i n f o r m e r s , you

may observe that they are far f r o m being exorbitant in t h e i r

demands; a little m o n e y will satisfy them. My means, which, as 1

am sure, are ample, are at y o u r service, and if you have a scruple

about s p e n d i n g all mine, h e r e are strangers w h o will give you the

use of theirs; and o n e of them, Simmias the T h e b a n , has b r o u g h t

a s u m of m o n e y for this very purpose; and C e b e s and m a n y o t h e r s

are willing to spend their m o n e y too. I say therefore, do n o t on

that a c c o u n t hesitate about m a k i n g y o u r escape, and do not say, as

you did in the court, that you will have a difficulty in k n o w i n g

w h a t to do with yourself if you escape. For men will love you in

o t h e r places to which you may go, and not in Athens only; t h e r e

Onto >7

are friends of mine in Thessaly, if you like to go to them, who will

value and protect you, and no Thessalian will give you any

trouble. N o r can I think that you are justified, Socrates, in

betraying y o u r own life when you m i g h t be saved; this is playing

into the hands of y o u r enemies and destroyers; and m o r e o v e r I

should say that you were b e t r a y i n g y o u r children; for you might

bring t h e m up and e d u c a t e them; instead of which you go away

and leave them, and they will have to take their chance; and if they

do not m e e t with the usual fate of orphans, t h e r e will he small

thanks to you. No man should bring children into the world who

is unwilling to persevere to the end in their n u r t u r e and

education. But you are choosing t h e easier part, as I think, not the

better and manlier, which would r a t h e r have b e c o m e o n e who

professes v i r t u e in all his actions, like yourself. And indeed, I am

ashamed not only of you, but of us who are y o u r friends, when T

reflect that this e n t i r e business of yours will be attributed to o u r

want of courage. T h e trial need never have c o m e on, or might

have been b r o u g h t to a n o t h e r issue; and the end of all, which is t h e

c r o w n i n g absurdity, will seem to have been p e r m i t t e d by us,

t h r o u g h cowardice and baseness, who m i g h t have saved you, as

you might have saved y o u r s e l f if we had been good for a n y t h i n g

(for t h e r e was no difficulty in escaping); and we did not see how

disgraceful, Socrates, and also miserable all this will be to us as

well as to you. M a k e your mind up then, or rather have y o u r m i n d

already m a d e up, f o r t h e t i m e of deliberation is over, and there is

only o n e thing to he done, which m u s t be done, if at all, this very

night, and which any delay will r e n d e r all but impossible; T

beseech you therefore, Socrates, to be p e r s u a d e d by me, and to do

as I say.

soc: D e a r Crito, y o u r zeal is invaluable, if a right one; but if wrong,

t h e greater the zeal t h e greater t h e evil; and t h e r e f o r e we o u g h t to

consider w h e t h e r t h e s e things shall be d o n e or not. For I am and

always have been o n e of those natures w h o must be g u i d e d by

reason, whatever the reason may be which u p o n reflection

appears to me to be the best; and now that this f o r t u n e has c o m e

u p o n me, I can not p u t away the reasons which I have before given:

t h e principles which I have h i t h e r t o h o n o r e d and revered I still

honor, and unless we can find o t h e r and better principles on the

28 • Plato

instant, I am certain not to agree with yon; no, not even if the

p o w e r of the m u l t i t u d e could inflict m a n y m o r e imprisonments,

confiscations, deaths, f r i g h t e n i n g us like c h i l d r e n with hobgoblin

terrors. But what will be t h e fairest way of considering t h e

question? Shall 1 r e t u r n to y o u r old a r g u m e n t about t h e opinions

of men? s o m e of which are to be regarded, and others, as we w e r e

saying, are not to be regarded. N o w w e r e we right in m a i n t a i n i n g

this b e f o r e 1 was c o n d e m n e d ? And has t h e a r g u m e n t which was

o n c e good now proved to be talk for t h e sake of talking;—in fact

an a m u s e m e n t only, and altogether vanity? T h a t is what 1 want to

consider with y o u r help, C r i t o : — w h e t h e r , u n d e r my p r e s e n t

circumstances, the a r g u m e n t appears to be in any way d i f f e r e n t

or not; and is to be allowed by me or disallowed. T h a t a r g u m e n t ,

which, as 1 believe, is m a i n t a i n e d by m a n y who assume to be

authorities, was to t h e effect, as 1 was saying, that the opinions

of s o m e m e n are to be regarded, and of o t h e r men n o t to be

regarded. N o w you, Crito, are a disinterested person who are n o t

going to die t o - m o r r o w — a t least, t h e r e is no h u m a n probability

of this, and you are t h e r e f o r e not liable to be deceived by the

circumstances in which you are placed. T e l l me then, w h e t h e r I

am right in saying t h a t s o m e opinions, and t h e opinions of s o m e

m e n only, are to be valued, and o t h e r opinions, and t h e opinions

of o t h e r m e n , are not to be valued. I ask you w h e t h e r I was right in

m a i n t a i n i n g this?

CR: Certainly.

SOC: T h e good are to be regarded, and not t h e bad?

CR: Yes.

s o c : And the opinions of t h e wise are good, and the opinions of the

u n w i s e are evil?

CR: Certainly.

s o c : And what was said about a n o t h e r matter? Was the disciple in

gymnastics supposed to attend to the praise and blame and

opinion of every man, or of one man only—-his physician or

trainer, whoever that was?

CR: Of o n e man only.

s o c : And he o u g h t to fear the censure and w e l c o m e t h e praise of that

o n e only, and not of the many?

CR: T h a t is clear.

Crito • -?7

soc: And he ought to live and train, and eat and drink in t h e way

which seems good to his single master who has u n d e r s t a n d i n g ,

r a t h e r than according to the opinion of all other m e n p u t

together?

CR: T r u e .

s o c : And if he disobeys and disregards the opinion and approval of

the one, and regards t h e opinion of the m a n y who have no

u n d e r s t a n d i n g , will he not suffer evil?

CR: C e r t a i n l y he will.

soc: And what will t h e evil be, whither t e n d i n g and what affecting, in

t h e disobedient person?

CR: Clearly, affecting t h e body; that is what is destroyed by t h e evil,

s o c : Very good; and is not this t r u e , Crito, of other things which we

n e e d not separately enumerate? In the m a t t e r of just and unjust,

fair and foul, good and evil, which are t h e subjects of our present

consultation, o u g h t we to follow the opinion of the m a n y and to

fear them; or t h e opinion of the o n e man who has u n d e r s t a n d i n g ,

and w h o m we ought to fear and r e v e r e n c e m o r e than all the rest

of the world: and w h o m deserting we shall destroy and i n j u r e that

p r i n c i p l e in us which may be assumed to be improved by justice

and deteriorated by injustice;—is t h e r e not such a principle?

CR: C e r t a i n l y t h e r e is, Socrates.

s o c : T a k e a parallel instance:—if, acting u n d e r the advice of m e n

who have no u n d e r s t a n d i n g , we destroy that which is improvable

by health and d e t e r i o r a t e d by d i s e a s e — w h e n that has been

destroyed, 1 say, would life be worth having? And that i s — t h e

body?

CR: Yes.

s o c : C o u l d we live, having an evil and c o r r u p t e d body?

CR: Certainly not.

s o c : And will life be w o r t h having, if that h i g h e r part of man be

depraved, which is improved by justice and deteriorated by

injustice? Do we s u p p o s e that principle, whatever it may be in

m a n , which has to do with justice and injustice, to be i n f e r i o r to

the body?

CR: C e r t a i n l y not.

s o c : M o r e h o n o r e d , then?

CR: Far m o r e honored.

30 • Plato

s o c : T h e n , my friend, we m u s t not regard what the m a n y say of us:

b u t what he, the o n e man who has u n d e r s t a n d i n g of just and

unjust, will say, and what the t r u t h will say. And t h e r e f o r e you

begin in error when you suggest that we should regard the o p i n i o n

of the many about just and unjust, good and evil, h o n o r a b l e and

dishonorable.—Well, s o m e one will say, "but t h e m a n y can kill

us."

CR: Yes, Socrates; that will clearly be t h e answer.

SOC: T h a t is true: b u t still I find with surprise that the old a r g u m e n t

is, as I conceive, unshaken as ever. .And I should like to know

w h e t h e r 1 may say t h e s a m e of another p r o p o s i t i o n — t h a t n o t

life,

but a good life, is to be chiefly valued?

CR: Yes, t h a t also remains.

s o c : And a good life is equivalent to a just and h o n o r a b l e o n e — t h a t

holds also?
CR: Yes, that holds.

SOC: From these premisses I proceed to argue t h e question w h e t h e r I

o u g h t or ought not to t r y and escape w i t h o u t the consent of t h e

Athenians: and if 1 am clearly right in escaping, then 1 will make

the attempt; but if not, I will abstain. T h e o t h e r considerations

which you m e n t i o n , of m o n e y and loss of character and the duty

of e d u c a t i n g children, are, as I fear, only the doctrines of t h e

multitude, who would be as ready to call people to life, if they

w e r e able, as they are to p u t t h e m to d e a t h — a n d with as little

reason. But now, since the a r g u m e n t has thus far prevailed, t h e

only question which r e m a i n s to be considered is, w h e t h e r we shall

do rightly either in escaping or in suffering others to aid in o u r

escape and paying t h e m in m o n e y and thanks, or w h e t h e r we shall

n o t do rightly; and if the latter, then d e a t h or any o t h e r c a l a m i t y

which may ensue on my r e m a i n i n g h e r e m u s t not be allowed to

e n t e r into the calculation.

CR: I think t h a t you are right, Socrates; how then shall we proceed?

s o c : L e t us consider the m a t t e r together, and do you either r e f u t e me

if you can, and I will be convinced; or else cease, my d e a r friend,

f r o m r e p e a t i n g to me t h a t I o u g h t to escape against the wishes of

the Athenians: f o r I am extremely desirous to be p e r s u a d e d by

you, b u t not against my own b e t t e r j u d g m e n t . And now please to

consider my first position, and do your best to answer me.

Crito • -?7

cu: I will do my best.

soc: Are we to say t h a t we are never intentionally to do wrong, or

that in o n e way we ought and in a n o t h e r way we ought not to do

wrong, or is d o i n g w r o n g always evil and dishonorable, as I was

just now saying, and as has been already acknowledged by us?

Are all our f o r m e r admissions which were m a d e within a f e w

days to be thrown away? And have we, at our age, been earnestly

discoursing with one another all o u r life long only to discover

that we are no better than children? Or are we to rest assured, in

spite of the opinion of t h e many, and in spite of c o n s e q u e n c e s

w h e t h e r better or worse, of t h e t r u t h of what was then said, that

injustice is always an evil and dishonor to him who acts unjustly?

Shall we affirm that?

CR: Yes.

s o c : T h e n we must do no wrong?

CR: C e r t a i n l y not.

s o c : N o r when injured i n j u r e in r e t u r n , as the m a n y imagine; for we

must injure no o n e at all?

CR: C l e a r l y not.

s o c : Again, Crito, may we do evil?

CR: Surely not, Socrates.

s o c : And what of d o i n g evil in return for evil, which is t h e m o r a l i t y

of t h e m a n y — i s that just or not?

CR: N o t just.

s o c : For d o i n g evil to a n o t h e r is the same as injuring him?

CR: Very true.

s o c : T h e n we o u g h t not to retaliate or r e n d e r evil for evil to any one,

whatever evil we may have suffered f r o m him. But I would have

you consider, Crito, w h e t h e r you really mean what you are saying.

For this opinion has never been held, and never will be held, by

any considerable n u m b e r of persons; and those w h o are agreed

and those who are not agreed u p o n this point have no c o m m o n

ground, and can only despise one a n o t h e r when they see how

widely they differ. Tell me, then, w h e t h e r you agree with and

assent to my first principle, that neither injury n o r retaliation n o r

warding off evil by evil is ever right. And shall that be t h e premiss

of o u r argument? Or do you decline and dissent from this? For this

has been of old and is still my opinion; but, if you are of a n o t h e r

32 • Plato
opinion, let me h e a r what you have to say. If, however, you remain

of t h e s a m e m i n d as f o r m e r l y I will p r o c e e d to the next step.

CR: You may proceed, for I have not changed my mind,

s o c : T h e n I will p r o c e e d to the next step, which may be p u t in the

form of a q u e s t i o n : — O u g h t a man to do w h a t he admits to be

right, or o u g h t he to betray t h e right?

CR: He ought to do what he thinks right.

Soc: Rut if this is true, what is t h e application? In leaving t h e prison

against t h e will of the Athenians, do I w r o n g any? or r a t h e r do I

not w r o n g those w h o m I o u g h t least to wrong? Do I not d e s e r t t h e

principles which were acknowledged by us to be just? W h a t do

you say?

CR: I can not tell, Socrates; f o r I do not know.

s o c : T h e n consider t h e m a t t e r in this w a y : — I m a g i n e t h a t I am
about

to play t r u a n t (you may call the p r o c e e d i n g by any n a m e which

you like), and t h e laws and t h e g o v e r n m e n t c o m e and i n t e r r o g a t e

me: "Tell us, Socrates," they say; "what are you about? are vou

going by an act of y o u r s to overturn u s — t h e laws and t h e whole

state, as far as in you lies? Do you imagine that a state can subsist

and not be overthrown, in which t h e decisions of law have no

power, b u t are set aside and overthrown by individuals?" W h a t

will be o u r answer, Crito, to these and the like words? A n y one,

and especially a clever rhetorician, will have a good deal to u r g e

about the evil of setting aside t h e law which requires a s e n t e n c e to

be carried out; and we m i g h t reply, "Yes; b u t the state has injured

us and given an u n j u s t sentence." S u p p o s e I say that?

CR: Very good, Socrates.

s o c : "And was t h a t o u r a g r e e m e n t with you?" t h e law would say; "or

w e r e you to abide by the sentence of t h e state?" And if I were to

express astonishment at their saying this, t h e law would p r o b a b l y

add: "Answer, Socrates, instead of o p e n i n g y o u r eyes: you are in

the habit of asking and answering questions. Tell us w h a t

c o m p l a i n t you have to make against us which justifies you in

a t t e m p t i n g to destroy us and the state? In t h e first place did we not

bring you into existence? Your father m a r r i e d y o u r m o t h e r by o u r

aid and begat you. Say w h e t h e r you have any objection to u r g e

against those of us w h o r e g u l a t e marriage?" N o n e , I should reply.

"Or against those of us who regulate the system of n u r t u r e and

Crito • -?7

education of c h i l d r e n in which you were trained? Were not t h e

laws, who have the charge of this, right in c o m m a n d i n g y o u r

father to train you in music and gymnastic?" Right, I should reply.

"Well then, since you were b r o u g h t into t h e world and n u r t u r e d

and educated by us, can you d e n y in the first place that you are

our child and slave, as y o u r fathers w e r e before you? And if this is

t r u e you are not on equal t e r m s with us; nor can you think that

you have a right to do to us what we are d o i n g to you. Would you

have any right to strike or revile or do any o t h e r evil to a father or

to your master, if you had one, when you have been struck or

reviled by him, or received s o m e o t h e r evil at his hands?—you

would n o t say this? And because we think right to destroy you, do

you think t h a t you have any right to destroy us in return, and y o u r

c o u n t r y as far as in you lies? And will you, 0 professor of t r u e

virtue, say that y o u are justified in this? H a s a p h i l o s o p h e r like you

failed to discover t h a t o u r c o u n t r y is m o r e to be valued and higher

and holier far than m o t h e r or father or any ancestor, and m o r e to

be regarded in the eyes of the gods and of men of u n d e r s t a n d i n g ?

also to be soothed, and gently and reverently e n t r e a t e d when

angry, even m o r e than a father, and if n o t p e r s u a d e d , obeyed? And

when we are p u n i s h e d by her, w h e t h e r with i m p r i s o n m e n t or

stripes, t h e p u n i s h m e n t is to be e n d u r e d in silence; and if she lead

us to w o u n d s or d e a t h in battle, t h i t h e r we follow as is right;

n e i t h e r may any o n e yield or r e t r e a t or leave his rank, b u t w h e t h e r

in battle or in a c o u r t of law, or in any o t h e r place, he m u s t do

what his city and his c o u n t r y o r d e r him; or he must c h a n g e their

view of what is just: and if he may do no violence to his father or

mother, m u c h less may he do violence to his country." W h a t

answer shall we make to this, Crito? Do t h e laws speak truly, or do

they not?

CR: I think that they do.

s o c : T h e n the laws will say: "Consider, Socrates, if this is true, t h a t in

y o u r present a t t e m p t you are going to do us wrong. For, after

having b r o u g h t you into the world, and n u r t u r e d and e d u c a t e d

you, and given you and every o t h e r citizen a share in every good

that we had to give, we f u r t h e r proclaim and give the right to

every Athenian, t h a t if he does not like us when he has c o m e of

age and has seen the ways of the city, and m a d e o u r acquaintance,

34 • Plato

he may go w h e r e he pleases and take his goods with him; and n o n e

of us laws will forbid him or interfere with him. Any of you who

does not like us and t h e city, and who wants to go to a colony or to

any o t h e r city, may go where he likes, and take his goods with him.

But he w h o has experience of t h e m a n n e r in which we o r d e r

justice and administer the state, and still remains, has e n t e r e d into

an i m p l i e d contract that he will do as we c o m m a n d him. And he

w h o disobeys us is, as we maintain, thrice wrong; first, because in

disobeying us he is disobeying his parents; secondly, because we

are t h e a u t h o r s of his education; thirdly, because he has m a d e an

a g r e e m e n t with us that he will duly obey o u r commands; and he

n e i t h e r obeys them nor convinces us that our c o m m a n d s are

wrong; and we do not r u d e l y impose t h e m , but give them t h e

alternative of obeying or convincing u s ; — t h a t is what we offer,

and he does neither. T h e s e are the sort of accusations to which, as

we w e r e saying, you, Socrates, will be exposed if you accomplish

y o u r intentions; you, above all o t h e r Athenians." Suppose I ask,

why is this? they will justly retort u p o n me that 1 above all o t h e r

m e n have acknowledged the agreement. " T h e r e is clear proof,"

they will say, "Socrates, that we and the city were not displeasing

to you. Of all Athenians you have been the most constant resident

in t h e city, which, as you never leave, you may be supposed to

love. For you never went out of the city e i t h e r to see the games,

except o n c e when you went to t h e Isthmus, or to any o t h e r place

u n l e s s you were on military service; nor did you travel as o t h e r

men do. N o r had you any curiosity to know o t h e r states or their

laws: y o u r affections did not go beyond us and o u r state; we w e r e

y o u r special favorites, and you acquiesced in o u r g o v e r n m e n t of

you; and this is the state in which you begat y o u r children, which

is a p r o o f of your satisfaction. Moreover, you might, if you had

liked, have fixed the penalty at b a n i s h m e n t in t h e course of t h e

t r i a l — t h e state which refuses to let you go now would have let

you go then. But you p r e t e n d e d that you p r e f e r r e d death to exile,

and that you were not grieved at death. And now you have

forgotten these fine sentiments, and pay no r e s p e c t to us t h e laws,

of w h o m you are the destroyer; and are d o i n g what only a

miserable slave would do, r u n n i n g away and t u r n i n g your back

u p o n t h e compacts and a g r e e m e n t s which y o u m a d e as a citizen.

Crito • -?7

And first of all answer this very question: Are we right in saying

that you agreed to be governed according to us in deed, and not in

word only? Is that t r u e or not?" H o w shall we answer that, Crito?

M u s t we not agree?

CR: T h e r e is no help, Socrates.

soc: T h e n will they n o t say: "You, Socrates, are breaking t h e

covenants and a g r e e m e n t s which you m a d e with us at y o u r

leisure, not in any haste or u n d e r any compulsion or d e c e p t i o n ,

but having had seventy years to think of t h e m , d u r i n g which t i m e

you w e r e at liberty to leave the city, if we w e r e not to y o u r mind,

or if o u r covenants appeared to .you to be unfair. You had y o u r

choice, and m i g h t have gone e i t h e r to L a c c d a e m o n or Crete,

which you often praise for their good government, or to s o m e

o t h e r H e l l e n i c or foreign state. W h e r e a s you, above all o t h e r

Athenians, seemed to be so fond of the state, or, in other words, of

us h e r laws (for who would like a state that has no laws), that you

never stirred out of her; the halt, the blind, the m a i m e d were n o t

m o r e stationary in h e r than you were. And now you run away and

forsake your agreements. N o t so, Socrates, if you will take o u r

advice; do not make yourself ridiculous by escaping out of t h e

city.

"For just consider, if you transgress and err in this sort of way,

what good will you do either to yourself or to y o u r friends? T h a t

y o u r friends will be driven into exile and deprived of citizenship,

or will lose their property, is tolerably certain; and you yourself, if

you flv to one of the n e i g h b o r i n g cities, as, for example, T h e b e s or

Megara, both of which are well-governed cities, will c o m e to them

as an enemy, Socrates, and their g o v e r n m e n t will be against you,

and all patriotic citizens will cast an evil eye u p o n you as a

subverter of the laws, and you will c o n f i r m in t h e m i n d s of the

judges the justice of their own c o n d e m n a t i o n of you. For he who

is a c o r r u p t o r of t h e laws is m o r e than likely to be c o r r u p t o r of the

y o u n g and foolish p o r t i o n of mankind. Will you then flee f r o m

well-ordered cities and v i r t u o u s men? and is existence worth

having on these terms? Or will you go to t h e m w i t h o u t shame, and

talk to t h e m , Socrates? And what will you say to them? W h a t you

say h e r e about v i r t u e and justice and institutions and laws b e i n g

the best things a m o n g men. Would that be d e c e n t of you? Surely

36 • Plato

not. But if you go away f r o m well-governed states to Crito's

friends in Thessaly, w h e r e t h e r e is a great disorder and license,

they will be c h a r m e d to have the tale of y o u r escape f r o m prison,

set off with ludicrous particulars of t h e m a n n e r in which vou were

w r a p p e d in a goatskin or s o m e o t h e r disguise, and m e t a m o r p h o s e

d

as t h e fashion of runaways i s — t h a t is very likely; but will t h e r e be

no o n e to r e m i n d you that in y o u r old age you violated the most

sacred laws from a miserable desire of a little m o r e life. Perhaps

not, if you keep t h e m in a good t e m p e r ; b u t if they are o u t of

t e m p e r you will h e a r many d e g r a d i n g things; you will live, b u t

how?—as t h e flatterer of all men, and the servant of all men; and

d o i n g what?—earing and d r i n k i n g in Thessaly, having gone

abroad in order that you may get a dinner. And w h e r e will be y o u r

fine s e n t i m e n t s about justice and v i r t u e then? Say t h a t you wish to

live for t h e sake of y o u r children, that you may bring them up and

e d u c a t e t h e m — w i l l you take t h e m into Thessaly and deprive

t h e m of Athenian citizenship? Is that the b e n e f i t which you would

confer u p o n them? Or are you u n d e r the impression that they will

be b e t t e r cared f o r and e d u c a t e d h e r e if you are still alive,

although absent f r o m t h e m ; for that y o u r f r i e n d s will take care of

them? Do you fancy that if you are an i n h a b i t a n t of Thessaly they

will take care of them, and if you are an i n h a b i t a n t of the o t h e r

world they will not take c a r e of them? N a y ; b u t if they w h o call

themselves friends are t r u l y friends, they surely will.

"Listen, then, Socrates, to us who have b r o u g h t you up. T h i n k

not of life and children first, and of justice afterward, but of justice

first, t h a t you may be justified b e f o r e the princes of the world

below. For n e i t h e r will you n o r any that b e l o n g to you be h a p p i e r

or holier or juster in this life, or h a p p i e r in another, if you do as

C r i t o bids. N o w you d e p a r t in innocence, a s u f f e r e r and not a d o e r

of evil; a victim, not of t h e laws, but of men. But if you go forth,

r e t u r n i n g evil for evil, and injury for injury, breaking the

covenants and agreements which you have m a d e with us, and

w r o n g i n g those w h o m you ought least to wrong, thac is to say,

yourself, y o u r friends, y o u r country, and us, we shall be angry with

you while you live, and o u r brethren, t h e laws in the world below,

will receive you as an e n e m y ; for they will know that you have

d o n e y o u r best to destroy us. Listen, then, to us and not to Crito."

Crito • -?7

T h i s is the voice which I seem to hear m u r m u r i n g in my ears,

like the sound of the f l u t e in the ears of the mystic; that voice, I

say, is h u m m i n g in my ears, and prevents me from hearing any

other. And I know t h a t anything m o r e which you may say will be

vain. Yet speak, if you have anything to say.

CR: 1 have n o t h i n g to say, Socrates.

soc: T h e n let me follow the intimations of the will of G o d .

T H E R E P U B L I C : BOOK I I

With these words 1 was thinking that I had made an end of the discus-

sion; but the end, in truth, proved to be only a beginning For Glaucon,

who is always the most pugnacious of men, was dissatisfied at Thrasy-

machus' retirement; he wanted to have the battle out. So he said to me:

Socrates, do you wish really to persuade us, or only to seem to have

persuaded us, that to be just is always better than to be unjust?

I should wish really to persuade you, I replied, if 1 could.

T h e n you certainly have not succeeded. Let me ask you now:—

H o w would you arrange goods—are there not some which we wel-

come for their own sakes, and independently of their consequences,

as, for example, harmless pleasures and enjoyments, which delight us

at the time, although nothing follows from them?

1 agree in thinking that there is such a class, I replied.

Is there not also a second class of goods, such as knowledge, sight,

health, which are desirable not only in themselves, but also for their

results?

Certainly, 1 said.

And would you not recognize a third class, such as gymnastic, and

t h e care of the sick, and the physician's art; also the various ways of

m o n e y - m a k i n g — t h e s e do us good but we regard them as disagree-

able; and no one would choose them for their own sakes, but only for

t h e sake of some reward or result which flows from them?

The Republic: Book II • 39

T h e r e is, I said, this third class also. But why do you ask?

Because 1 want to know in which of the three classes you would

place justice?
In the highest class, I r e p l i e d , — a m o n g t h o s e goods which he who

would be happy desires both for their own sake and for t h e sake of

iheir results.

T h e n the m a n y are of a n o t h e r mind; they think that |ustice is to be

reckoned in the t r o u b l e s o m e class, a m o n g goods which are to be p u r -

sued for the sake of reward and of r e p u t a t i o n , b u t in themselves are

disagreeable and r a t h e r to be avoided.

1 know, I said, that this is their m a n n e r of thinking, and that this

was t h e thesis which T h r a s y m a c h u s was m a i n t a i n i n g just now,

when

lie censured justice and praised injustice. But I am too stupid to be

convinced by him.

1 wish, he said, that you would hear me as well as him, and then 1

shall see w h e t h e r you and I agree. For T h r a s y m a c h u s seems to me,

like a snake, to have been c h a r m e d by y o u r voice sooner than he

ought to have been; but to my mind the n a t u r e of justice and injus-

tice have not yet been m a d e clear. Setting aside their reward and

results, I want to know what they are in themselves, and how they

inwardly work in the soul. If you please, then, I will revive the argu-

m e n t of T h r a s y m a c h u s . And first I will speak of t h e nature and ori-

gin of justice according to the c o m m o n view of them. Secondly, I will

show that all m e n w h o practice justice do so against their will, of

necessity, but not as a good. And thirdly, I will argue that there is

reason in this view, for the life of the u n j u s t is after all better far

than the life of the just—if what they say is true, Socrates, since I

myself am not of their opinion. But still I acknowledge that I am p e r -

plexed when I hear the voices of T h r a s y m a c h u s and myriads of

others d i n n i n g in my ears; and, on t h e o t h e r hand, I have never yet

heard t h e superiority of justice to injustice maintained by any one in

a satisfactory way. I want to hear justice praised in respect of itself;

then I shall be satisfied, and you are t h e person f r o m w h o m I think

that I am most likely to hear this; and t h e r e f o r e 1 will praise t h e

unjust life to the u t m o s t of my power, and my m a n n e r of s p e a k i n g

will indicate the m a n n e r in which I desire to hear you too praising

justice and censuring injustice. Will you say w h e t h e r you approve of

my proposal?

40 • Plato

Indeed I do; nor can I i m a g i n e any t h e m e a b o u t which a m a n of

sense would o f t e n e r wish to converse.

I am delighted, he replied, to hear you say so, and shall begin by

speaking, as I proposed, of the n a t u r e and origin of justice.

T h e y say that to do injustice is, by nature, good; to suffer injustice,

evil; h u t that the evil is greater than the good. A n d so when men have

both d o n e and suffered injustice and have had e x p e r i e n c e of both,

not b e i n g able to avoid t h e one and obtain the other, they think t h a t

they had better agree a m o n g themselves to have neither; h e n c e t h e r e

arise laws and m u t u a l covenants; and t h a t which is ordained by law is

t e r m e d by t h e m lawful and just. T h i s they affirm to be the origin and

n a t u r e of justice;—it is a m e a n or compromise, b e t w e e n t h e best of

all, w h i c h is to do injustice and not be p u n i s h e d , and t h e worst of all,

w h i c h is to suffer injustice w i t h o u t the p o w e r of retaliation; and jus-

tice, being at a middle p o i n t between the two, is tolerated n o t as a

good, b u t as the lesser evil, and h o n o r e d by reason of the inability of

m e n to do injustice. For no man who is w o r t h y to he called a man

would ever submit to such an a g r e e m e n t if he w e r e able to resist; he

would be mad if he did. S u c h is the received account, Socrates, of the

n a t u r e and origin of justice.

N o w that those who practice justice do so involuntarily and because

they have n o t t h e p o w e r to be u n j u s t will best appear if we imagine

s o m e t h i n g of this kind: h a v i n g given both to the just and the u n j u s t

p o w e r to do what they will, let us watch and see whither desire will

lead them; then we shall discover in the very act the just and u n j u s t

m a n to he p r o c e e d i n g along the same road, following their interest,

which all natures d e e m to be their good, and are only diverted into

t h e path of justice by t h e force of law. T h e liberty which we are sup-

p o s i n g may be most c o m p l e t e l y given to t h e m in the form of such a

p o w e r as is said to have been possessed by Gyges, the ancestor of

C r o e s u s the Lydian, A c c o r d i n g to the tradition, G y g e s was a s h e p -

herd in t h e service of t h e king of Lydia; t h e r e was a great storm, and

an e a r t h q u a k e m a d e an o p e n i n g in the earth at t h e place w h e r e he

was f e e d i n g his flock. Amazed at the sight, he descended into the

opening, where, a m o n g o t h e r marvels, he beheld a hollow brazen

horse, having doors, at which he stooping and looking in saw a dead

body of stature, as a p p e a r e d to him, m o r e t h a n h u m a n , and having

n o t h i n g on b u t a gold ring; this he took f r o m the finger of t h e dead

The Republic: Book II • 41

and reascended. N o w t h e s h e p h e r d s m e t together, according to cus-

tom, that they m i g h t send their m o n t h l y r e p o r t about t h e flocks to

the king; into their assembly he came h a v i n g the ring on his finger,

and as he was sitting a m o n g them he chanced to turn t h e collet of the

ring inside his hand, when instantly he b e c a m e invisible to t h e rest of

the c o m p a n y and they began to speak of him as if he were no longer

present. He was astonished at this, and again touching the ring he

t u r n e d the collet outward and reappeared; he m a d e several trials of

the ring, and always with t h e same r e s u l t — w h e n he turned the collet

inward he b e c a m e invisible, when outward he reappeared. W h e r e -

u p o n he contrived to be chosen one of the messengers who w e r e sent

to t h e court; where as soon as he arrived he seduced the q u e e n , and

with h e r help conspired against t h e king and slew him, and took the

kingdom. S u p p o s e now that there w e r e two such magic rings, and the

just p u t on one of t h e m and t h e u n j u s t the other; no man can be

imagined to be of such an iron n a t u r e that he would stand fast in jus-

tice. No man would keep his hands off w h a t was not his own when he

could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses

and lie with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison

w h o m he would, and in all respects be like a G o d among men. T h e n

the actions of the just would be as the actions of t h e unjust; they

would both c o m e at last to t h e same point. And this we may truly

affirm to be a great p r o o f t h a t a man is just, n o t willingly or b e c a u s e

he thinks that justice is any good to him individually, b u t of necessity,

for w h e r e v e r any o n e thinks that he can safely be unjust, t h e r e he is

unjust. For all men believe in 'their hearts that injustice is far m o r e

profitable to the individual than justice, and he who argues as 1 have

been supposing, will say that they are right. If you could i m a g i n e any

one obtaining this power of b e c o m i n g invisible, and never d o i n g any

w r o n g or t o u c h i n g what was another's, he would be t h o u g h t by the

lookers-on to be a most w r e t c h e d idiot, although they would praise

him to o n e another's faces, and keep up appearances with o n e

a n o t h e r f r o m a fear that they too m i g h t suffer injustice. E n o u g h of

this.

Now, if we are to f o r m a real j u d g m e n t of the life of t h e just and

unjust, we m u s t isolate t h e m ; there is 110 o t h e r way; and how is the

isolation to be effected? I answer: L e t t h e u n j u s t man be entirely

unjust, and the just m a n entirely just; n o t h i n g is to be taken away

42 • Plato

f r o m either of them, and both are to be perfectly furnished for t h e

-work of their respective lives. First, let the u n j u s t be like o t h e r dis-

t i n g u i s h e d masters of craft; like t h e skillful pilot or physician, who

k n o w s intuitively his own powers and keeps within their limits, and

w h o , if he fails at any point, is able to recover himself. So let the

u n j u s t make his u n j u s t a t t e m p t s in the right way, and lie hidden if he

m e a n s to be great in his injustice: (he who is found out is nobody:) for

t h e highest reach of injustice is, to be d e e m e d just when you are not.

T h e r e f o r e T say that in the perfectly u n j u s t man we must assume the

m o s t p e r f e c t injustice; t h e r e is to be no d e d u c t i o n , but we m u s t
allow
h i m , while d o i n g the most u n j u s t acts, to have acquired the greatest

r e p u t a t i o n for justice. If he have taken a false step he must be able to

r e c o v e r himself; he m u s t be o n e who can speak with effect, if any of

bis d e e d s c o m e to light, and who can force his way where force is

r e q u i r e d by his c o u r a g e and strength, and command of m o n e y and

friends. And at his side let us place the just man in his nobleness and

simplicity, wishing, as yEschylus says, to be and not to seem good.

T h e r e m u s t be no seeming, for if he seem to be just he will be h o n -

o r e d and rewarded, and then we shall n o t know whether he is just for

rhe sake of justice or for the sake of honors and reward; therefore, let

h i m be clothed in justice only, and have no other covering; and he

m u s t be imagined in a state of life the opposite of the former. L e t him

be t h e best of men, and let h i m be t h o u g h t t h e worst; then he will

h a v e been p u t to t h e proof; and we shall see whether he will be

affected by t h e fear of i n f a m y and its consequences. And let him con-

t i n u e thus to the h o u r of death; being just and seeming to be unjust.

W h e n both have reached the u t t e r m o s t extreme, the o n e of justice

and t h e o t h e r of injustice, let j u d g m e n t be given which of them is the

h a p p i e r of t h e two.

CHAPTER 2

ARISTOTLE
Socrates was Plato's teacher and in turn Aristotle was the student of

Plato. T h e r e will never be a more astonishing triumvirate. Taken

together, these three thinkers form the cornerstone of Western phi-

losophy.

T h e youngest of three children, Aristotle was born in 384 B.C. in

Stagira, a town about 150 miles north of Athens. His father, N i c o -

machus, was a physician to Amyntas III, the king of Macedonia. At

the time, the physician's art was a craft that was usually passed from

one generation to the next. In all likelihood, Aristotle was trained in

medicine and it is often suggested that his empirical bent and atten-

tion to detail have something to do with his being the son of a physi-

cian.

W h e n Aristotle was eighteen he traveled to Athens to study with

Plato at the Academy. He remained there doing research and teach-

ing for the next two decades. Aristotle left the Academy after Plato's

death in 347 B.C. and for several years moved among the Greek-

islands and city-states teaching and collecting marine specimens.

In 342 B.C., Philip of Macedonia summoned Aristotle to tutor his

thirteen-year-old son, Alexander (later known as Alexander the

Great). For a time, the man who was arguably the most brilliant phi-

losopher of them all was occupied teaching a teenager who was soon
to become one of the greatest military minds in the annals of history.

44 • Aristotle

H o m e r ' s Iliad was an i m p o r t a n t part of t h e c u r r i c u l u m that

Aristotle

used with his charge and t h e r e is good reason to think that t h e fierce

warrior king m a y have f o u n d a role m o d e l in the character of

Achilles.

After Philip's death, A l e x a n d e r b e c a m e heir to the t h r o n e and thus

began his world conquests. T h o u g h little is k n o w n about the rela-

tionship between Alexander and Aristotle, history has it t h a t when

Alexander was on his f a r - r e a c h i n g military expeditions, he would

have biological samples sent back to his f o r m e r teacher.

Aristotle r e t u r n e d to A t h e n s and in 335 B.C. established the

Lyceum, a school attached to the temple of Apollo Lyceus. This very

well equipped center of l e a r n i n g boasted an e n o r m o u s library and

became known as the P e r i p a t e t i c School b e c a u s e Aristotle and his

pupils were fond of walking as t h e y talked.

In 323 B.C., A l e x a n d e r the G r e a t died and a wave of anti-

Macedonian s e n t i m e n t swept over Athens. Like Socrates, Aristotle

was soon brought up on charges of impiety. As Aristotle was said to

have put it, "I would not let the Athenians m a k e t h e same mistake
twice." Rather than go to trial, he fled to Chalais and died from a

stomach ailment a few m o n t h s later (322 B.C.). He was sixty-two.

T h e r e ate three r u l i n g p a r a d i g m s in ethics: deontological, conse-

quentialism, and virtue ethics. T e r m e d for the G r e e k word for duty,

deon, deontological ethics is anchored in rhe c o n c e p t of duty. A c c o r d -

ing to this account, the c o n s e q u e n c e s of an action are out of o u r c o n -

trol and, as such, are morally insignificant. In contrast, consequentialist

theories hold that t h e results of an action d e t e r m i n e moral worth.

T h e view espoused by Aristotle is the p r o t o t y p e of what is today

classified as "virtue ethics." T h i s is a school of t h o u g h t that takes

moral excellence or v i r t u e to be the p r o p e r focus of reflection on

ethics. For adherents of this position, rules for action are derivative of

t h e virtues.

A few y e a r s back, m a n y d e v o u t Christians were sporting green

bracelets emblazoned with t h e letters W W J D , an a c r o n y m for "what

would JesuS do." In other words, when in d o u b t , act as you believe

Jesus would have acted. T h i s approach to t h e moral life is a p e r f e c t

exam pie of virtue ethics, which instructs: Follow the model of the

virtuous person. T h e r e is, of course, the p r o f o u n d problem: H o w do

we know who the v i r t u o u s person is?

Ethics• The Essential Writings • 45

T h e following selection is f r o m Books I, I T , and I T T of Aristotle's

Nicomachean Ethics, a text dedicated to Aristotle's son, Nicomaclvus,

and widely believed to be comprised f r o m the lecture notes of his

students.

In this offering, Aristotle argues that happiness ( eudaimonia) is the

linal end of all h u m a n action. Since happiness is the bull's-eye of o u r

endeavors, Aristotle believes that we would be well served by t h e

effort to define our target. He considers and rejects the likely candi-

dates of riches, honor, and health, but resolves t h a t happiness is "an

activity of the soul in accordance with v i r t u e and if t h e r e is m o r e

than o n e form of virtue, in accordance with the best and most c o m -

plete."

Aristotle maintains that t h e r e are two kinds of virtue: intellectual

and moral. While the f o r m e r a m o u n t s to excellence in reasoning,

moral v i r t u e or what we m i g h t t e r m "character" is a stable disposi-

tion to act and feel in appropriate ways. Aristotle reasons that virtue

is that which aids p r o p e r functioning. By his reckoning, excess and

deficiency destroy function. T h u s , virtue m u s t be the mean in h u m a n

action and feeling. For instance, the v i r t u e of courage is a m e a n

between cowardliness and rashness.

Aristotle teaches t h a t pleasures and pains are m i r r o r s of o u r soul.

T h a t which comes naturally to us is e x p e r i e n c e d as pleasurable and

that which goes against o u r grain is felt to be painful. Accordingly,

when v i r t u e becomes a habit or second nature, its exercise will be

e x p e r i e n c e d as pleasure. And so, the just individual will enjoy d o i n g

just deeds, whereas s o m e o n e who is in the process but has n o t yet

acquired a just disposition might find it hard to keep his word when

d o i n g so is not in his i m m e d i a t e self-interest.

N I C O M A C H E A N E T H I C S

B O O K ]

1. Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and p u r -

suit, is thought to aim at some good; and for this reason the good

has rightly been declared* to be that at which all things aim. But

a certain difference is found among ends; some are activities,

others are products apart from the activities that produce them.

W h e r e there are ends apart from the actions, it is the nature of

the products to be better than the activities. Now, as there are

many actions, arts, and sciences, their ends also are many; the

end of the medical art is health, that of shipbuilding a vessel,

that of strategy victory, that of economics wealth. But where

such arts fall u n d e r a single capacity—as bridle-making and the

other arts concerned with the e q u i p m e n t of horses fall u n d e r

the art of riding, and this and every military action under strat-

egy, in the same way other arts fall u n d e r yet others—in all of

these the ends of the master arts are to be preferred to all the

subordinate ends; for it is for the sake of the former that the lat-

ter are pursued. It makes no difference whether the activities

'Perhaps by Eudoxus.

Nicomachean Ethics • 57

themselves are t h e ends of the actions, or something else a p a r t

f r o m the activities, as in the case of the sciences just m e n t i o n e d .

2. If, then, t h e r e is s o m e end of the things we do, which we desire

for its own sake (everything else b e i n g desired for the sake

of this), and if we do not choose e v e r y t h i n g for the sake of s o m e -

t h i n g else (for at that rate the process would go on to infinity,

so t h a t our desire would be e m p t y and vain), clearly this m u s t be

the good and the chief good. Will not t h e knowledge of it, then,

have a great influence on life? Shall we not, like archers who

have a mark to aim at, be m o r e likely to hit upon what is right?

If so, we m u s t try, in outline at least to d e t e r m i n e what it is, and

of which of t h e sciences or capacities it is t h e object. It would

seem to belong to the most authoritative art and that which is

most truly t h e m a s t e r art. And politics appears to be of this

nature; for it is this that ordains which of the sciences should be

studied in a state, and which each class of citizens should learn

and up to what p o i n t they should learn t h e m ; and we see even

the most highly e s t e e m e d of capacities to fall u n d e r this, e.g.

strategy, economics, rhetoric; now, since politics uses t h e rest of

t h e sciences, and since, again, it legislates as to what we are to do

and what we are to abstain from, the end of this science m u s t

i n c l u d e those of t h e others, so that this end m u s t be t h e good for

man. For even if t h e end is the same for a single man and for a

state, that of t h e state seems at all events s o m e t h i n g g r e a t e r and

m o r e c o m p l e t e w h e t h e r to attain or to preserve; though it is

worth while to attain the end merely for one man, it is finer and

more godlike to attain it for a nation or for city-states. T h e s e ,

then, are t h e ends at which our i n q u i r y aims, since it is political

science, in one sense of that term.

3. O u r discussion will be adequate if it has as m u c h clearness as the

subject-matter admits of, for precision is not to be sought for

alike in all discussions, any m o r e than in all the p r o d u c t s of t h e

crafts. N o w fine and just actions, which political science investi-

gates, admit of m u c h variety and fluctuation of opinion, so that

they may be t h o u g h t to exist only by convention, and not by

nature. And goods also give rise to a similar fluctuation b e c a u s e

they bring harm to m a n y people; f o r b e f o r e now m e n have b e e n

u n d o n e by reason of their wealth, and others by reason of their

•r.ir • Aristotle

courage. We must be content, then, in s p e a k i n g of such subjects

and with such premisses to indicate t h e truth roughly and in

outline, and in speaking about things which are only for t h e

most p a r t t r u e and with premisses of t h e same kind to reach

conclusions that are no better. In t h e s a m e spirit, t h e r e f o r e ,

should each t y p e of s t a t e m e n t be received; for it is the m a r k of an

e d u c a t e d man to look for precision in each class of things just so

far as t h e n a t u r e of the subject admits; it is evidently equally

foolish to accept probable reasoning f r o m a mathematician and to

demand from a rhetorician scientific proofs.

N o w each man judges well the things he knows, and of these

he is a good judge. And so the man who has been e d u c a t e d in a

subject is a good j u d g e of that subject, and t h e man who has

received an a l l - r o u n d education is a good judge in general.

H e n c e a y o u n g man is n o t a p r o p e r h e a r e r of lectures on polit-

ical science; for be is inexperienced in t h e actions that o c c u r in

life, b u t its discussions start f r o m these and are about these; and,
further, since he t e n d s to follow his passions, his study will be

vain and unprofitable, because the end aimed at is not knowl-

e d g e b u t action. And it makes no d i f f e r e n c e w h e t h e r he is y o u n g

in years or y o u t h f u l in character; t h e d e f e c t does not d e p e n d on

time, b u t on his living, and p u r s u i n g each successive object, as

passion directs. For to such persons, as to the incontinent,

k n o w l e d g e brings no profit; but to t h o s e who desire and act in

a c c o r d a n c e with a rational principle k n o w l e d g e about such m a t -

ters will be of great benefit.

T h e s e remarks a b o u t t h e student; t h e sort of t r e a t m e n t to be

expected, and the p u r p o s e of the inquiry, may be taken as o u r

preface.

4. Let us resume o u r inquiry and state, in view of the fact that all

knowledge and every p u r s u i t aims at s o m e good, what it is that

we say political science aims at and what is t h e highest of all

goods achievable by action. Verbally there is very general agree-

ment; for both the general r u n of men and people of superior

r e f i n e m e n t say that it is happiness, and identify living well and

doing well with being happy; but with regard to what happiness

is they differ, and the m a n y do not give t h e same account as

the wise. For the f o r m e r think it is some plain and obvious thing,
Nicomachean Ethics • 49

like pleasure, wealth, or honor; they differ, however, f r o m o n e

a n o t h e r — a n d often even the same man identifies it with different

things, with health w h e n he is ill, with wealth when he is poor;

hut, conscious of their ignorance, they admire those who pro-

claim some great ideal that is above their comprehension. N o w

some* t h o u g h t that apart f r o m these many goods t h e r e is another

which is self-suhsistent and causes the goodness of all these as

well. To examine all t h e opinions that have been held were per-

haps somewhat fruitless; e n o u g h to examine those that are most

prevalent or that seem to he arguable.

Let us not fail to notice, however, that there is a difference

between arguments f r o m and those to the first principles. For

Plato, too, was right in raising this question and asking, as he used

to do, "are we on t h e way from or to the first principles?"1 T h e r e is

a difference, as t h e r e is in a race-course between the course f r o m

the judges to t h e turning-point and t h e way back. For, while we

must begin with what is known, things are objects of knowledge in

two senses—some to us, some without qualification. Presumably,

then, w must begin with things known to us. H e n c e any one who

is to listen intelligently to lectures about what is noble and just

and, generally, about the subjects of political science must have

been brought up in good habits. For the fact is the starting-point,

and if this is sufficiently plain to him, he will not at the start need

the reason as well; and the man who has been well brought up has

or can easily get starting-points. And as for him who neither has

nor can get them, let him hear the words of I lesiod:

Far best is he who knows all things himself;

Good, he that hearkens when men counsel right;

But he who neither knows, nor lays to heart

Another's wisdom, is a useless wight.

5. Let us, however, r e s u m e o u r discussion f r o m the point at which

we digressed. To judge from the lives that m e n lead, most men,

and men of the most vulgar type, seem (not w i t h o u t s o m e

T h e Platonic School.

Cf Rep. 511 D.

TO • Aristotle

g r o u n d ) to identify the good, or happiness, with pleasure; which

is the reason why they love t h e life of e n j o y m e n t . For there are,

we m a y say, t h r e e p r o m i n e n t t y p e s of l i f e — t h a t just m e n t i o n
e d ,

the political, and thirdly t h e contemplative life. N o w the mass of

m a n k i n d are evidently quite slavish in their tastes, p r e f e r r i n g a

life suitable to beasts, b u t they get s o m e g r o u n d for their view

f r o m t h e fact that m a n y of those in high places share t h e tastes

of Sardanapallus. A consideration of t h e p r o m i n e n t types of life

shows that p e o p l e of superior r e f i n e m e n t and of active disposi-

tion identify happiness with honor; for this is, roughly speaking,

t h e end of the political life. But it s e e m s too superficial to be

what we are looking for, since it is t h o u g h t to d e p e n d on those

who bestow h o n o r r a t h e r than on him w h o receives it, b u t t h e

good we divine to be s o m e t h i n g p r o p e r to a man and not easily

taken f r o m him. F u r t h e r , men seem to p u r s u e h o n o r in o r d e r

that they may be assured of their goodness; at least it is by m e n

of practical wisdom that they seek to be h o n o r e d , and a m o n g

those who know t h e m , and on the g r o u n d of their virtue; clearly,

then, according to t h e m , at any rate, v i r t u e is better. And p e r -

haps one might even s u p p o s e this to be, r a t h e r than honor, t h e

end of t h e political life. But even this appears somewhat i n c o m -

plete; for possession of v i r t u e seems actually compatible with

b e i n g asleep, or with lifelong inactivity, and, further, with t h e

greatest sufferings and misfortunes; but a m a n who was living so

no o n e would call happy, unless he were m a i n t a i n i n g a thesis at

all costs. But e n o u g h of this; for t h e subject has been sufficiently

t r e a t e d even in t h e c u r r e n t discussions. T h i r d comes the c o n -

t e m p l a t i v e life, which we shall consider later. T h e life of m o n e y -

m a k i n g is o n e u n d e r t a k e n u n d e r compulsion, and wealth is

evidently not the good we are seeking; for it is merely u s e f u l and

for t h e sake of s o m e t h i n g else. And so o n e m i g h t r a t h e r take t h e

a f o r e n a m e d objects to be ends; for they are loved for themselves.

But it is e v i d e n t that n o t even these are ends; yet m a n y a r g u -

m e n t s have been thrown away in s u p p o r t of them. Let us leave

this subject, then.

6. We had perhaps b e t t e r consider the universal good and discuss

t h o r o u g h l y what is m e a n t by it, although such an inquiry is m a d e

an uphill one by t h e fact that the Forms have been introduced by

Nicomachean Ethics • 51

friends of our own. Yet it would p e r h a p s be thought to be better,

indeed to be our duty, for the sake of m a i n t a i n i n g the truth even

to destroy what touches us closely, especially as we are philos-

o p h e r s or lovers of wisdom; for, while both are dear, piety

requires us to h o n o r truth above our friends.

T h e men who i n t r o d u c e d this doctrine did not posit Ideas of

classes within which they recognized priority and posteriority

(which is the reason why they did not maintain the existence of

an Idea e m b r a c i n g all numbers); b u t t h e t e r m "good" is used

both in t h e category of substance and in t h a t of quality and in

that of relation, and that which perse, i.e. substance, is prior in

n a t u r e to the relative (for the latter is like an offshoot and acci-

d e n t of being); so t h a t there could n o t be a c o m m o n Idea set

over all these goods. Further, since "good" has as many senses as

"being" (for it is p r e d i c a t e d both in the category of substance, as

of G o d and of reason, and in quality, i.e. of the virtues, and in

quantity, i.e. of that which is m o d e r a t e , and in relation, i.e. of t h e

useful, and in time, i.e. of the right o p p o r t u n i t y , and in place, i.e.

of the right locality and the like), clearly it c a n n o t be s o m e t h i n g

universally present in all cases and single; for then it could n o t

have been predicated in all the categories b u t in one only. F u r -

ther, since of the things answering to one Idea t h e r e is o n e sci-

ence, there would have been one science of all the goods; but as

it is t h e r e are m a n y sciences even of the things that fall u n d e r

o n e category, e.g. of opportunity, for o p p o r t u n i t y in war is s t u d -

ied by strategics and in disease by medicine, and the m o d e r a t e

in food is studied by m e d i c i n e and in exercise by the science of

gymnastics. And one m i g h t ask the question, what in the world

they mean by "a thing itself," if (as is the case) in "man h i m s e l f "

and in a particular man the a c c o u n t of m a n is o n e and the same.

For insofar as they are man, they will in no respect differ; and if

this is so, n e i t h e r will "good itself" and particular goods, insofar

as they are good. But again it will not be good any the m o r e for

being eternal, since that which lasts l o n g is no whiter than t h a t

which perishes in a day. T h e P y t h a g o r e a n s seem to give a m o r e

plausible account of the good, when they place the one in the

column of goods; and it is they that S p e u s i p p u s seems to have

followed.

52 - Aristotle

But let us discuss these m a t t e r s elsewhere; an objection to

w h a t we have said, however, may be d i s c e r n e d in the fact that

the Platonists have not been speaking a b o u t all goods, and that

the goods that are p u r s u e d and loved for themselves are called

good by r e f e r e n c e to a single Form, while those which t e n d to

p r o d u c e or to p r e s e r v e these s o m e h o w or to p r e v e n t their c o n -

traries are called so by r e f e r e n c e to these, and in a s e c o n d a r y

sense. Clearly, then, goods must be spoken of in two ways, and

s o m e m u s t be good in themselves, the o t h e r s by reason of these.

L e t us separate, then, things good in themselves f r o m things

useful, and consider w h e t h e r the f o r m e r are called good by ref-

e r e n c e to a single Idea. W h a t sort of goods would one call good

in themselves? Is it those that are p u r s u e d even when isolated

f r o m others, such as intelligence, sight, and certain pleasures

and honors? Certainly, if we p u r s u e t h e s e also for the sake of

s o m e t h i n g else, yet one would place t h e m a m o n g things good in

themselves. Or is n o t h i n g other than the Idea of good good in

itself? In that case the Form will be empty. But if the things we

have n a m e d are also things good in themselves, the account of

the good will have to appear as s o m e t h i n g identical in t h e m all,

as t h a t of whiteness is identical in snow and in white lead. But of

honor, wisdom, and pleasure, just in respect of their goodness,

the accounts are distinct and diverse. T h e good, therefore, is n o t

s o m e c o m m o n e l e m e n t answering to o n e Idea.

But what then do we m e a n by the good? It is surely not like

t h e things that only chance to have t h e s a m e name. Are goods

one, then, by being derived from one good or by all c o n t r i b u t i n g

to o n e good, or are they rather one by analogy? C e r t a i n l y as

sight is in t h e body, so is reason in the soul, and so on in Other

cases. But p e r h a p s t h e s e subjects had b e t t e r be dismissed f o r the

present; f o r p e r f e c t precision about t h e m would be m o r e a p p r o -

priate to a n o t h e r branch of philosophy. And similarly with

regard to the Idea; even if t h e r e is s o m e o n e good which is u n i -

versally p r c d i c a b l e of goods or is capable of separate and i n d e -

p e n d e n t existence, clearly it could n o t be achieved or attained

by man; but we are n o w seeking s o m e t h i n g attainable. Perhaps,

however, some o n e m i g h t think it worth while to recognize this

with a view to the goods that are attainable and achievable; f o r

Nicomachean Ethics •

having this as a sort of pattern we shall know better the goods

that are good for us, and if we know t h e m shall attain t h e m . T h i s

a r g u m e n t has some plausibility, but seems to clash with t h e p r o -

c e d u r e of t h e sciences; for all of these, though they aim at some

good and seek to supply the deficiency of it, leave on one side

the knowledge of the good. Yet that all t h e exponents of t h e arts

should be i g n o r a n t of, and should n o t even seek, so great an aid

is n o t probable. It is hard, too, to see how a weaver or a c a r p e n -

ter will be benefited in regard to his own craft by k n o w i n g this

"good itself," or how t h e man who has viewed the Idea itself will

be a better d o c t o r or general thereby. For a doctor seems not

even to study health in this way, but t h e health of man, or p e r -

haps rather t h e health of a particular man; it is individuals that

he is healing. But e n o u g h of these topics.

7. Let us again r e t u r n to the good we are seeking, and ask what it

can be. It seems d i f f e r e n t in d i f f e r e n t actions and arts; it is dif-

f e r e n t in medicine, in strategy, and in the o t h e r arts likewise.

W h a t then is the good of each? Surely t h a t for whose sake e v e r y -

thing else is done. In m e d i c i n e this is health, in strategy victory,

in architecture a house, in any o t h e r s p h e r e s o m e t h i n g else, and

in every action and pursuit the end; for it is f o r the sake of this

t h a t all m e n do whatever else they do. T h e r e f o r e , if t h e r e is an

end for all that we do, this will be the good achievable by action,

and if there are m o r e than one, t h e s e will be t h e goods achiev-

able by action.

So the a r g u m e n t has by a d i f f e r e n t course reached the same

point; but we m u s t try to state this even m o r e clearly. Since

t h e r e are evidently m o r e than o n e end, and we choose some of

these (e.g. wealth, flutes, and in general instruments) for the sake

of s o m e t h i n g else, clearly not all ends are final ends; but the

chief good is evidently s o m e t h i n g final. T h e r e f o r e , if t h e r e is

only o n e final end, this will be what we are seeking, and if t h e r e

are m o r e than one, the most final of these will be what we are

seeking. N o w we call that which is in itself w o r t h y of p u r s u i t

m o r e final than that which is worthy of p u r s u i t for t h e sake of

s o m e t h i n g else, and that which is never desirable for t h e sake of

s o m e t h i n g else m o r e final than t h e things that are desirable both

in themselves and f o r the sake of t h a t o t h e r thing, and t h e r e f o r e

64 Aristotle

we call final w i t h o u t qualification that which is always desirable

in itself and never for t h e sake of s o m e t h i n g else.

N o w such a t h i n g happiness, above all else, is held to be; for

this we choose always for itself and n e v e r for t h e sake of s o m e -

thing else, but honor, pleasure, reason, and every v i r t u e we

choose i n d e e d for themselves (for if n o t h i n g resulted f r o m t h e m

we should still choose each of them), b u t we choose t h e m also

for t h e sake of happiness, judging t h a t by m e a n s of them we shall

be happy. H a p p i n e s s , on t h e o t h e r hand, no o n e chooses for t h e

sake of these, nor, in general, for a n y t h i n g o t h e r than itself.

From the point of view of self-sufficiency the same result seems

to follow; for the final good is thought to be self-sufficient. N o w by

self-sufficient we do not mean that which is sufficient for a man by

himself, for one who lives a solitary life, but also for parents, chil-

dren, wife, and in general for his friends and fellow citizens, since

man is born for citizenship. But some limit m u s t be set to this; for
if we extend our r e q u i r e m e n t to ancestors and descendants and

friends' friends we are in for an infinite series. Let us examine this

question, however, on another occasion; the self-sufficient we now

define as that which when isolated makes life desirable and lacking

in nothing; and such we think happiness to be; and further we think

it most desirable of all things, without being counted as one good

thing a m o n g o t h e r s — i f it were so counted it would clearly be

m a d e m o r e desirable by the addition of even the least of goods; for

that which is added becomes an excess of goods, and of goods the

greater is always m o r e desirable. Happiness, then, is something

final and self-sufficient, and is the end of action.

Presumably, however, to say that happiness is the chief good

s e e m s a platitude, and a clearer account of what it is is still

desired. T h i s m i g h t p e r h a p s be given, if we could first ascertain

the f u n c t i o n of man. For just as for a flute-player, a sculptor, or

any artist, and, in general, for all things t h a t have a f u n c t i o n or

activity, the good and the "well" is t h o u g h t to reside in the f u n c -

tion, so would it seem to be for man, if he has a function. H a v e

t h e carpenter, then, and t h e tanner certain f u n c t i o n s or activi-

ties, and has man none? Is he born w i t h o u t a function? Or as eye,

hand, foot, and in general each of t h e parts evidently has a f u n c -

tion, m a y one lay it down that man similarly has a f u n c t i o n apart

Nicomachean Ethics • 55

from all these? W h a t then can this be? Life seems to be c o m m o n

even to plants, but we are seeking what is peculiar to man. Let us

exclude, therefore, the life of nutrition and growth. N e x t t h e r e

would be a life of perception, but it also seems to be c o m m o n

even to the horse, the ox, and every animal. T h e r e remains,

then, an active life of the e l e m e n t that has a rational principle; of

this, one part has such a principle in the sense of being obedient

to one, the o t h e r in the sense of possessing o n e and exercising

thought. And, as "life of the rational e l e m e n t " also has two

meanings, we m u s t state that life in the sense of activity is w h a t

we mean; for this seems to be the m o r e p r o p e r sense of the term.

N o w if the f u n c t i o n of man is an activity of soul which follows

or implies a rational principle, and if we say "a so-and-so" and "a

good so-and-so" have a function which is the same in kind, e.g. a

lyre-player and a good lyre-player, and so w i t h o u t qualifica-

tion in all cases, e m i n e n c e in respect of goodness being added to

t h e n a m e of the f u n c t i o n (for the f u n c t i o n of a lyre-player is to

play the lyre, and that of a good lyre-player is to do so well): if

this is the case, [and we state the f u n c t i o n of man to be a certain

kind of life, and this to be an activity or actions of t h e soul

i m p l y i n g a rational principle, and t h e f u n c t i o n of a good man to

be the good and noble performance of these, and if any action is

well performed when it is performed in accordance with the

appropriate excellence: if this is the case,] h u m a n good turns out to

be activity of soul in accordance with virtue, and if there are m o r e

than one virtue, in accordance with the best and most complete.

But we m u s t add "in a c o m p l e t e life." For o n e swallow does

n o t make a summer, nor does one day; and so too one day, or a

short time, does not make a man blessed and happy.

L e t this serve as an outline of the good; for we must p r e s u m -

ably first sketch it roughly, and then later fill in the details. But it

would seem that any one is capable of carrying on and articu-

lating what has o n c e been well outlined, and that time is a good

discoverer or p a r t n e r in such a work; to which facts the advances

of the arts are due; for any one can add what is lacking. And we

m u s t also r e m e m b e r what has been said b e f o r e and not look for

precision in all things alike, but in each class of things such p r e -

cision as accords with the subject-matter, and so m u c h as is

56 • Aristotle

a p p r o p r i a t e to the inquiry. For a c a r p e n t e r and a g e o m e t e r

investigate the right angle in d i f f e r e n t ways; t h e f o r m e r does so

insofar as the right angle is useful for his work, while the latter

inquires what it is or w h a t sort of thing it is; f o r he is a s p e c t a t o r

of t h e truth. We m u s t act in the same way, then, in all o t h e r m a t -

t e r s as well, that o u r main task may not be subordinated to

m i n o r questions. N o r m u s t we d e m a n d the cause in all m a t t e r s

alike; it is enough in s o m e cases that thzfacthe. well established,

as in the case of the first principles; the fact is the p r i m a r y thing

or first principle. N o w of first principles we see some by i n d u c -

tion, some by p e r c e p t i o n , some by a certain habituation, and

o t h e r s too in o t h e r ways. But each set of principles we m u s t try

to investigate in the natural way, and we m u s t take pains to

state them definitely, since they have a great influence on

w h a t follows. For the b e g i n n i n g is t h o u g h t to be m o r e than half

of t h e whole, and m a n y of the questions we ask are cleared up

by i t

8. We must consider it, however, in the light n o t only of o u r c o n -

clusion and o u r premisses, but also of what is c o m m o n l y said

a b o u t it; for with a t r u e view all the data harmonize, but with a

false one the facts soon clash. N o w goods have been divided into

t h r e e classes, and s o m e are described as external, others as relat-

ing to soul or to body; we call those that relate to soul most p r o p -

erly and truly goods, and physical actions and activities we class

as relating to soul. T h e r e f o r e o u r account m u s t be sound, at least

according to this view, which is an old o n e and agreed on by p h i -

losophers. It is correct also in that we identify t h e end with cer-

tain actions and activities; for thus it falls a m o n g goods of the

soul and not a m o n g external goods. A n o t h e r belief which h a r -

monizes with our a c c o u n t is that the happy m a n lives well and

does well; for we have practically defined happiness as a sort of

good life and good action. T h e characteristics that are looked f o r

in happiness seem also, all of them, to belong to what we have

defined happiness as being. For some identify happiness with

virtue, s o m e with practical wisdom, others with a kind of philo-

sophic wisdom, others with these, or o n e of these, accompanied

by pleasure or not w i t h o u t pleasure; while others include also

external prosperity. N o w s o m e of these views have been held by

Nicomachean Ethics • 57

many men and men of old, others by a few e m i n e n t persons; and

it is not probable that either of these should be entirely mistaken,

hilt rather that they should be right in at least some one respect

or even in most respects.

With those who identify happiness with v i r t u e or s o m e o n e

v i r t u e o u r a c c o u n t is in harmony; for to virtue belongs v i r t u o u s

activity. But it makes, perhaps, no small difference w h e t h e r we

place t h e chief good in possession or in use, in state of mind or

in activity. For the state of mind may exist w i t h o u t p r o d u c i n g

any good result, as in a man who is asleep or in s o m e other way

q u i t e inactive, b u t the activity cannot; f o r one who has the activ-

ity will of necessity be acting, and acting well. And as in t h e

O l y m p i c G a m e s it is not the most beautiful and the strongest

that are c r o w n e d b u t those who c o m p e t e (for it is s o m e of t h e s e

that are victorious), so those who act win, and rightly win, the

noble and good things in life.

T h e i r life is also in itself pleasant. For pleasure is a state of

soul, and to each man that which he is said to be a lover of is

pleasant; e.g. not only is a h o r s e pleasant to t h e lover of horses,

and a spectacle to the lover of sights, but also in the same way

just acts are pleasant to the lover of justice and in general v i r t u -

ous acts to the lover of virtue. N o w for most men their pleasures

are in conflict with one another because these are n o t by n a t u r e

pleasant, but the lovers of w h a t is n o b l e find pleasant the things

that are by n a t u r e pleasant; and v i r t u o u s actions are such, so that

these are pleasant for such men as well as in their own nature.

T h e i r life, therefore, has no f u r t h e r need of pleasure as a sort of

adventitious c h a r m , but has its p l e a s u r e in itself. For, besides

what we have said, t h e man who does not rejoice in noble

actions is not even good; since no o n e would call a man just who

did not enjoy acting justly, nor any man liberal w h o did not

enjoy liberal actions; and similarly in all o t h e r cases. If this is so,

v i r t u o u s actions m u s t be in themselves pleasant. But they are

also good and noble, and have each of t h e s e attributes in the high-

est degree, since t h e good m a n judges well about these attri-

butes; his j u d g m e n t is such as we have d e s c r i b e d * H a p p i n e s s

'i e., be judges that virtuous actions are good and noble in t h e highest degree.

55 • Aristotle

then is t h e best, noblest, and most pleasant t h i n g in the world,

and these attributes are n o t severed as in the inscription at

D e l o s —

M o s t noble is that which is justest, and best is

health;

But pleasantest is it to win what we love.

For all these p r o p e r t i e s b e l o n g to t h e best activities; and these,

or o n e — t h e b e s t — o f these, we i d e n t i f y with happiness.

Yet evidently, as we said, it needs the external goods as well;

for it is impossible, or n o t easy, to do n o b l e acts w i t h o u t the

p r o p e r e q u i p m e n t . In m a n y actions we u s e friends and riches

and political power as i n s t r u m e n t s ; and t h e r e are s o m e things

t h e lack of which takes the lustre f r o m happiness, as good birth,

goodly children, b e a u t y ; for t h e man w h o is v e r y ugly in a p p e a r -

a n c e or ill-born or solitary and childless is n o t very likely to be

happy, and p e r h a p s a man would be still less likely if he had

t h o r o u g h l y bad c h i l d r e n or friends or had lost good c h i l d r e n

or friends by death. As we said, then, h a p p i n e s s seems to n e e d

this sort of p r o s p e r i t y in addition; for which reason s o m e i d e n -

tify happiness with good f o r t u n e , though o t h e r s identify it with

virtue.

9. For this reason also the question is asked, w h e t h e r happiness is

to be acquired by l e a r n i n g or by h a b i t u a t i o n or s o m e o t h e r sort

of training, or c o m e s in v i r t u e of s o m e divine p r o v i d e n c e or

again by chance. N o w if t h e r e is any gift of t h e gods to m e n , it

is reasonable t h a t happiness should be god-given, and m o s t

surely god-given of all h u m a n things inasmuch as it is the best.

But this question would p e r h a p s be m o r e a p p r o p r i a t e to a n o t h e r

inquiry; happiness seems, however, even if it is not god-sent but

c o m e s as a result of v i r t u e and s o m e process of learning or t r a i n -

ing, to be a m o n g t h e m o s t god-like things; f o r t h a t which is the

prize and end of v i r t u e seems to be t h e hest thing in the world,

and s o m e t h i n g godlike and blessed.

It will also on this view be very generally shared; for all who

are not m a i m e d as regards their potentiality for v i r t u e may win

it by a certain kind of study and care, But if it is better to be

Nicomachean Ethics • 59

happy thus than by chance, it is reasonable that the facts should

be so, since e v e r y t h i n g that d e p e n d s on the action of n a t u r e is by

n a t u r e as good as it can be, and similarly e v e r y t h i n g that

d e p e n d s on art or any rational cause, and especially if it d e p e n d s

on the best of all causes. To e n t r u s t to chance what is greatest

and most n o b l e would be a very defective arrangement.

T h e answer to t h e question we are asking is plain also f r o m

the definition of happiness; for it has been said to be a v i r t u o u s

activity of soul, of a certain kind. Of t h e r e m a i n i n g goods, s o m e

must necessarily pre-exist as conditions of happiness, and

others are naturally co-operative and u s e f u l as instruments. And

this will be f o u n d to agree with w h a t we said at the outset; for we

stated the end of political scicnce to be the best end, and polit-
ical science spends most of its pains on m a k i n g the citizens to be

of a certain character, viz. good and capable of noble acts.

It is natural, then, that we call n e i t h e r ox nor horse nor any

o t h e r of the animals happy; for n o n e of t h e m is capable of shar-

ing in such activity. For this reason also a boy is not happy; for he

is n o t yet capable of such acts, owing to his age; and boys w h o

are called h a p p y are being congratulated by reason of t h e h o p e s

we have for them. For t h e r e is required, as we said, not only

c o m p l e t e virtue b u t also a c o m p l e t e life, since m a n y changes

occur in life, and all m a n n e r of chances, and the most p r o s p e r -

ous may fall into great m i s f o r t u n e s in old age, as is told of P r i a m

in the T r o j a n Cycle; and o n e who has experienced such chances

and has ended w r e t c h e d l y no o n e calls happy.

10. M u s t no one at all, then, he called h a p p y while he lives; m u s t we,

as Solon says, see the end? Even if we are to lay down this d o c -

trine, is it also t h e case that a man i.r h a p p y when he is dead? Or is

not this quite absurd, especially for us w h o say t h a t happiness is

an activity? But if we do not call t h e dead man happy, and if

Solon does not m e a n this, but that one can then safely call a m a n

blessed as being at last beyond evils and misfortunes, this also

affords matter f o r discussion; for both evil and good are t h o u g h t

to exist for a dead man, as m u c h as for o n e who is alive but n o t

aware of them; e.g. h o n o r s and dishonors and t h e good or bad

f o r t u n e s of children and in general of descendants. And this also

presents a p r o b l e m ; for t h o u g h a man has lived happily up to old

60 • Aristotle

age and has had a d e a t h w o r t h y of his life, m a n y reverses may

befall his d e s c e n d a n t s — s o m e of them m a y be good and attain

the life they deserve, while with others the opposite may be the

case; and clearly too t h e degrees of relationship b e t w e e n t h e m

and their ancestors m a y vary indefinitely. It would be odd, then,

if t h e dead man w e r e to s h a r e in these changes and b e c o m e at

o n e time happy, at a n o t h e r w r e t c h e d ; while it would also be odd

if the f o r t u n e s of the d e s c e n d a n t s did not for sometime have some

e f f e c t on the h a p p i n e s s of their ancestors.

But we must r e t u r n to o u r first difficulty; for p e r h a p s by a

consideration of it o u r p r e s e n t p r o b l e m m i g h t be solved. N o w if

we m u s t see the end and only then call a man happy, n o t as b e i n g

h a p p y but as h a v i n g been so before, surely this is a paradox, that

when he is h a p p y the attribute that belongs to him is not to be

truly predicated of h i m b e c a u s e we do n o t wish to call living

m e n happy, on a c c o u n t of the changes that may befall them, and

because we have a s s u m e d happiness to be s o m e t h i n g p e r m a n e n t

and by no m e a n s easily changed, while a single m a n may s u f f e r

m a n y turns of f o r t u n e ' s wheel. For clearly if we w e r e to k e e p

pace with his f o r t u n e s , we should often call the s a m e man h a p p y

and again w r e t c h e d , m a k i n g the h a p p y man o u t to be a

" c h a m e l e o n and i n s e c u r e l y based." Or is this k e e p i n g p a c e with

his f o r t u n e s quite wrong? Success or f a i l u r e in life does not

d e p e n d on these, b u t h u m a n life, as we said, n e e d s these as m e r e

additions, while v i r t u o u s activities or their opposites are what

c o n s t i t u t e happiness or t h e reverse.

T h e question we have now discussed confirms o u r definition.

For no function of man has so m u c h p e r m a n e n c e as v i r t u o u s

activities (these are t h o u g h t to be m o r e d u r a b l e even than

knowledge of the sciences), and of these themselves the m o s t

valuable are m o r e d u r a b l e b e c a u s e those who are h a p p y spend

their life most readily and most continuously in these; for this

s e e m s to be the reason why we do not forget them. T h e a t t r i b u t e

in question,* then, will b e l o n g to the h a p p y man, and he will be

h a p p y t h r o u g h o u t his life; for always, or by p r e f e r e n c e to e v e r y -

thing else, he will be engaged in v i r t u o u s action and c o n t e m p l a -

"Durability.
Nicomachean Ethics • 61

tion, and he will bear the chances of life most nobly and alto-

g e t h e r decorously, if he is "truly good" and "foursquare beyond

r e p r o a c h . ' "

N o w many events h a p p e n by chance, and events differing in

importance; small pieces of good f o r t u n e or of its o p p o s i t e

clearly do n 6 t weigh d o w n the scales of life one way or the other,

but a m u l t i t u d e of great events if they t u r n out well will make

life h a p p i e r (for not only are they themselves such as to add

beauty to life, b u t t h e way a man deals with them may be n o b l e

and good), while if they turn out ill they crush and m a i m h a p p i -

ness; for they both bring pain with t h e m and hinder many activ-

ities. Yet even in these nobility shines through, w h e n a man

bears" with resignation m a n y great misfortunes, not t h r o u g h

insensibility to pain but t h r o u g h nobility and greatness of soul.

If activities are, as we said, what gives life its character, no

happy man can b e c o m e miserable; for he will never do the acts

that are hateful and mean. For t h e man who is truly good and

wise, we think, bears all the chances of life b e c o m i n g l y and

always makes t h e best of circumstances, as a good general makes

the best military use of the army at his c o m m a n d and a good

s h o e m a k e r makes t h e best shoes o u t of the hides that are given

him; and so with all other craftsmen. And if this is the case, t h e

happy man can n e v e r b e c o m e m i s e r a b l e — t h o u g h he will not

reach blessedness; if he m e e t with f o r t u n e s like those of P r i a m .

N o r , again, is he m a n y - c o l o r e d and changeable; for n e i t h e r

will he be moved f r o m his h a p p y state easily or by any o r d i n a r y

misadventures, but only by m a n y great ones, nor, if he has had

m a n y great misadventures, will he recover his happiness in a

short time, but if at all, only in a long and c o m p l e t e one in which

he has attained m a n y splendid successes.

W h y then should we not say that he is h a p p y who is active in

accordance with c o m p l e t e virtue and is sufficiently e q u i p p e d

with external goods, not for s o m e c h a n c e period but t h r o u g h o u t

a c o m p l e t e life? Or m u s t we add "and who is destined to live

thus and die as befits his life"? C e r t a i n l y t h e f u t u r e is o b s c u r e to

us, while happiness, we claim, is an end and something in every

"Simonides.

62 • Aristotle

way final. If so, we shall call h a p p y those a m o n g living m e n in

whom t h e s e conditions are, and are to be, f u l f i l l e d — b u t hannv

men. So m u c h for these questions.

I I . T h a t t h e f o r t u n e s of descendants and of all a man's f r i e n d s

should n o t affect his happiness at all seems a very u n f r i e n d l y

doctrine, and o n e o p p o s e d to the opinions m e n hold; but since

the events that h a p p e n are n u m e r o u s and admit of all sorts of

difference, and s o m e c o m e m o r e n e a r to us and others less so it

s e e m s a l o n g - n a y , an i n f i n i t e - t a s k to discuss each in detail- a

genera] o u t l i n e will p e r h a p s suffice. If, then, as s o m e of a man's

own m i s a d v e n t u r e s have a certain weight and influence on life

0 t , h e r s a r e ' a s J t lighter, s o too t h e r e are d i f f e r e n c e s

a m o n g the m i s a d v e n t u r e s of our friends taken as a whole and it

makes a d i f f e r e n c e w h e t h e r rhe various sufferings befall the liv-

m g o r t h e dead (much m o r e even than w h e t h e r lawless and

terrible d e e d s are p r e s u p p o s e d in a tragedy or d o n e on the

stage), this d i f f e r e n c e also m u s t be taken into account; or r a t h e r

perhaps, the fact t h a t d o u b t is felt w h e t h e r the dead share in an^

good or evil. For it seems, f r o m these considerations, that even if

a n y t h i n g w h e t h e r good or evil p e n e t r a t e s to t h e m , it m u s t be

s o m e t h i n g weak and negligible, either in itself or for t h e m or if

not, at least it m u s t be such in degree and kind as not to m a k e

h a p p y those who are n o t h a p p y nor to take away their blessed-

ness from those who are. T h e good or bad f o r t u n e s of friends

then seem to have s o m e effects on the dead, b u t effects of such

a kind and d e g r e e as n e i t h e r to make the h a p p y u n h a p p y n o r to

p r o d u c e any o t h e r c h a n g e of the kind.

12. T h e s e questions having, been definitely answered, let us con-

sider w h e t h e r happiness is a m o n g the t h m g s t h a t are praised or

r a t h e r a m o n g the things that are prized; for clearly it is n o t to be

placed a m o n g potentialities. E v e r y t h i n g t h a t is praised seems to

be praised because it is of a certain kind and is related s o m e h o w

to s o m e t h i n g else; for we praise the just or brave man and in

general both the good man and v i r t u e itself because of the

actions and f u n c t i o n s involved, and we praise the strong man

t h e good runner, and so on, because he is of a certain kind and is

related in a certain way to s o m e t h i n g good and important. T h i s

is clear also f r o m the praises of the gods; for it seems absurd that

Nicomachean Ethics • 63

the gods should be referred to o u r standard, but this is d o n e

because praise involves a reference, as we said, to s o m e t h i n g

else. But if praise is for things such as we have described, clearly

what applies to the best things is n o t praise, but s o m e t h i n g

greater and better, as is indeed obvious; for what we do to t h e

gods and t h e most godlike of men is to call them blessed and

happy. And so too with good things; no one praises happiness as

he does justice, b u t rather calls it blessed, as being s o m e t h i n g

m o r e divine and better.

E u d o x u s also seems to have been right in his m e t h o d of advo-

cating the s u p r e m a c y of pleasure; he t h o u g h t that the fact that,

though a good, it is not praised indicated it to be b e t t e r than the

things that are praised, and that this is what G o d and the good

are; for by r e f e r e n c e to these all o t h e r things are judged. Praise is

appropriate to virtue, for as a result of v i r t u e men t e n d to do

noble deeds; but encomia are bestowed on acts, w h e t h e r of t h e

body or of the soul. But perhaps nicety in these matters is m o r e

p r o p e r to those who have m a d e a s t u d y of encomia; to us it is

clear from what has been said t h a t happiness is a m o n g t h e things

that are prized and perfect. It seems to be so also f r o m t h e fact

that it is a first principle; for it is for t h e sake of this that we all

do all t h a t we do, and the first principle and cause of goods is, we

claim, s o m e t h i n g prized and divine.

13. Since happiness is an activity of soul in accordance with p e r f e c t

virtue, we must consider the n a t u r e of virtue; for p e r h a p s we

shall thus see b e t t e r t h e n a t u r e of happiness. T h e t r u e s t u d e n t of

politics, too, is t h o u g h t to have studied v i r t u e above all things;

f o r he wishes to make his fellow citizens good and o b e d i e n t to

t h e laws. As an e x a m p l e of this we have t h e lawgivers of the C r e -

tans and t h e Spartans, and any others of the kind that t h e r e may

have been. And if this inquiry belongs to political science,

clearly the p u r s u i t of it will be in accordance with o u r original

plan. But clearly t h e v i r t u e we m u s t study is h u m a n virtue; for

t h e good we w e r e seeking was h u m a n good and the happiness

h u m a n happiness. By h u m a n v i r t u e we m e a n not t h a t of t h e

body but t h a t of t h e soul; and happiness also we call an activity

of s o u l But if this is so, clearly t h e s t u d e n t of politics m u s t know

s o m e h o w t h e facts about soul, as t h e man who is to heal the eyes

64 • Aristotle

or t h e body as a whole m u s t know about t h e eyes or t h e body;

and all the m o r e since politics is m o r e prized and better than

medicine; but even a m o n g doctors t h e best educated spend

m u c h labor on acquiring k n o w l e d g e of the body. T h e s t u d e n t of

politics, then, m u s t s t u d y the soul, and m u s t study it with these

objects in view, and do so just to t h e extent which is sufficient for

the questions we are discussing; for f u r t h e r precision is p e r h a p s

s o m e t h i n g m o r e laborious than o u r p u r p o s e s require.

S o m e things are said about it, adequately e n o u g h , even in the

discussions outside o u r school, and we must u s e these; e.g. t h a t

o n e e l e m e n t in t h e soul is irrational and o n e has a rational prin-

ciple. W h e t h e r these are separated as t h e parts of the body or of

a n y t h i n g divisible are, or are distinct by definition but by n a t u r e

inseparable, like convex and concave in t h e c i r c u m f e r e n c e of a

circle, does not affect t h e p r e s e n t question.

Of the irrational e l e m e n t one division seems to be widely

distributed, and vegetative in its nature, I m e a n that which

causes nutrition and growth; for it is this kind of power of the

soul that o n e m u s t assign to all nurslings and to embryos, and

this s a m e power to f u l l - g r o w n creatures; this is m o r e reasonable

than to assign s o m e d i f f e r e n t power to t h e m . N o w t h e excel-

l e n c e of this seems to be c o m m o n to all species and not specifi-

cally h u m a n ; for this p a r t or faculty seems to function m o s t in

sleep, while goodness and badness are least manifest in sleep

( w h e n c e comes t h e saying t h a t t h e happy are no better off than

t h e w r e t c h e d f o r half t h e i r lives; and this h a p p e n s naturally

e n o u g h , since sleep is an inactivity of the soul in that respect in

which it is called good or bad), unless p e r h a p s to a small extent

some of t h e m o v e m e n t s actually p e n e t r a t e to t h e soul, and in

this r e s p e c t the d r e a m s of good m e n are b e t t e r than those of

o r d i n a r y people. E n o u g h of this subject, however; let us leave

t h e nutritive faculty alone, since it has by its n a t u r e no share in

h u m a n excellence.

T h e r e seems to be also a n o t h e r irrational e l e m e n t in the

s o u l — o n e which in a sense, however, shares in a rational p r i n -

ciple. For we praise the rational principle of t h e c o n t i n e n t m a n

and of the incontinent, and t h e p a r t of their soul that has such a

principle, since it u r g e s them aright and toward the best objects;

Nicomachean Ethics • 65

but t h e r e is f o u n d in them also a n o t h e r e l e m e n t naturally

o p p o s e d to the rational principle, which fights against and resists

that principle. For exactly as paralyzed limbs when we intend to

move them to the right turn on the contrary to t h e left, so is it

with the soul; the impulses of incontinent people move in con-

trary directions. But while in the body we see that which moves

astray, in the soul we do not. No doubt, however, we must n o n e

the less suppose that in the soul too t h e r e is s o m e t h i n g c o n t r a r y

to the rational principle, resisting and opposing it. In what sense

it is distinct f r o m the other elements does not concern us. N o w

even this seems to have a share in a rational principle, as we said;

at any rate in t h e c o n t i n e n t man it obeys the rational p r i n c i p l e —

and presumably in the t e m p e r a t e and brave man it is still m o r e

obedient; for in him it speaks, on all matters, with t h e same voice

as t h e rational principle.

T h e r e f o r e t h e irrational e l e m e n t also appears to be twofold.

For the vegetative e l e m e n t in no way shares in a rational p r i n -

ciple, but t h e appetitive, and in general the desiring e l e m e n t in

a sense shares in it, insofar as it listens to and obeys it; this is the

sense in which we speak of "taking account" of one's f a t h e r or

one's friends, not that in which we speak of "accounting" for a

mathematical property. T h a t the irrational e l e m e n t is in s o m e

sense p e r s u a d e d by a rational p r i n c i p l e is indicated also by the

giving of advice and by all r e p r o o f and exhortation. And if this

e l e m e n t also must be said to have a rational principle, that

which has a rational principle (as well as that which has not) will

be twofold, o n e subdivision having it in the strict sense and in

itself, and the o t h e r having a t e n d e n c y to obey as one does one's

father.

Virtue too is distinguished into kinds in accordance with this

difference; for we say that s o m e of t h e virtues are intellectual

and others moral, philosophic w i s d o m and u n d e r s t a n d i n g and

practical wisdom being intellectual, liberality and t e m p e r a n c e

moral. For in speaking about a man's character we do n o t say

that he is wise or has u n d e r s t a n d i n g but that he is good-

t e m p e r e d or temperate; yet we praise the wise m a n also with

respect to his state of mind; and of state of mind we call those

which merit praise virtues.

66 • Aristotle

B o o k II

1. Virtue, then, b e i n g of t w o kinds, intellectual a n d moral, intellec-

tual virtue in t h e main owes both its birth and its growth to

t e a c h i n g (for which reason it requires e x p e r i e n c e and time),

while moral v i r t u e c o m e s about as a result of habit, w h e n c e also

its n a m e ethikeh one that is f o r m e d by a slight variation f r o m t h e

word ethos (habit). F r o m this it is also plain that n o n e of the

m o r a l virtues arises in us by nature; for n o t h i n g that exists by

n a t u r e can form a habit c o n t r a r y to its nature. For instance

the stone which by n a t u r e moves downward c a n n o t be h a b i t u -

ated to move upward, n o t even if o n e tries to train it by t h r o w -

i n g it up ten thousand times; n o r can fire be h a b i t u a t e d to m o v e

downward, n o r can a n y t h i n g else that by n a t u r e behaves in o n e

way be trained to behave in another. N e i t h e r by nature, then,

n o r c o n t r a r y to n a t u r e do t h e virtues arise in us; r a t h e r we are

a d a p t e d by n a t u r e to receive them, and are m a d e p e r f e c t bv

habit. 1 y

Again, of all t h e things that c o m e to us by n a t u r e we first

acquire t h e potentiality and later exhibit t h e activity (this is

plain in the case of t h e senses; for it was n o t by often seeing or

o f t e n h e a r i n g that we got these senses, but on t h e c o n t r a r y we

had t h e m before we u s e d them, and did not c o m e to have t h e m

by using them); but t h e v i r t u e s we get by first exercising t h e m ,

as also h a p p e n s in the case of t h e arts as well. For t h e things we

have to learn before we can do them, we learn by d o i n g them,

e.g. m e n b e c o m e b u i l d e r s by building and lyre-players by play-

ing the lyre; so too we b e c o m e just by d o i n g just acts, t e m p e r a t e

by d o i n g t e m p e r a t e acts, brave by d o i n g brave acts.

T h i s is confirmed by w h a t h a p p e n s in states; for legislators

m a k e t h e citizens good by f o r m i n g habits in t h e m , and this is the

wish of every legislator, and t h o s e who do not effect it miss their

mark, and it is in this t h a t a good constitution differs f r o m a bad

one.

Again, it is from the s a m e causes and by t h e s a m e m e a n s that

every v i r t u e is both p r o d u c e d and destroyed, and similarly

e v e r y art; for it is from playing t h e lyre t h a t ' b o t h good and bad

lyre-players are p r o d u c e d . And the c o r r e s p o n d i n g s t a t e m e n t is

Nicomachean Ethics • 67

t r u e of builders and of all t h e rest; m e n will be good or bad

builders as a result of building well or badly. For if this were not

so, t h e r e would have been no need of a teacher, but all m e n

would have been born good or b a d at their craft. This, then, is

t h e case with t h e v i r t u e s also; by d o i n g the acts that we do in o u r

transactions with o t h e r men we b e c o m e just or unjust, and by

doing the acts that we do in the p r e s e n c e of danger, and being

habituated to feel fear or confidence, we b e c o m e brave or cow-

ardly. T h e same is t r u e of appetites and feelings of anger; s o m e

men b e c o m e t e m p e r a t e and g o o d - t e m p e r e d , others self-

indulgent and irascible, by behaving in o n e way or t h e o t h e r in

the appropriate circumstances. T h u s , in one word, states of

character arise o u t of like activities. T h i s is why the activities we

exhibit m u s t be of a certain kind; it is because the states of c h a r -

acter correspond to the differences between these. It makes no

small difference, then, w h e t h e r we f o r m habits of one kind or of

a n o t h e r f r o m o u r very youth; it makes a very great difference, or

r a t h e r all the difference.

2. Since, then, the p r e s e n t inquiry does not aim at theoretical

k n o w l e d g e like the others (for we are inquiring not in o r d e r to

know what v i r t u e is, but in order to b e c o m e good, since o t h e r -

wise o u r inquiry would have b e e n of no use), we must e x a m i n e

t h e n a t u r e of actions, namely how we o u g h t to do t h e m ; for

these d e t e r m i n e also the n a t u r e of t h e states of character that

are p r o d u c e d , as we have said. Now, that we must act according

to t h e right rule is a c o m m o n principle and must be a s s u m e d —

it will be discussed later, i.e. both w h a t the right rule is, and h o w

it is related to the other virtues. But this m u s t be agreed u p o n

beforehand, that the whole account of m a t t e r s of c o n d u c t m u s t

be given in outline and not precisely, as we said at t h e very

b e g i n n i n g that the accounts we d e m a n d m u s t be in accordance

with t h e s u b j e c t - m a t t e r ; matters c o n c e r n e d with c o n d u c t and

questions of w h a t is good for us have no fixity, any m o r e than

matters of health. T h e general a c c o u n t being of this nature, t h e

account of particular cases is yet m o r e lacking in exactness; for

they do not fall u n d e r any art or p r e c e p t but t h e agents t h e m -

selves m u s t in each case consider w h a t is appropriate to t h e

occasion, as h a p p e n s also in the art of m e d i c i n e or of navigation.

68 • Aristotle

But though o u r p r e s e n t account is of this n a t u r e we m u s t give

w h a t help we can. First, then, let us consider this, that it is t h e

n a t u r e of such things to be destroyed by d e f e c t and excess, as we

see in the case of strength and of health (for to gain light on

things i m p e r c e p t i b l e we m u s t use the e v i d e n c e of sensible

things); both excessive and defective exercise destroys the

strength, and similarly drink or food which is above or below a

certain a m o u n t destroys the health, while that which is p r o p o r -

t i o n a t e both p r o d u c e s and increases and preserves it. So too is

it, then, in t h e case of t e m p e r a n c e and c o u r a g e and the o t h e r

virtues. For t h e m a n who flies f r o m and fears e v e r y t h i n g

and does n o t stand his g r o u n d against a n y t h i n g b e c o m e s a cow-

ard, and t h e man w h o fears n o t h i n g at all but goes to m e e t

every d a n g e r b e c o m e s rash; and similarly the man who

indulges in every pleasure and abstains f r o m n o n e becomes self-

indulgent, while t h e m a n w h o shuns every pleasure, as boors do,

b e c o m e s in a way insensible; t e m p e r a n c e and courage, then, are

destroyed by excess and defect, and preserved by the mean.'

But n o t only are t h e sources and causes of their origination

and growth the s a m e as t h o s e of their destruction, but also

t h e s p h e r e of their actualization will be t h e same; for this is

also t r u e of the things which are m o r e e v i d e n t to sense, e.g.

of strength; it is p r o d u c e d by taking m u c h food and u n d e r g o -

i n g m u c h exertion, and it is the s t r o n g man that will be most

able to do these things. So too is it with the virtues; by abstain-

i n g f r o m pleasures we b e c o m e t e m p e r a t e , and it is w h e n we have

b e c o m e so that we are m o s t able to abstain f r o m them; and sim-

ilarly too in the case of courage; for by b e i n g habituated to

despise things that are terrible and to stand o u r g r o u n d against

t h e m we b e c o m e brave, and it is when we have b e c o m e so that

we shall be most able to stand our g r o u n d against t h e m .

3. We m u s t take as a sign of states of character t h e pleasure or pain

that ensues on acts; f o r the man who abstains f r o m bodily plea-

sures and delights in this very fact is t e m p e r a t e , while t h e man

who is annoyed at it is self-indulgent, and he w h o stands his

g r o u n d against things that are terrible and delights in this or at

least is not pained is brave, while t h e m a n w h o is pained is a

coward. For moral excellence is c o n c e r n e d with pleasures and

Nicomachean Ethics • 69

pains; it is on a c c o u n t of the pleasure that we do bad things,

and on account of the pain t h a t we abstain from n o b l e ones.

H e n c e we o u g h t to have been b r o u g h t up in a particular way

f r o m o u r very y o u t h , as Plato says, so as both to delight in and to

be pained by the things that we ought; for this is t h e right

education.

Again, if t h e virtues are c o n c e r n e d with actions and passions,

and every passion and every action is a c c o m p a n i e d by pleasure

and pain, f o r this reason also v i r t u e will be c o n c e r n e d with plea-

sures and pains. T h i s is indicated also by the fact that p u n i s h -

m e n t is inflicted by these means; for it is a kind of cure, and it is

t h e nature of cures to be effected by contraries.

Again, as we said but lately, every state of soul has a n a t u r e

relative to and c o n c e r n e d with the kind of things by which it

tends to be m a d e worse or better; but it is by reason of pleasures

and pains that m e n b e c o m e bad, by p u r s u i n g and avoiding

t h e s e — e i t h e r t h e pleasures and pains they ought n o t or w h e n

they o u g h t not or as they o u g h t not, or by going w r o n g in one

of the o t h e r similar ways that may be distinguished. H e n c e men*

even define t h e virtues as certain states of impassivity and rest;

not well, however, because they speak absolutely, and do not say

"as one o u g h t " and "as o n e ought n o t " and "when one o u g h t or

ought not," and the other things that may be added. We assume,

then, that this kind of excellence tends to do what is best with

regard to pleasures and pains, and vice does the contrary.

T h e following facts also may show us that v i r t u e and vice

are concerned with these same things. T h e r e being three objects

of choice and t h r e e of avoidance, t h e noble, the advantageous,

t h e pleasant, and their contraries, the base, the injurious, t h e

painful, about all of these the good man tends to go right and

the bad man to go wrong, and especially about pleasure; f o r

this is c o m m o n to t h e animals, and also it accompanies all

objects of choice; f o r even the noble and t h e advantageous

a p p e a r pleasant.

Again, it has grown up with us all f r o m o u r infancy; this is

why it is difficult to r u b off this passion, engrained as it is in o u r

' P r o b a h l y Speusippus is referred to.

80 • Aristotle

life. And we m e a s u r e even o u r actions, some of us m o r e and

o t h e r s less, by the r u l e of pleasure and pain. For this reason,

then, o u r whole i n q u i r y m u s t he about these; for to feel delight

and pain rightly or w r o n g l y has no small e f f e c t on o u r actions.

Again, it is h a r d e r to fight with p l e a s u r e than with anger, to

use H e r a c l i t u s ' phrase, b u t both art and v i r t u e are always c o n -

c e r n e d with what is harder; for even the good is better when it is

harder. T h e r e f o r e for this reason also the whole concern both of

v i r t u e and of political science is with pleasures and pains; for

the man who uses these well will be good, he who uses t h e m

badly bad.

T h a t virtue, then, is c o n c e r n e d with pleasures and pains, and

t h a t by t h e acts f r o m which it arises it is both increased and, if

they are d o n e differently, destroyed, and that the acts f r o m

which it arose are those in which it actualizes itself—let this be

taken as said.

4. T h e question might be asked, what we m e a n by saying that we

m u s t b e c o m e just by d o i n g just acts, and t e m p e r a t e by doing

t e m p e r a t e acts; for if m e n do just and t e m p e r a t e acts, they are

already just and temperate, exactly as, if they do what is in

a c c o r d a n c e with the laws of g r a m m a r and of music, they are

g r a m m a r i a n s and musicians.

Or is this n o t t r u e even of the arts? It is possible to do s o m e -

thing that is in a c c o r d a n c e with the laws of grammar, either by

c h a n c e or at the suggestion of another. A m a n will be a g r a m -

marian, then, only when he has both d o n e s o m e t h i n g g r a m m a t -

ical and d o n e it grammatically; and this m e a n s d o i n g it in

a c c o r d a n c e with the grammatical k n o w l e d g e in himself.

Again, the case of the arts and that of the virtues are not sim-
ilar; for the p r o d u c t s of the arts have their goodness in t h e m -

selves, so that it is e n o u g h t h a t they should have a certain

character, h u t if the acts that are in accordance with the virtues

have themselves a certain character it does not follow t h a t they

are d o n e justly or t e m p e r a t e l y T h e agent also m u s t be in a cer-

tain condition w h e n he does them; in the first place he m u s t

have knowledge, s e c o n d l y he m u s t choose the acts, and choose

t h e m f o r their own sakes, and thirdly his action m u s t p r o c e e d

f r o m a firm and u n c h a n g e a b l e character. T h e s e are not reckoned

Nicomachean Ethics • 71

in as conditions of t h e possession of t h e arts, except t h e hare

knowledge; but as a condition of t h e possession of the virtues

knowledge has little or no weight, while the o t h e r conditions

c o u n t n o t for a little but for everything, i.e. the very conditions

which result f r o m often doing just and t e m p e r a t e acts.

Actions, then, are called just and t e m p e r a t e w h e n they are

such as the just or t h e t e m p e r a t e man would do; but it is not t h e

man who does these that is just and t e m p e r a t e , but the man who

also does t h e m as just and t e m p e r a t e m e n do them. It is well

said, then, t h a t it is by d o i n g just acts that the just man is pro-

duced, and by d o i n g t e m p e r a t e acts t h e t e m p e r a t e man; w i t h o u t

d o i n g these no o n e would have even a prospect of b e c o m i n g

good.

But most p e o p l e do not do these, but take r e f u g e in t h e o r y

and think they are being p h i l o s o p h e r s and will b e c o m e good in

this way, behaving somewhat like patients who listen attentively

to their doctors, but do n o n e of the things they are o r d e r e d to

do. As the latter will not be m a d e well in body by such a course

of t r e a t m e n t , t h e f o r m e r will not be m a d e well in soul by such a

course of philosophy,

5. N e x t we must consider what v i r t u e is. Since things that are

f o u n d in the soul are of t h r e e kinds—passions, faculties, states

of character, v i r t u e m u s t be o n e of these. By passions I mean

appetite, anger, fear, confidence, envy, joy, friendly feeling,

hatred, longing, emulation, pity, and in general t h e feelings t h a t

are accompanied by pleasure or pain; by faculties t h e things in

v i r t u e of which we are said to be capable of feeling these, e.g. of

b e c o m i n g angry or being pained or feeling pity; by states of

character t h e things in v i r t u e of which we stand well or badly

with r e f e r e n c e to the passions, e.g. with r e f e r e n c e to anger we

stand badly if we feel it violently or too weakly, and well if we

feel it moderately; and similarly with r e f e r e n c e to t h e o t h e r

passions.

N o w n e i t h e r t h e virtues nor t h e vices axe passions, b e c a u s e we

are not called good or bad on t h e g r o u n d of o u r passions, but are

so called on t h e g r o u n d of our virtues and o u r vices, and

because we are n e i t h e r praised nor blamed for our passions (for

the man who feels fear or anger is n o t praised, nor is the man

72 Aristotle

who simply feels anger blamed, but t h e man who feels it in a

certain way), but for o u r virtues and o u r vices w e u p r a i s e d o r

blamed.

Again, we feel anger and f e a r w i t h o u t choice, but the virtues

are m o d e s of choice or involve choice. F u r t h e r , in respect of the

passions we are said to be moved, but in r e s p e c t of the virtues

and the vices we are said not to be moved b u t to be disposed in

a p a r t i c u l a r way.

For these reasons also t h e y are not faculties; for we are n e i t h e r

called good n o r bad, n o r praised nor blamed, for the simple

capacity of feeling the passions; again, we have the faculties by

nature, b u t we are n o t m a d e good or bad by nature; we have spo-

ken of this before.

If, then, t h e virtues are n e i t h e r passions n o r faculties, all t h a t

r e m a i n s is t h a t they should be states of character.

T h u s we have stated what v i r t u e is in r e s p e c t of its genus.

6. We must, however, n o t only describe v i r t u e as a state of charac-

ter, but also say what s o r t of state it is. We may remark, then, t h a t

every virtue or excellence both brings into good condition

t h e t h i n g of which it is the excellence and makes the work of

that thing be d o n e well; e.g. t h e excellence of the eye makes

both the, eye and its work good; for it is by t h e excellence of the

eye t h a t we see well. Similarly t h e excellence of the h o r s e makes

a h o r s e both good in itself and good at r u n n i n g and at c a r r y i n g

its r i d e r and at awaiting t h e attack of t h e enemy. T h e r e f o r e , if

this is t r u e in every case, t h e v i r t u e of m a n also will be the state

of c h a r a c t e r which makes a man good and which makes him do

his own work well.

H o w this is to h a p p e n we have stated already, but it will be

m a d e plain also by t h e following consideration of the specific

n a t u r e of virtue. In e v e r y t h i n g t h a t is c o n t i n u o u s and divisible it

is possible to take more, less, or an equal a m o u n t , and t h a t e i t h e r

in t e r m s of the thing itself or relatively to us; and the equal is an

i n t e r m e d i a t e b e t w e e n excess and defect. By t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e

in
t h e object I m e a n t h a t which is equidistant from each of the

extremes, which is o n e and the s a m e for all men; by the inter-

m e d i a t e relatively to us that which is n e i t h e r too much n o r too

little—and this is n o t one, n o r t h e s a m e for all. For instance, if

Nicomachean Ethics • 73

ten is many and two is few, six is the intermediate, taken in t e r m s

of the object; for it exceeds and is exceeded by an equal a m o u n t ;

this is i n t e r m e d i a t e according to arithmetical proportion. But

the i n t e r m e d i a t e relatively to us is n o t to be taken so; if ten

p o u n d s are too m u c h for a particular p e r s o n to eat and two

too little, it does not follow t h a t the trainer will o r d e r six-

pounds; for this also is perhaps too m u c h for the p e r s o n who is

to take it, or too little—too little for Milo,* too m u c h for t h e

b e g i n n e r in athletic exercises. T h e s a m e is t r u e of r u n n i n g and

wrestling. T h u s a master of any art avoids excess and defect, but

seeks the i n t e r m e d i a t e and chooses t h i s — t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e not

in the object b u t relatively to us.

If it is thus, then, that every art does its work w e l l — b y look-

ing to the i n t e r m e d i a t e and judging its works by this standard

(so that we o f t e n say of good works of art that it is not possible

either to take away or to add anything, i m p l y i n g that excess and

defect destroy the goodness of works of art, while the m e a n p r e -

serves it; and good artists, as we say, look to this in their work),

and if, further, v i r t u e is m o r e exact and better than any art, as

n a t u r e also is, t h e n v i r t u e must have the quality of aiming at the

intermediate. I m e a n moral virtue; for it is this that is c o n c e r n e d

with passions and actions, and in these t h e r e is excess, defect,

and the intermediate. For instance, both fear and confidence and

a p p e t i t e and anger and pity and in general pleasure and pain

may be felt both too m u c h and too little, and in both cases not

well; but to feel t h e m at the right times, with r e f e r e n c e to the

right objects, toward the right people, with t h e right motive, and

in the right way, is what is both i n t e r m e d i a t e and best, and this is

characteristic of virtue. Similarly with regard to actions also

there is excess, defect, and the i n t e r m e d i a t e . N o w v i r t u e is con-

cerned with passions and actions, in which excess is a form of

failure, and so is defect, while t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e is praised and is

a form of success; and being praised and being successful are

both characteristics of virtue. T h e r e f o r e v i r t u e is a kind of

mean, since, as we have seen, it aims at what is i n t e r m e d i a t e .

Again, it is possible to fail in m a n y ways (for evil belongs to

*A famous wrestler.
84 Aristotle

t h e class of t h e u n l i m i t e d , as the P y t h a g o r e a n s conjectured, and

good to that of t h e limited), while to succeed is possible only in

o n e way (for which reason also o n e is easy and the o t h e r diffi-

c u l t — t o miss t h e m a r k easy, to hie it difficult); for these reasons

also, then, excess and defect are characteristic of vice, and t h e

m e a n of virtue;

For men are good in but one way, but bad in many.

Virtue, then, is a state of character c o n c e r n e d with choice,

lying in a mean, i.e. the m e a n relative to us, this being d e t e r -

m i n e d by a rational principle, and by t h a t principle by which the

m a n of practical w i s d o m would d e t e r m i n e it. N o w it is a m e a n

b e t w e e n two vices, t h a t which d e p e n d s on excess and that which

d e p e n d s on defect; and again it is a m e a n because t h e vices

respectively fall short of or exceed what is right in both passions

and actions, while v i r t u e both finds and chooses that which is

i n t e r m e d i a t e . H e n c e in respect of its substance and t h e defi-

nition which states its essence v i r t u e is a m e a n , with regard to

w h a t is best and right an extreme.

But n o t every action nor every passion admits of a mean; for

s o m e have n a m e s that already imply badness, e.g. spite, s h a m e

lessness, envy, and in the case of actions adultery, theft, m u r d e r ;

f o r all of these and suchlike things imply by their n a m e s t h a t

they are themselves bad, and not t h e excesses or deficiencies

of t h e m . It is not possible, then, ever to be right with regard to

t h e m ; one must always be wrong. N o r does goodness or badness

with regard to such things d e p e n d on c o m m i t t i n g adultery with

t h e right woman, at t h e right time, and in t h e right way, b u t sim-

ply to do any of t h e m is to go wrong. It would be equally absurd,

then, to expect that in unjust, cowardly, and v o l u p t u o u s action

t h e r e should be a m e a n , an excess, and a deficiency; for at that

rate t h e r e would be a m e a n of excess and of deficiency, an excess

of excess, and a deficiency of deficiency. But as t h e r e is no excess

and deficiency of t e m p e r a n c e and c o u r a g e because what is

i n t e r m e d i a t e is in a sense an extreme, so too of the actions we

have m e n t i o n e d t h e r e is no m e a n n o r any excess and deficiency,

b u t however they are d o n e they are wrong; for in general t h e r e

Nicomachean Ethics • 75

is n e i t h e r a m e a n of excess and deficiency, n o r excess and defi-

ciency of a mean.

7. We must, however, not only make this general statement, but

also apply it to the individual facts. For a m o n g s t a t e m e n t s about

c o n d u c t those which are general apply m o r e widely, but t h o s e

which are particular are m o r e genuine, since c o n d u c t has to do

with individual cases, and o u r statements must h a r m o n i z e with

the facts in t h e s e cases. We may take these cases f r o m o u r table.

W i t h regard to feelings of fear and confidence c o u r a g e is the

mean; of t h e p e o p l e who exceed, he who exceeds in fearlessness

has no n a m e ( m a n y of t h e states have no name), while the man

who exceeds in confidence is rash, and he who exceeds in f e a r

and falls short in conlidence is a coward. With regard to plea-

sures and p a i n s — n o t all of t h e m , and n o t so m u c h with regard

to t h e p a i n s — t h e m e a n is t e m p e r a n c e , the excess self-

indulgence. P e r s o n s deficient with regard to the pleasures are

not often found; h e n c e such persons also have received no name.

But let us call t h e m "insensible."

With regard to giving and taking of m o n e y the m e a n is liber-

ality, the excess and t h e defect prodigality and meanness. In

these actions p e o p l e exceed and fall short in c o n t r a r y ways; t h e

prodigal exceeds in spending and falls short in taking, while

t h e mean man exceeds in taking and falls short in spending.

(At present we are giving a m e r e outline or summary, and are

satisfied with this; later these states will be m o r e exactly d e t e r -

mined.) W i t h regard to m o n e y t h e r e are also o t h e r disposi-

tions^—a mean, magnificence (for the magnificent m a n differs

f r o m the liberal man; t h e f o r m e r deals with large sums, t h e lat-

ter with small ones), an excess, tastelessness and vulgarity, and a

deficiency, niggardliness; these differ f r o m t h e states o p p o s e d to

liberality, and t h e m o d e of their d i f f e r e n c e will he stated later.

With regard to h o n o r and dishonor the mean is p r o p e r pride,

the excess is k n o w n as a sort of " e m p t y vanity," and t h e defi-

ciency is u n d u e humility; and as we said liberality was related to

magnificence, differing f r o m it by dealing with small sums, so

t h e r e is a state similarly related to p r o p e r pride, being con-

c e r n e d with small h o n o r s while t h a t is c o n c e r n e d with great. For

it is possible to desire h o n o r as o n e ought, and m o r e than o n e

86 Aristotle

o u g h t , and less, and t h e man who exceeds in his desires is called

ambitious, the m a n w h o falls short unambitious, while the i n t e r -

m e d i a t e person has no name. T h e dispositions also are n a m e -

less, except that that of t h e ambitious m a n is called ambition.

H e n c e t h e p e o p l e w h o are at the e x t r e m e s lay claim to t h e

m i d d l e place; and we ourselves s o m e t i m e s call the i n t e r m e d i a t e

person ambitious and s o m e t i m e s unambitious, and s o m e t i m e s

praise the ambitious man and s o m e t i m e s t h e u n a m b i t i o u s T h e

reason of o u r d o i n g this will be stated in w h a t follows; but now

let us speak of t h e r e m a i n i n g states a c c o r d i n g to the m e t h o d

which has been indicated.

With regard to anger also t h e r e is an excess, a deficiency, and

a mean. A l t h o u g h they can scarcely be said to have names, yet

since we call the i n t e r m e d i a t e person g o o d - t e m p e r e d let us call

the m e a n good t e m p e r ; of the persons at the e x t r e m e s let the

one w h o exceeds be called irascible, and his vice irascibility, and

t h e m a n who falls s h o r t an inirascible sort of person, and the

deficiency inirascihility.

T h e r e are also t h r e e other means, which have a certain like-

ness to o n e another, b u t d i f f e r f r o m o n e another: f o r they are all

c o n c e r n e d with i n t e r c o u r s e in words and actions, but differ in

that o n e is c o n c e r n e d with t r u t h in this sphere, the o t h e r two

with pleasantness; and of this o n e kind is exhibited in giving

a m u s e m e n t , t h e o t h e r in all the c i r c u m s t a n c e s of life. We m u s t

t h e r e f o r e speak of these too, t h a t we m a y t h e b e t t e r see t h a t in

all things the m e a n is praiseworthy, and t h e e x t r e m e s n e i t h e r

p r a i s e w o r t h y n o r right, b u t w o r t h y of blame. N o w most of these

states also have no names, but we m u s t try, as in t h e other cases,

to invent n a m e s ourselves so that we may be clear and easy to

follow. With regard to t r u t h , then, t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e is a t r u t h f u l

sort of person and t h e m e a n may be called truthfulness, while

the p r e t e n s e which exaggerates is boastfulness and the person

characterized by it a boaster, and that which u n d e r s t a t e s is m o c k

m o d e s t y and the p e r s o n characterized by it m o c k - m o d e s t . W i t h

regard to pleasantness in the giving of a m u s e m e n t t h e i n t e r m e -

d i a t e person is r e a d y - w i t t e d and the disposition ready wit, the

excess is b u f f o o n e r y and the person characterized by it a b u f -

foon, while the man who falls short is a sort of boor and his state

Nicomachean Ethics • 77

is boorishness. With regard to t h e r e m a i n i n g kind of pleasant-

ness, that which is exhibited in life in general, the man w h o is

pleasant in t h e right way is friendly and the m e a n is friendliness,

while the man w h o exceeds is an obsequious person if he has

no end in view, a flatterer if he is a i m i n g at his own advantage,

and the man w h o falls short and is unpleasant in all c i r c u m -

stances is a q u a r r e l s o m e and surly sort of person.

T h e r e are also m e a n s in t h e passions and c o n c e r n e d with the

passions; since s h a m e is not a virtue, and yet praise is e x t e n d e d

to the m o d e s t man. For even in these m a t t e r s o n e man is said to

be i n t e r m e d i a t e , and a n o t h e r to exceed, as for instance t h e bash-

ful man who is ashamed of everything; while he who falls short

o r i s not ashamed of anything at all is shameless, and the i n t e r -

m e d i a t e person is modest. R i g h t e o u s indignation is a m e a n

b e t w e e n envy and spite, and these states are c o n c e r n e d with the

pain and pleasures that are felt at the f o r t u n e s of o u r neighbors;

the man who is characterized by r i g h t e o u s indignation is pained

at undeserved good fortune, the envious man, going beyond

him, is pained at all good fortune, and t h e spiteful man falls so

far short of being pained that he even rejoices. But these states

there will be an o p p o r t u n i t y of describing elsewhere; with

regard to justice, since it has not o n e simple meaning, we shall,

after describing t h e o t h e r states distinguish its two kinds and say

how each of t h e m is a mean, and similarly we shall treat also of

the rational virtues.

8. T h e r e are t h r e e kinds of disposition, then, two of them vices,

involving excess and deficiency respectively, and o n e a virtue,

viz. the m e a n , and all are in a sense opposed to all; for the

e x t r e m e states are c o n t r a r y both to the i n t e r m e d i a t e state and to

each other, and t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e to the extremes; as the equal is

greater relatively to the less, less relatively to the greater, so the

middle states are excessive relatively to the deficiencies, defi-

cient relatively to the excesses, both in passions and in actions.

For the brave m a n appears rash relatively to the coward, and

cowardly relatively to the rash man; and similarly the t e m p e r a t e

man appears self-indulgent relatively to the insensible man,

insensible relatively to the self-indulgent, .and the liberal m a n

prodigal relatively to the m e a n man, mean relatively to the

78 Aristotle

prodigal. H e n c e also the p e o p l e at t h e e x t r e m e s push t h e i n t e r -

m e d i a t e m a n each over to the other, and the brave man is called

rash by the coward, cowardly by the rash man, and c o r r e s p o n d -

ingly in the o t h e r cases.

T h e s e states being t h u s opposed to o n e another, t h e greatest

c o n t r a r i e t y is that of the e x t r e m e s to each other, r a t h e r than to

t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e ; f o r these are f u r t h e r f r o m each o t h e r than

f r o m t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e , as t h e great is f u r t h e r f r o m t h e small
and

t h e small from the great than both are f r o m t h e equal. Again, to

the i n t e r m e d i a t e s o m e e x t r e m e s show a certain likeness, as that

of rashness to c o u r a g e and that of prodigality to liberality; b u t

t h e e x t r e m e s show t h e greatest unlikeness to each other; now

contraries are defined as the things t h a t are f u r t h e s t f r o m each

other, so t h a t things that are f u r t h e r a p a r t are m o r e contrary.

To the m e a n in s o m e cases the deficiency, in s o m e the excess

is m o r e opposed; e.g. it is n o t rashness, which is an excess, b u t

cowardice, which is a deficiency, t h a t is m o r e opposed to

courage, and n o t insensibility, which is a deficiency, b u t self-

indulgence, which is an excess, that is m o r e opposed to t e m p e r -

ance. T h i s h a p p e n s f r o m two reasons, o n e being d r a w n f r o m t h e

t h i n g itself; for because o n e e x t r e m e is nearer and liker to t h e

i n t e r m e d i a t e , we o p p o s e not this but r a t h e r its c o n t r a r y to

t h e intermediate. E.g., since rashness is t h o u g h t liker and n e a r e r

to courage, and cowardice m o r e unlike, we oppose r a t h e r t h e

latter to courage; for things t h a t are f u r t h e r f r o m t h e i n t e r m e d i -

ate are t h o u g h t m o r e c o n t r a r y to it. This, then, is one cause,

d r a w n f r o m t h e thing itself; a n o t h e r is drawn f r o m ourselves; f o r

t h e things to which we ourselves m o r e naturally t e n d s e e m

m o r e c o n t r a r y to t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e . For instance, we ourselves

rend m o r e naturally to pleasures, and h e n c e are m o r e easily car-

ried away toward s e l f - i n d u l g e n c e than toward p r o p r i e t y We

describe as c o n t r a r y to t h e mean, then, r a t h e r the directions in

which we m o r e often go to great lengths; and t h e r e f o r e self-

indulgence, which is an excess, is t h e m o r e contrary to t e m p e r -

ance.

9. T h a t m o r a l v i r t u e is a mean, then, and in what sense it is so, and

t h a t it is a mean between two vices, t h e o n e involving excess, t h e

o t h e r deficiency and that it is such because its character is to

Nicomachean Ethics • 19

aim at w h a t is i n t e r m e d i a t e in passions and in actions, has been

sufficiently stated. H e n c e also it is no easy task to be good. For

in everything it is no easy task to find the middle, e.g. to find t h e

m i d d l e of a circle is n o t for every o n e b u t for him who knows; so,

too, any one can get a n g r y — t h a t is e a s y — o r give or spend

money; but to do this to the right person, to t h e right extent, at

the right time, with the right motive, and in the right way, that is

not for every one, n o r is it easy; w h e r e f o r e goodness is both r a r e

and laudable and noble.

H e n c e he w h o aims at the i n t e r m e d i a t e must first d e p a r t

f r o m what is the m o r e contrary to it, as C a l y p s o advises—

Hold the ship out beyond that surf and spray*

For of the e x t r e m e s one is m o r e erroneous, one less so; t h e r e -

fore, since to hit t h e mean is hard in t h e extreme, we m u s t as a

second best, as p e o p l e say, take t h e least of the evils; and this will
be d o n e best in the way we describe.

But we must consider the things toward which we ourselves

also are easily carried away; f o r s o m e of us tend to o n e thing,

s o m e to another; and this will be recognizable f r o m the pleasure

and the pain we feel. We m u s t drag ourselves away to t h e con-

trary extreme; for we shall get i n t o t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e state by

drawing well away from error, as p e o p l e do in straightening

sticks that are bent.

N o w in e v e r y t h i n g t h e pleasant or pleasure is most to be

guarded against; f o r we do not judge it impartially. We ought,

then, to feel toward pleasure as the elders of the p e o p l e felt

toward H e l e n , and in all circumstances r e p e a t their saying; for if

we dismiss pleasure thus we are less likely to go astray. It is by

doing this, then, (to sum t h e m a t t e r u p ) that we shall best be able

to hit the mean.

But this is no d o u b t difficult, and especially in individual

cases; for it is not easy to d e t e r m i n e both how and with w h o m

*Od. xii. 219 f. (Mackail's trans.). But it was Circe who gave the advice (xii
108), and the

actual quotation is from Odysseus' orders to his steersman.

90 • Aristotle
and on w h a t provocation and how long o n e should he angry; for

we too s o m e t i m e s praise those w h o fall short and call t h e m

g o o d - t e m p e r e d , but s o m e t i m e s we praise t h o s e who get angry

and call t h e m m a n l y T h e man, however, who deviates little

f r o m goodness is n o t blamed, w h e t h e r he do so in the direction

of t h e m o r e or of t h e less, hut only t h e m a n who deviates m o r e

widely; f o r he does n o t fail to be noticed. But up to what point

and to w h a t extent a man m u s t deviate before he b e c o m e s

b l a m e w o r t h y it is n o t easy to d e t e r m i n e by reasoning, any m o r e

t h a n a n y t h i n g else that is perceived by the senses; such things

d e p e n d on p a r t i c u l a r facts, and the decision rests with p e r c e p -

tion. So m u c h , then, is plain, that t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e state is in all

things to be praised, b u t t h a t we must i n c l i n e s o m e t i m e s toward

t h e excess, sometimes toward t h e deficiency; f o r so shall we m o s t

easily hit the m e a n and what is right.

BOOK I I I

1. Since virtue is c o n c e r n e d with passions and actions, and on vol-

u n t a r y passions and actions praise and b l a m e are bestowed, on

t h o s e t h a t are i n v o l u n t a r y pardon, and s o m e t i m e s also pity, to

distinguish t h e v o l u n t a r y and the i n v o l u n t a r y is p r e s u m a b l y

necessary for those w h o are studying the n a t u r e of virtue, and

useful also for legislators with a view to t h e assigning both of

h o n o r s and of p u n i s h m e n t s .

T h o s e things, then, are t h o u g h t involuntary, which take place

u n d e r c o m p u l s i o n or o w i n g to ignorance; and that is c o m p u l -

sory of which t h e m o v i n g principle is outside, being a p r i n c i p l e

in which n o t h i n g is c o n t r i b u t e d by t h e p e r s o n who is acting o r i s

feeling t h e passion, e.g. if he were to be carried s o m e w h e r e by a

wind, or by m e n who had him in their power.

But with regard to t h e things that are d o n e f r o m fear of

g r e a t e r evils or for s o m e n o b l e object (e.g. if a t y r a n t w e r e to

o r d e r o n e to do s o m e t h i n g base, having one's parents and chil-

d r e n m his power, and if o n e did the action they were to be

saved, but otherwise would be p u t to death), it may be d e b a t e d

Nicomachean Ethics • 81

w h e t h e r such actions are involuntary or voluntary. S o m e t h i n g

of the sort h a p p e n s also with regard to the throwing of goods

overboard in a storm; for in t h e abstract no o n e throws goods

away voluntarily, but on condition of its securing t h e safety of

himself and his c r e w any sensible man does so. Such actions,

then, are mixed, b u t are m o r e like v o l u n t a r y actions; for they are

worthy of choice at the time when they are done, and the end of
an action is relative to t h e occasion. Both the terms, then, "vol-

u n t a r y " and "involuntary," must be used with r e f e r e n c e to the

m o m e n t of action. N o w the m a n acts voluntarily; for the p r i n -

ciple that moves t h e i n s t r u m e n t a l parts of the body in such

actions is in him, and the things of which the moving p r i n c i p l e

is in a man himself are in his power to do or not to do. Such

actions, therefore, are voluntary, b u t in t h e abstract p e r h a p s

involuntary; for no one would choose any such act in itself.

For such actions men are s o m e t i m e s even praised, when they

e n d u r e s o m e t h i n g base or painful in r e t u r n for great and noble

objects gained; in t h e opposite case they are blamed, since to

e n d u r e the greatest indignities for no noble end or for a trifling

end is the mark of an inferior person. On some actions praise

i n d e e d is not bestowed, but pardon is, when one does w h a t he

o u g h t not u n d e r pressure which overstrains h u m a n n a t u r e and

which no o n e could withstand. But s o m e acts, perhaps, we can-

not be forced to do, but ought rather to face death after the m o s t

fearful sufferings; for t h e things that "forced" E u r i p i d e s '

A lem aeon to slay his m o t h e r seem absurd. It is difficult s o m e -

times to d e t e r m i n e what should be chosen at what cost, and

what should be e n d u r e d in r e t u r n for w h a t gain, and yet m o r e

difficult to abide by o u r decisions; for as a rule what is expected

is painful, and w h a t we are forced to do is base, w h e n c e praise

and blame are bestowed on those who have been c o m p e l l e d or

have not.

W h a t sort of acts, then, should be called compulsory? We

answer that w i t h o u t qualification actions are so when the cause

is in t h e external circumstances and t h e agent contributes n o t h -

ing. But the things that in themselves are involuntary, but now

and in r e t u r n for these gains are w o r t h y of choice, and whose

m o v i n g principle is in t h e agent, are in themselves involuntary,

f.'\2 • Aristotle

b u t now and in r e t u r n for t h e s e gains voluntary. T h e y are m o r e

like voluntary acts; for actions are in the class of particulars, and

t h e particular acts h e r e are v o l u n t a r y W h a t sort of things are to

be chosen, and in r e t u r n for what, it is n o t easy to state; for t h e r e

are m a n y differences in the particular cases.

But if s o m e o n e w e r e to say that pleasant and noble objects

have a compelling power, f o r c i n g us f r o m without, all acts would

be for him compulsory; f o r it is for t h e s e objects that all m e n do

e v e r y t h i n g they do. And t h o s e who act u n d e r compulsion and

unwillingly act with pain, b u t those w h o do gets for their pleas-

antness and nobility do t h e m with pleasure; it is absurd to m a k e

external circumstances responsible, and n o t oneself, as being

easily caught by such attractions, and to make oneself r e s p o n -

sible for noble acts b u t the pleasant objects responsible for base

acts T h e compulsory, then, seems to be that whose m o v i n g

p r i n c i p l e is outside, t h e p e r s o n compelled c o n t r i b u t i n g nothing.

E v e r y t h i n g t h a t is d o n e by reason of ignorance is not

voluntary; it is only w h a t p r o d u c e s pain and r e p e n t a n c e that is

»zvoIuntary, for the man who has d o n e s o m e t h i n g owing to

ignorance, and feels not t h e least vexation at his action, has not

acted voluntarily, since he did not know what he was doing,

nor yet involuntarily, since he is not pained. Of people, then,

who act by reason of i g n o r a n c e he who r e p e n t s is t h o u g h t an

involuntary agent, and t h e man who d o e s not r e p e n t may, since

he is different, be called a not voluntary agent; for, since he dif-

f e r s f r o m t h e other, it is b e t t e r that he should have a n a m e of

his own.

Acting by reason of i g n o r a n c e seems also to be d i f f e r e n t from

acting in ignorance; f o r the man who is d r u n k or in a rage is

t h o u g h t to act as a result not of i g n o r a n c e but of o n e of t h e

causes m e n t i o n e d , yet not knowingly but in ignorance.

N o w every wicked m a n is ignorant of what he ought to do and

what he ought to abstain from, and it is by reason of error of this

kind that men b e c o m e u n j u s t and in general bad; but t h e t e r m

"involuntary" tends to be used not if a man is ignorant of what is

to his advantage—for it is not mistaken p u r p o s e that causes

involuntary action (it leads rather to wickedness), nor ignorance

of the universal (for that m e n are blamed), but ignorance of par-

Nicomachean Ethics • 83

ticulars, i.e. of the circumstances of the action and the objects

with which it is concerned.

For it is on these that both pity and p a r d o n d e p e n d , since the

person who is ignorant of any of these acts involuntarily.

Perhaps it is just as well, therefore, to d e t e r m i n e their n a t u r e

and number. A m a n may be ignorant, then, of who he is, what he

is doing, what or w h o m he is acting on, and sometimes also what

(e.g. what i n s t r u m e n t ) he is doing it with, and to w h a t end (e.g.

he may think his act will c o n d u c e to s o m e one's safety), and how

he is doing it (e.g. w h e t h e r gently or violently). N o w of all of

these no one could be ignorant unless he were mad, and evi-

dently also he could not be ignorant of the agent; for how could

he not know himself? But of what he is doing a man might be

ignorant, as f o r instance p e o p l e say "it slipped out of their

m o u t h s as they w e r e speaking," or "they did not know it was a

secret," as Aeschylus said of the mysteries, or a man m i g h t say

he "let it go off when he merely wanted to show its working," as

the man did with t h e catapult. Again, o n e might think one's son

was an enemy, as M e r o p e did, or that a pointed spear had a but-

ton on it, or that a stone was p u m i c e - s t o n e ; or one might give a

man a d r a u g h t to save him, and really kill him; or o n e might

want to t o u c h a man, as p e o p l e do in sparring, and really w o u n d

him. T h e i g n o r a n c e may relate, then, to any of these things, i.e.

ot the circumstances of the action, and the man w h o was igno-

rant of any of these is t h o u g h t to have acted involuntarily, and

especially if he was ignorant on the most i m p o r t a n t points; and

these are t h o u g h t to be the circumstances of the action and its

end. F u r t h e r , the doing of an act that is called involuntary in

virtue of i g n o r a n c e of this sort m u s t be painful and involve

r e p e n t a n c e .

Since that which is d o n e u n d e r compulsion or by reason of

ignorance is involuntary, the voluntary would seem to be that of

which the moving principle is in the agent himself, he being

aware of t h e p a r t i c u l a r circumstances of the action, P r e s u m a b l y

acts d o n e by reason of anger or a p p e t i t e are not rightly called

involuntary. For in the first place, on that showing n o n e of the

o t h e r animals will act voluntarily, n o r will children; and sec-

ondly, is it m e a n t that we do not do voluntarily any of the acts

S4 • Aristotle

that are d u e to a p p e t i t e or anger, or t h a t we do t h e n o b l e acts

voluntarily and the base acts involuntarily? Ts not this absurd,

when o n e and t h e s a m e thing is the cause? But it would surely be

odd to describe as involuntary the things o n e o u g h t to desire;

and we o u g h t both to be angry at certain things and to have an

appetite f o r certain things, e.g. for health and f o r learning. Also

w h a r i s involuntary is t h o u g h t to be painful, b u t what is in accor-

d a n c e with appetite is t h o u g h t to be pleasant. Again, what is the

d i f f e r e n c e in respect of involuntariness b e t w e e n errors c o m m i t -

ted u p o n calculation and t h o s e c o m m i t t e d in anger? Both are to

be avoided, but t h e irrational passions are t h o u g h t n o t less

h u m a n than reason is, and t h e r e f o r e also t h e actions which p r o -

ceed f r o m anger or a p p e t i t e are t h e man's actions. It would be

odd, then, to treat t h e m as involuntary.

C H A P T E R 3

E P I C T E T U S
Epictetus was a Stoic philosopher. Along with Epicureanism and

Neoplatonism, Stoicism was one of the schools of t h o u g h t that

developed after the death of Aristotle and with the decline of G r e e k

civilization. It was founded in G r e e c e by Zeno (334-262 B.C.) and

thrived for some seven hundred years.

Zeno met his students on a stoa, which is the Greek word for

"porch." T h o u g h there was no equivalent of the immortal geniuses of

Plato or Aristotle among the Stoics, their impact on Rome and

Christianity was profound. Anticipating natural law theorists such as

T h o m a s Aquinas, the Stoics acknowledged a law above h u m a n law.

And unlike the Greeks and Romans who held that you were either

like t h e m or a barbarian, the Stoics believed that everyone was a cit-

izen of the world, part of the family of humankind. In that sense they

presaged the notion of universal h u m a n rights. T h e most influential

Stoic philosophers were Seneca, Cicero, M a r c u s Aurelius, and the

present author, Epictetus.

Epictetus was born a slave circa A.D. 55 in Asia M i n o r His master,

Epaphroditus, who served as a secretary to Nero, brought Epictetus

to Rome and then sent him to study with the Stoic philosopher Gaius

Musonius Rufus. Epictetus was manumitted sometime after Nero's

death in A.D. 68 and he began to teach philosophy in Rome. After

Domitian banished all philosophers from Rome in A.D. 93, Epictetus

86 • Epictetus

packed up to n o r t h w e s t e r n G r e e c e , w h e r e he set up a school in

N i c o p o l i s , in Epirus. A f t e r t h e death of D o m i t i a n , t h e f o r m e r
slave

was f r e e to r e t u r n to R o m e b u t instead r e m a i n e d in G r e e c e .

E p i c t e t u s and his school b e c a m e extraordinarily famous. Elite

f r o m all over the e m p i r e , i n c l u d i n g t h e e m p e r o r H a d r i a n and

the

f u t u r e historian Arrian, c a m e to sit at his feet. R e n o w n e d as he was,

E p i c t e t u s led the life of an ascetic, sleeping on a thin m a t and o w n -

i n g f e w possessions. T h o u g h the facts and dates of his death are

u n k n o w n , Epictetus perished around A.D. 135.

P e r h a p s it had s o m e t h i n g to do with the intense political turmoil

in t h e world in which they lived, but for the Stoics t h e r e was n o t h i n g

m o r e essential to the good life than p e a c e of m i n d and f r e e d o m f r o m

f e a r and anxiety. E p i c t e t u s was not an academic philosopher. For

h i m , p h i l o s o p h y was a f o r m of therapy. Tn that regard, he spoke of his

school as a hospital for reasonable creatures f r u s t r a t e d f r o m u n r e a -

sonable desires and expectations. T h e key to i n n e r peace and a plea-

surable life is inscribed in t h e first lines of o u r text:

Some things are in o u r control and others not. Things in our

control are opinion, pursuit, desire, aversion, and, in a word,

whatever are our own actions. Things not in our control are

body, property, reputation, command, and, in one word,

whatever are not our own actions.

T h e things in our control are by n a t u r e free, unre-

strained, u n h i n d e r e d ; but those not in o u r control are

weak, slavish, restrained, belonging to others. Remember,

then, that if you suppose that things which are slavish by

nature are also free, and that what belongs to others is your

own, then you will be hindered. You will lament, you will

be disturbed, and you will find fault both with gods and

men. . . .

We m u s t distinguish b e t w e e n w h a t is and what is n o t in o u r control.

W h e t h e r or not I am wealthy or f a m o u s is n o t in my ken, b u t w h e t h e

r

or n o t I am v i r t u o u s is m my control. For Epictetus, I c a n n o t steer

w h a t happens, but with rigorous practice I can control my attitudes

toward events. K n o w i n g t h a t t h e r e are laws of t h e cosmos and that

e v e r y t h i n g h a p p e n s in accord with these laws, I can train myself to

Ethics: The Essential Writings • 87

accept whatever comes to pass. This is of course the ancient ideal of

amorfati, of learning to desire one's fate or destiny.

For Epictetus, philosophy is not just a matter of acquiring knowl-

edge. It is a knowledge that must be rehearsed again and again and

integrated into our judgments. He reminds us:

If you wish your children, and your wife, and your friends

to live for ever, you are stupid; for you wish to be in control

of things which you cannot, you wish for things that

belong to others to be your own. . . . Exercise, therefore,

what is in your control. He is the master of every other

person who is able to confer or remove whatever that

person wishes either to have or to avoid. Whoever, then,

would be free, let him wish nothing, let him decline

nothing, which depends on others else he must necessarily

be a slave.

Epictetus's notion of inner freedom, that bars do not a prison make,

has inspired many people in dire circumstances, such as Col. John

Stockdale, who credited his study of Epictetus with helping him to

survive seven horrid years in a N o r t h Vietnamese prison camp.

T H E E N C H I R I D I O N

Translated by Elizabeth Carter

1. Some things are in our control and others not. Things in our
control are opinion, pursuit, desire, aversion, and, in a word,

whatever are our own actions. Things not in our control are

body, property, reputation, command, and, in one word, what-

ever are not our own actions.

T h e things in our control are by nature free, unrestrained,

unhindered; but those not in our control are weak, slavish,

restrained, belonging to others. Remember, then, that if you

suppose that things which are slavish by nature are also free, and

that what belongs to others is your own, then you will be hin-

dered. You will lament, you will be disturbed, and you will find

fault both with gods and men. But if you suppose that only to be

your own which is your own, and what belongs to others such as

it really is, then no one will ever compel you or restrain you.

Further, you will find fault with no one or accuse no one. You

will do nothing against your will. No one will hurt you, you will

have no enemies, and you will not be harmed.

Aiming therefore at such' great things, r e m e m b e r that you

must not allow yourself to be carried, even with a slight ten-

dency, toward the attainment of lesser things. Instead, you must

entirely quit some things and for the present postpone the rest.

But if you would have both of these great things, along with power
The Enchiridion • 89

and riches, t h e n you will not gain even the latter, b e c a u s e you

aim at the f o r m e r too: but you will absolutely fail of the former,

by which alone happiness and f r e e d o m are achieved.

Work, t h e r e f o r e to be able to say to every harsh appearance,

"You are b u t an appearance, and not absolutely the t h i n g you

appear to be." A n d then e x a m i n e it by those rules which you

have, and first, and chiefly, by this: w h e t h e r it c o n c e r n s the

things which are in our own control, or those which are not; and,

if it concerns a n y t h i n g not in o u r control, be p r e p a r e d to say

that it is n o t h i n g to you.

2. R e m e m b e r that following desire promises the a t t a i n m e n t of that

of which you are desirous; and aversion promises t h e avoiding

that to which you are averse. However, he who fails to obtain the

object of his desire is disappointed, and he who incurs the object

of his aversion wretched. If, then, you confine y o u r aversion to

those objects only which are c o n t r a r y to t h e natural use of y o u r

faculties, which you have in y o u r own control, you will never

i n c u r anything to which you are averse. But if you are averse to

sickness, or d e a t h , or poverty, you will be wretched R e m o v e

aversion, then, f r o m all things that are not in o u r control, and

transfer it to things c o n t r a r y to the n a t u r e of what is in o u r c o n -

trol. But, for t h e present, totally suppress desire: for, if you

desire any of t h e things which are not in y o u r own control, you

m u s t necessarily be disappointed; and of those which are, and

which it would be laudable to desire, n o t h i n g is yet in y o u r

possession. Use only t h e a p p r o p r i a t e actions of p u r s u i t and

avoidance; and even these lightly, and with gentleness and reser-

vation.

3. With regard to whatever objects give you delight, are useful, or

are deeply loved, r e m e m b e r to tell yourself of what general

n a t u r e they are, b e g i n n i n g from the m o s t insignificant things. If,

for example, you are fond of a specific ceramic cup, r e m i n d

yourself that it is only ceramic cups in general of which you are

fond. T h e n , if it breaks, you will n o t be disturbed. If you kiss

y o u r child, or y o u r wife, say t h a t you only kiss things which are

h u m a n , and thus you will not be disturbed if either of t h e m dies.

4. W h e n you are going about any action, remind yourself what

n a t u r e t h e action is. If you are going to bathe, picture to y o u r s e l f

90 • Epictetus

t h e things which usually h a p p e n in the bath: s o m e people splash

t h e water, s o m e push, s o m e use abusive language, and o t h e r s

steal. T h u s you will m o r e safely go a b o u t this action if you say

to yourself, "I will n o w go bathe, and keep my own mind in a

state c o n f o r m a b l e to nature." And in the same m a n n e r with

regard to every o t h e r action. For thus, if any h i n d r a n c e arises in

bathing, you will have it r e a d y to say, "It was n o t only to b a t h e

t h a t I desired, but to keep my m i n d in a state c o n f o r m a b l e to

n a t u r e ; and I will not keep it if T am b o t h e r e d at things that hap-

pen."

5. M e n are disturbed, n o t by things, but by the principles and

notions which they f o r m c o n c e r n i n g things. D e a t h , for instance,

is n o t terrible, else it would have a p p e a r e d so to Socrates. But

the t e r r o r consists in o u r notion of death that it is terrible. W h e n

t h e r e f o r e we are h i n d e r e d , or disturbed, or grieved, let us never

attribute it to others, b u t to ourselves; t h a t is, to o u r own p r i n -

ciples. An u n i n s t r u c t e d p e r s o n will lay the fault of his own bad

condition u p o n others. S o m e o n e just starting instruction will

lay the fault on himself. S o m e o n e who is p e r f e c t l y instructed

will place blame n e i t h e r on others n o r on himself.

6. D o n ' t be p r i d e f u l with any excellence t h a t is n o t your own. If a

h o r s e should be p r i d e f u l and say, "I am h a n d s o m e , " it would be

s u p p o r t a b l e . But when you are prideful, and say, "I have a h a n d -

s o m e horse," know that you are p r o u d of w h a t is, in fact, only

the good of the horse. W h a t , then, is y o u r own? O n l y y o u r reac-

tion to t h e appearances of things. Thus, w h e n you behave c o n -

f o r m a b l y to n a t u r e in reaction to how things appear, you will be

p r o u d with reason; f o r you will take p r i d e in some good of y o u r

own.

7. C o n s i d e r when, on a voyage, your ship is anchored; if you go on

s h o r e to get water you m a y along the way a m u s e yourself with

picking up a shellfish, or an onion. However, y o u r t h o u g h t s and

c o n t i n u a l attention o u g h t to be bent toward the ship, waiting for

t h e captain to call on board; you must then i m m e d i a t e l y leave

all these things, o t h e r w i s e you will be t h r o w n into the ship,

b o u n d neck and feet like a sheep. So it is with life. If, instead of

an onion or a shellfish, you are given a wife or child, that is fine.

But if the captain calls, you m u s t r u n to t h e ship, leaving t h e m ,

The Enchiridion • 91

and regarding n o n e of them. But if you are old, never go far f r o m

the ship: lest, when you are called, you should be u n a b l e to c o m e

in time.

8. D o n ' t d e m a n d that things h a p p e n as you wish, b u t wish t h a t

they h a p p e n as they do h a p p e n , and you will go on well.

9. Sickness is a h i n d r a n c e to the body, but not to y o u r ability to

choose, unless that is y o u r choice. L a m e n e s s is a h i n d r a n c e to

the leg, but not to y o u r ability to choose. Say this to yourself

with regard to e v e r y t h i n g that happens, then you will see such

obstacles as h i n d r a n c e s to s o m e t h i n g else, but not to yourself.

10. With every accident, ask yourself what abilities you have f o r

m a k i n g a p r o p e r u s e of it. If you see an attractive person, you

will find t h a t self-restraint is the ability you have against y o u r

desire. If you are in pain, you will find fortitude. If you hear

u n p l e a s a n t language, you will find patience. And thus h a b i t u -

ated, the appearances of things will not h u r r y you away along

with them.

11. N e v e r say of anything, "I have lost it"; but, "1 have r e t u r n e d it."

Is y o u r child dead? It is r e t u r n e d . Is y o u r wife dead? She is

r e t u r n e d . Is y o u r estate taken away? Well, and is not t h a t like-

wise returned? "But he who took it away is a bad man." W h a t

d i f f e r e n c e is it to you who the giver assigns to take it back?

W h i l e he gives it to you to possess, take care of it; but don't view

it as y o u r own, just as travelers view a hotel.

12. If you want to improve, reject such reasonings as these: "If I n e -

glect my affairs, I'll have no income; if I don't correct my ser-

vant, he will be bad." For it is b e t t e r to die with hunger, e x e m p t

f r o m grief and fear, than to live in affluence with p e r t u r b a t i o n ;

and it is b e t t e r y o u r servant should be had, than you unhappy.

Begin t h e r e f o r e f r o m little things. Is a little oil spilt? A little

wine stolen? Say to yourself, " T h i s is the price paid for apathy,

for tranquillity, and n o t h i n g is to be had f o r nothing." W h e n you

call y o u r servant, it is possible that he may not come; or, if he

does, he m a y not do what you want. But he is by no m e a n s of

such i m p o r t a n c e that it should be in his power to give you any

disturbance.

13. If you want to improve, be c o n t e n t to be t h o u g h t foolish and stu-

pid with regard to external things. D o n ' t wish to be t h o u g h t to

92 • Epictetus

k n o w anything; and even if you a p p e a r to be s o m e b o d y i m p o r -

tant to others, distrust yourself. For, it is difficult to both keep

y o u r faculty of choice in a state c o n f o r m a b l e to nature, and at

the s a m e t i m e acquire external things. Rut while you are careful

a b o u t t h e one, you m u s t of necessity n e g l e c t t h e other.

14. If you wish y o u r children, and y o u r wife, and y o u r friends to live

f o r ever, you are stupid; for you wish to be in control of things

which you cannot, you wish for things that b e l o n g to others to

be y o u r own. So likewise, if you wish y o u r servant to be w i t h o u t

fault, you are a fool; f o r you wish vice n o t to be vice," but s o m e -

t h i n g else. But, if you wish to have y o u r desires u n d i s a p p o i n t e d

th is is in y o u r own control. Exercise, therefore, what is in y o u r

control. He is t h e master of every o t h e r person who is able to

c o n f e r or r e m o v e w h a t e v e r that person wishes either to have or

to avoid. Whoever, then, would be free, let him wish nothing, let

him decline nothing, which d e p e n d s on o t h e r s else he m u s t nec-

essarily be a slave.

15. R e m e m b e r that you m u s t behave in life as at a d i n n e r party. Is

a n y t h i n g b r o u g h t a r o u n d to you? P u t o u t y o u r hand and take

y o u r s h a r e with m o d e r a t i o n . D o e s it pass by you? D o n ' t stop it.

Is it n o t y e t come? D o n ' t stretch your desire toward it, b u t wait

till it reaches you. Do this with regard to children, to a wife, to

p u b l i c posts, to riches, and you will e v e n t u a l l y be a worthy p a r t -

n e r of t h e feasts of t h e gods. And if you don't even take the

things which are set b e f o r e you, but are able even to reject t h e m ,

t h e n you will not only be a p a r t n e r at the feasts of the gods, hut

also of their empire. For, by doing this, Diogenes, Heraclitus and

o t h e r s like them, d e s e r v e d l y became, and were called, divine.

16. W h e n you see a n y o n e w e e p i n g in grief because his son has

g o n e abroad, or is dead, or because he has s u f f e r e d in his affairs,

be careful that t h e a p p e a r a n c e may n o t misdirect you. Instead,

distinguish within y o u r own mind, and be p r e p a r e d to say, "It's

n o t t h e accident that distresses this person, because it doesn't

distress a n o t h e r person; it is the j u d g m e n t which he makes

about it." As far as w o r d s go, however, d o n ' t r e d u c e yourself to

his level, and certainly do not moan with him. Do not m o a n

inwardly either.

17. R e m e m b e r that you are an actor in a drama, of such a kind as the

The Enchiridion • 93

author pleases to make it. If short, of a short one; if long, of a

long one. If it is his pleasure you should act a p o o r man, a

cripple, a governor, or a private person, see that you act it n a t u -

rally. For this is your business, to act well the character assigned

you; to choose it is another's.

18. W h e n a raven h a p p e n s to croak unluckily, d o n ' t allow the

appearance to h u r r y you away with it, but immediately make the

distinction to yourself, and say, " N o n e of these things are fore-

told to me; but e i t h e r to my paltry body, or property, or r e p u t a -

tion, or children, or wife. But to me all o m e n s are lucky, if I will.

For whichever of these things happens, it is in my control to

derive advantage f r o m it."

19. You may be u n c o n q u e r a b l e , if you enter into no c o m b a t in

which it is not in y o u r own control to conquer. W h e n , therefore,

you see anyone e m i n e n t in honors, or power, or in high e s t e e m

on any other account, take heed n o t to be h u r r i e d away with the

appearance, and to p r o n o u n c e him happy; for, if t h e essence of

good consists in things in o u r own control, t h e r e will be no r o o m

for envy or emulation. But, for y o u r part, d o n ' t wish to be a gen-

eral, or a senator, or a consul, b u t to be free; and the only way to

this is a c o n t e m p t of things not in our own control..

20. Remember, that not he who gives ill language or a blow insults,

but the principle which represents these things as insulting.

W h e n , therefore, anyone provokes you, be assured that it is y o u r

own opinion which provokes you. Try, therefore, in the first

place, not to be h u r r i e d away with the appearance. For if you

once gain t i m e and respite, you will m o r e easily c o m m a n d y o u r -

self

21. L e t death and exile, and all o t h e r things which appear terrible

be daily before y o u r eyes, but chiefly death, and you will never

entertain any abject thought, nor too eagerly covet anything.

22. If you have an earnest desire of attaining to philosophy, p r e p a r e

yourself f r o m the very first to be laughed at, to be sneered by the

m u l t i t u d e , to hear t h e m say, " H e is r e t u r n e d to us a p h i l o s o p h e

r

all at once," and " W h e n c e this supercilious look?" Now, f o r your

part, don't have a supercilious look indeed; but keep steadily to

t h o s e things which appear best to you as o n e appointed by G o d

to this station. For r e m e m b e r that, if you a d h e r e to the same

94 • Epictetus

point, those very persons who at first ridiculed will afterward

a d m i r e you. But if you are c o n q u e r e d by t h e m , you will incur a

d o u b l e ridicule.

23. If you ever h a p p e n to t u r n y o u r attention to externals, so as to

wish to please anyone, be assured that you have r u i n e d y o u r

s c h e m e of life. Be c o n t e n t e d , then, in e v e r y t h i n g with being a

p h i l o s o p h e r ; and, if you wish to be t h o u g h t so likewise by any-

one, appear so to yourself, and it will suffice you

24. D o n ' t allow such considerations as these distress you. "I will live

in dishonor, and be n o b o d y anywhere." For, if dishonor is an

evil, you can no m o r e be involved in any evil by the m e a n s of

another, than be engaged in anything base. Is it any business of

yours, then, to get power, or to be admitted to an e n t e r t a i n m e n t ?

By no means. How, then, after all, is this a dishonor? And how is

it t r u e that you will be n o b o d y anywhere, w h e n you o u g h t to be

s o m e b o d y in those things only which are in y o u r own control, in

which you may be of t h e greatest consequence? "But my f r i e n d s

will be u n a s s i s t e d . " — W h a t do you m e a n by unassisted? T h e y

will not have m o n e y f r o m you, n o r will you make them R o m a n

citizens. W h o told you, then, that these are a m o n g the things in

o u r own control, and not the affair of others? And who can give

to a n o t h e r the things which he has not himself? "Well, but get

t h e m , then, that we t o o m a y have a share." If I can get t h e m with

the preservation of my own h o n o r and fidelity and greatness of

m i n d , show me the way and I will get them; but if you r e q u i r e

me to lose my own p r o p e r good that you may gain what is n o t

good, consider how i n e q u i t a b l e and foolish you are. Besides,

which would you r a t h e r have, a sum of money, or a friend of

fidelity and honor? R a t h e r assist me, then, to gain this c h a r a c t e r

t h a n r e q u i r e me to do t h o s e things by which I may lose it. Well,

but my country, say you, as far as d e p e n d s on me, will be u n a s -

sisted. H e r e again, what assistance is this you mean? "It will not

have porticoes nor baths of your providing." And what signifies

that? Why, n e i t h e r does a smith provide it with shoes, or a shoe-

m a k e r with arms. It is e n o u g h if everyone fully p e r f o r m s his own.

p r o p e r business. And w e r e you to supply it with a n o t h e r citizen

of h o n o r and fidelity, would not he be of use to it? Yes. T h e r e f o r e

n e i t h e r are you yourself useless to it. " W h a t place, then, say you,

The Enchiridion • 95

will 1 hold in the state?" W h a t e v e r you can hold with the p r e s e r -

vation of your fidelity and honor. But if, by desiring to be u s e f u l

to that, you lose these, of what use can you be to y o u r c o u n t r y

w h e n you are b e c o m e faithless and void of shame.

25. Is anyone p r e f e r r e d b e f o r e you at an e n t e r t a i n m e n t , or in a c

o m -

pliment, or in being admitted to a consultation? If these things

are good, you o u g h t to be glad that he has gotten t h e m ; and if

they are evil, d o n ' t be grieved t h a t you have not gotten t h e m .

And r e m e m b e r that you cannot, w i t h o u t u s i n g the same m e a n s

[which others do] to acquire things n o t in o u r own control,

expect to be t h o u g h t worthy of an equal share of them. For how

can he who does not f r e q u e n t the d o o r of any [great] man, does

not attend him, does not praise him, have an equal share with

him who does? You are unjust, then, and insatiable, if you are

unwilling to p a y the price for which these things are sold, and
would have them for nothing. For how m u c h is lettuce sold?

Fifty cents, for instance. If another, then, paying fifty cents, takes

the lettuce, and you, not paying it, go w i t h o u t them, d o n ' t imag-

ine that he has gained any advantage over you. For as he has t h e

lettuce, so you have the fifty cents which you did not give. So, in

the present case, you have not been invited to such a person's

e n t e r t a i n m e n t , because you have n o t paid him the price for

which a s u p p e r is sold. It is sold for praise; it is sold for a t t e n -

dance. Give him then the value, if it is for your advantage. But if

you would, at t h e same time, not pay t h e o n e and yet receive the

other, you are insatiable, and a blockhead. H a v e you nothing,

then, instead of the supper? Yes, indeed, you have: t h e not prais-

ing him, w h o m you d o n ' t like to praise; the not bearing with his

behavior at c o m i n g in.

26. T h e will of n a t u r e may be learned f r o m those things in which

we d o n ' t distinguish from each other. For example, w h e n o u r

neighbor's boy breaks a cup, or t h e like, we are presently ready

to say, " T h e s e things will happen." Be assured, then, t h a t when

y o u r own cup likewise is broken, you o u g h t to be affected just as

w h e n another's c u p was broken. Apply this in like m a n n e r to

greater things. Is the child or wife of a n o t h e r dead? T h e r e is no

o n e who would not say, "This is a h u m a n accident." but if any-

one's own child h a p p e n s to die, it is presently, "Alas 1 how

96 • Epictetus

w r e t c h e d am I!" Bin it should be r e m e m b e r e d how we are

affected in h e a r i n g t h e same t h i n g c o n c e r n i n g others.

27. As a mark is n o t set up for the sake of missing t h e aim, so n e i t h e r

does the n a t u r e of evil exist in the world.

28. If a p e r s o n gave y o u r body to any stranger he m e t on his way,

you would certainly be angry. And do you feel no s h a m e in

h a n d i n g over y o u r own mind to be c o n f u s e d and mystified by

anyone who h a p p e n s to verbally attack you?

29. In every affair c o n s i d e r w h a t p r e c e d e s and follows, and then

u n d e r t a k e it. O t h e r w i s e you will begin with spirit; but n o t hav-

ing t h o u g h t of t h e consequences, w h e n s o m e of them appear

you will s h a m e f u l l y desist. "I would c o n q u e r at t h e O l y m p i c

games." But consider what p r e c e d e s and follows, and then, if it is

for y o u r advantage, engage in the affair. You m u s t conform to

rules, s u b m i t to a diet, refrain from dainties; exercise y o u r body,

w h e t h e r you choose it or not, at a stated hour, in heat and cold;

you m u s t drink no cold water, nor s o m e t i m e s even wine. In a

word, you m u s t give yourself up to your master, as to a p h y s i -

cian. T h e n , in t h e combat, you may be t h r o w n into a ditch, dis-

locate y o u r arm, t u r n your ankle, swallow dust, be whipped,'and,

a f t e r all, lose t h e victory. W h e n you have evaluated all this, if

y o u r inclination still holds, then go to war. Otherwise, take

notice, you will behave like children who s o m e t i m e s play like

wrestlers, s o m e t i m e s gladiators, s o m e t i m e s blow a t r u m p e t , and

s o m e t i m e s act a tragedy when they have seen and admired these

shows. T h u s you too will be at o n e t i m e a wrestler, at a n o t h e r a

gladiator, now a philosopher, then an orator; but with y o u r

whole soul, nothing at all. Like an ape, you m i m i c all you see,

and o n e thing after a n o t h e r is sure to please you, but is o u t of

favor as soon as it b e c o m e s familiar. For you have never e n t e r e d

u p o n a n y t h i n g considerately, nor after having viewed the whole

m a t t e r on all sides, or m a d e any scrutiny i n t o it, but rashly, and

with a cold inclination. T h u s some, when they have seen a p h i -

l o s o p h e r and heard a m a n speaking like E u p h r a t e s (though,

indeed, who can speak like him?), have a m i n d to be philos-

o p h e r s too. C o n s i d e r first, man, what the m a t t e r is, and what

y o u r own n a t u r e is able to bear. If you would be a wrestler, con-

sider y o u r shoulders, y o u r back, y o u r thighs; for d i f f e r e n t p e r -

The Enchiridion • 107

sons are m a d e for d i f f e r e n t things. Do you think that you can act

as you do, and be a philosopher? T h a t you can eat and drink, and

be angry and discontented as you are now? You m u s t watch, you

m u s t labor, you m u s t get the b e t t e r of certain appetites, m u s t

quit y o u r acquaintance, be despised by y o u r servant, be l a u g h e d

at by those you meet; c o m e off worse than others in everything,

in magistracies, in honors, in courts of judicature. W h e n you

have considered all these things r o u n d , approach, if you please;

if, by parting with them, you have a m i n d to p u r c h a s e apathy,

f r e e d o m , and tranquillity. If not, d o n ' t c o m e here; don't, like

children, be o n e while a philosopher, then a publican, then an

orator, and then o n e of Caesar's officers. T h e s e things are not

consistent. You m u s t be one man, either good or bad. You m u s t

cultivate either your own ruling faculty or externals, and apply

yourself e i t h e r to things within or w i t h o u t you; that is, be either

a philosopher, or one of the vulgar.

30. Duties are universally measured by relations. Is anyone a father?

If so, it is implied that the children should take care of him, s u b -

mit to him in everything, patiently listen to his reproaches, his

correction. But he is a bad father. Are you naturally entitled,

then, to a good father? N o , only to a father. Is a b r o t h e r unjust?

Well, keep y o u r own situation toward him. C o n s i d e r not w h a t he

does, but what you are to do to keep y o u r own faculty of choice

in a state c o n f o r m a b l e to nature. For a n o t h e r will not h u r t you

unless you please. You will then be h u r t when you think you are

hurt. In this manner, therefore, you will find, from t h e idea of a

neighbor, a citizen, a general, the c o r r e s p o n d i n g duties if you

accustom yourself to c o n t e m p l a t e the several relations.

31. Be assured that the essential p r o p e r t y of piety toward t h e gods

is to form right opinions c o n c e r n i n g t h e m , as existing "I and as

governing the universe with goodness and justice. And fix y o u r -

self in this resolution, to obey them, and yield to them, and will-

ingly follow t h e m in all events, as p r o d u c e d hy the most p e r f e c t

u n d e r s t a n d i n g . For thus you will never find fault with t h e gods,

nor accuse t h e m as neglecting you. And it is not possible f o r this

to be effected any o t h e r way than by w i t h d r a w i n g yourself f r o m

things not in o u r own control, and placing good or evil in those

only which are. For if you suppose any of the things not in our

98 • Epictetus

own control to be e i t h e r good or evil, when yon are disap-

p o i n t e d of what you wish, or i n c u r what you would avoid, you

m u s t necessarily find f a u l t with and blame t h e authors. For

every animal is n a t u r a l l y f o r m e d to fly and abhor things that

a p p e a r h u r t f u l , and t h e causes of t h e m ; and to p u r s u e and

a d m i r e t h o s e which a p p e a r beneficial, and the causes of them. It

is impractical, then, t h a t o n e who supposes himself to be h u r t

should be happy about t h e person who, he thinks, hurts him, just

as it is impossible to be h a p p y about t h e h u r t itself H e n c e , also,

a f a t h e r is reviled by a son, when he does n o t i m p a r t to him t h e

things which he takes to be good; and t h e s u p p o s i n g e m p i r e to

be a good m a d e Polynices and Eteocles m u t u a l l y enemies. On

this account the h u s b a n d m a n , the sailor, the m e r c h a n t , on this

a c c o u n t those who lose wives and children, revile the gods. For

w h e r e interest is, t h e r e too is p i e t y placed. So that, whoever is

careful to regulate his desires and aversions as he ought, is, by

the very same means, carefid of piety likewise. But it is also

i n c u m b e n t on everyone to offer libations and sacrifices and first

fruits, c o n f o r m a b l y to t h e customs of his country, with purity,

and not in a slovenly manner, nor negligently, n o r sparingly, nor

beyond his ability.

32. W h e n you have r e c o u r s e to divination, r e m e m b e r that you

know not what t h e event will be, and you c o m e to learn it of the

diviner; b u t of what n a t u r e it is you know before you come, at

least if you are a philosopher. For if it is a m o n g the things n o t in

o u r own control, it can by no means be either good or evil.

Don't, therefore, bring either desire or aversion with you to the

diviner (else you will approach him trembling), b u t first acquire

a distinct k n o w l e d g e t h a t every event is i n d i f f e r e n t and n o t h i n g

to you., of whatever sort it may be, for it will be in your power to

m a k e a right use of it, and this no one can hinder; then c o m e

with confidence to t h e gods, as y o u r counselors, and afterward,

when any counsel is given you, r e m e m b e r what counselors you

have assumed, and whose advice you will neglect if you disobey.

C o m e to divination, as Socrates prescribed, in cases of which t h e

w h o l e consideration relates to the event, and in which no o p p o r -

tunities are afforded by reason, or any other art, to discover the

t h i n g proposed to be learned. W h e n , therefore, it is o u r d u t y to

The Enchiridion • 99

share the d a n g e r of a friend or of o u r country, we o u g h t not: to

consult the oracle w h e t h e r we will share it with them or not. For,

t h o u g h the diviner should forewarn you that the victims are

unfavorable, this means no m o r e than t h a t either death or muti-

lation or exile is p o r t e n d e d . But we have reason within us, and it

directs, even with these hazards, to the greater diviner, the

Pythian god, who cast out of the t e m p l e t h e person who gave no

assistance to his friend while another was m u r d e r i n g him.

3 3. Immediately prescribe s o m e character and form of conduce to

yourself, which you may keep both alone and in company.

Be for the most part silent, or speak merely what is necessary,

and in few words. We may, however, enter, though sparingly,

into discourse sometimes when occasion calls for it, but not on

any of the c o m m o n subjects, of gladiators, or horse races, or ath-

letic champions, or feasts, the vulgar topics of conversation; but

principally not of men, so as either to blame, or praise, or make

comparisons. If you are able, then, by your own conversation

bring over that of y o u r c o m p a n y to p r o p e r subjects; but, if you

h a p p e n to be taken a m o n g strangers, be silent.

D o n ' t allow y o u r laughter be m u c h , nor on many occasions,

nor profuse.

Avoid swearing, if possible, altogether; if not, as far as you are

able.

Avoid public and vulgar entertainments; but, if ever an occa-

sion calls you to them, keep your attention u p o n the stretch, that

you may not imperceptibly slide into vulgar manners. For be

assured that if a person be ever so sound himself, yet, if his c o m -

panion be infected, he who converses with him will be infected

likewise.

P r o v i d e things relating to the body no f u r t h e r than m e r e use;

as meat, drink, clothing, house, family. But strike off and re)ect

everything relating to show and delicacy.

As far as possible, before marriage, keep y o u r s e l f p u r e from

familiarities with w o m e n , and, if you indulge them, let it be law-

folly. But d o n ' t t h e r e f o r e be t r o u b l e s o m e and foil of reproofs to

those who u s e these liberties, nor f r e q u e n t l y boast that you

yourself don't. ,

If anyone tells you that such a person speaks ill of you, don t

100 • Epictetus

make excuses about w h a t is said of you, but answer: " H e does

n o t k n o w my o t h e r faults, else he would n o t h a r e m e n t i o n e d

only these."

It is not necessary f o r you to appear often at public spec-

tacles; but if ever t h e r e is a p r o p e r occasion for you to be there,

don't appear m o r e solicitous for anyone t h a n f o r yourself; that is,'

wish things to be only just as they are, and him only to c o n q u e r

who is the conqueror, for thus you will m e e t with no hindrance.

Rut abstain entirely f r o m declamations and derision and violent

emotions. And when you c o m e away, d o n ' t discourse a great

deal on what has passed, and what does not c o n t r i b u t e to y o u r

own a m e n d m e n t . For it would appear by such discourse that

you w e r e i m m o d e r a t e l y struck with the show

Go n o t [of y o u r own accord] to the rehearsals of any authors.

n o r appear [at t h e m ] readily. But, if you do appear, keep y o u r

gravity and sedateness, and at the s a m e t i m e avoid being

morose.

W h e n you are going to c o n f e r with anyone, and particularly

of those in a s u p e r i o r station, r e p r e s e n t to y o u r s e l f how Socrates

or Z e n o would behave in such a case, and you will not be at a

loss to m a k e a p r o p e r u s e of whatever may occur.

W h e n you are going to any of the p e o p l e in power, r e p r e s e n t

to yourself t h a t you will not find him at h o m e ; t h a t you will not

be admitted; t h a t the d o o r s will not be o p e n e d to you; that he

will take no notice of you. If, with all this, it is y o u r d u t y to go,

b e a r what happens, and n e v e r say [to yourself], "It was n o t worth

so m u c h . " For this is vulgar, and like a man dazed by external

things.

In parties of conversation, avoid a f r e q u e n t and excessive

m e n t i o n of y o u r own actions and dangers. For, however a g r e e -

able it may be to yourself to m e n t i o n t h e risks you have r u n , it is

n o t equally agreeable to o t h e r s to hear your adventures. Avoid,

likewise, an endeavor to excite laughter. For this is a slippery

point, which may throw you into vulgar m a n n e r s , and, besides,

m a y be apt to lessen you in the esteem of y o u r acquaintance!

A p p r o a c h e s to i n d e c e n t discourse are likewise dangerous.

W h e n e v e r , therefore, a n y t h i n g of this sort happens, if t h e r e be a

p r o p e r opportunity, rebuke him who makes advances that w a y

The Enchiridion • 101

or, at least, by silence and blushing and a forbidding look, show

yourself to be displeased by such talk.

34. If you are struck by the a p p e a r a n c e of any promised pleasure,

guard yourself against being hurried away by it; but let the affair

wait y o u r leisure, and p r o c u r e yourself s o m e delay. T h e n bring

to y o u r m i n d both points of time: that in which you will enjoy

the pleasure, and that in which you will r e p e n t and r e p r o a c h

yourself after you have enjoyed it; and set before you, in o p p o s i -

tion to these, how you will be glad and applaud yourself if you

abstain. And even though it should a p p e a r to you a seasonable

gratification, take heed that its enticing, and agreeable and

attractive force may n o t s u b d u e you; b u t set in opposition to this

how m u c h better it is to be conscious of having gained so great

a victory.

35. W h e n you do a n y t h i n g f r o m a clear j u d g m e n t that it o u g h t to

be

done, never s h u n the being seen to do it, even though t h e world

should make a w r o n g supposition about it; for, if you don't act

right, shun t h e action itself; but, if you do, why are you afraid of

those who censure you wrongly?

36. As the proposition, "Either it is day or it is night," is e x t r e m e l y

p r o p e r for a disjunctive argument, but quite i m p r o p e r in a c o n -

junctive one, so, at a feast, to choose the largest s h a r e is very

suitable to the bodily appetite, but u t t e r l y inconsistent with the

social spirit of an e n t e r t a i n m e n t . W h e n you eat with another,

then, r e m e m b e r not only the value of those things which are set

before you to the body, but the value of that behavior which

ought to be observed toward the person who gives the e n t e r -

tainment.

37. If you have assumed any character above y o u r strength, you

have both m a d e an ill figure in that and quitted one which you

might have s u p p o r t e d .

38. W h e n walking, you are careful not to step on a nail or turn y o u r

foot; so likewise be careful not to h u r t the ruling faculty of your

mind. And, if we w e r e to guard against this in every action, we

should u n d e r t a k e t h e action with t h e greater safety.

39. T h e body is to everyone t h e m e a s u r e of the possessions p r o p e r

for it, just as the foot is of the shoe. If, therefore, you stop at this,

you will keep the measure; but if you move beyond it, you m u s t

102 • Epictetus

necessarily be carried forward, as down a cliff; as in the case of a

shoe, if you go beyond its fitness to the foot, it comes first to be

gilded, then p u r p l e , and then studded with jewels. For to that

which o n c e exceeds a d u e measure, t h e r e is no bound.

40. W o m e n f r o m f o u r t e e n years old are flattered with the title of

"mistresses" by t h e men. T h e r e f o r e , perceiving that they are

regarded only as qualified to give t h e m e n pleasure, they begin

to adorn themselves, and in that to place all their hopes. We

should, therefore, fix o u r attention on m a k i n g t h e m sensible that

t h e y are valued f o r t h e a p p e a r a n c e of d e c e n t , m o d e s t and dis-

c r e e t behavior.

41. It is a mark of want of genius to spend m u c h t i m e in things relat-

i n g to the body, as to be long in o u r exercises, in eating and

drinking, and in the discharge of o t h e r animal functions. T h e s e

should be d o n e incidentally and slightly, and o u r whole a t t e n -

tion be engaged in the care of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g .

42. W h e n any person h a r m s you, or speaks badly of you, r e m e m b e r

that he acts or speaks f r o m a supposition of its being his duty.

Now, it is not possible that he should follow what appears right

to you, but what appears so to himself. T h e r e f o r e , if he judges

f r o m a w r o n g appearance, he is the person hurt, since he too is

t h e person deceived. For if anyone should s u p p o s e a t r u e p r o p o -

sition to be false, t h e proposition is not hurt, but he who is

deceived about it. Setting out, then, f r o m t h e s e principles, you

will meekly bear a p e r s o n who reviles you, for you will say u p o n

every occasion, "It s e e m e d so to him."

43. E v e r y t h i n g has two handles, the one by which it may be carried,

the o t h e r by which it cannot. If y o u r b r o t h e r acts unjustly, don't

lay hold on the action by t h e handle of his injustice, for by that

it c a n n o t be carried; b u t by t h e opposite, t h a t he is y o u r brother,

t h a t he was b r o u g h t up with you; and thus you will lay hold on

it, as it is to be carried.

44. T h e s e reasonings are u n c o n n e c t e d : "I am r i c h e r than you, t h e r

e -

fore I am better"; "T am m o r e eloquent than you, t h e r e f o r e I am

better." T h e c o n n e c t i o n is rather this: "I am richer than you,

t h e r e f o r e my property-is g r e a t e r than yours"; "I am m o r e elo-

q u e n t than you, t h e r e f o r e my style is better than yours." But

you, after all, are n e i t h e r p r o p e r t y n o r style.

The Enchiridion • 103

45. Does anyone b a t h e in a mighty little time? D o n ' t say that he

does it ill, but in a mighty little time. D o e s anyone drink a great

quantity of wine? D o n ' t say that he does ill, but that he drinks a

great quantity. For, unless you perfectly u n d e r s t a n d t h e prin-

ciple from which anyone acts, how should you know if he acts

ill? T h u s vou will not r u n the hazard of assenting to any a p p e a r -

ances but such as you fully c o m p r e h e n d .

46. N e v e r call yourself a philosopher, nor talk a great deal a m o n g

the u n l e a r n e d a b o u t theorems, but act c o n f o r m a b l y to t h e m .

T h u s , at an e n t e r t a i n m e n t , don't talk how p e r s o n s o u g h t to eat,

but eat as you ought. For r e m e m b e r that in this m a n n e r Socrates

also universally avoided all ostentation. x\nd when persons c a m e

to him and desired to be r e c o m m e n d e d bv him to philosophers,

he took and- - r e c o m m e n d e d them, so well did he bear being

overlooked. So that if ever any talk should h a p p e n a m o n g t h e

u n l e a r n e d c o n c e r n i n g philosophic t h e o r e m s , be you, for t h e

most part, silent. For there is great d a n g e r in i m m e d i a t e l y

throwing out what you have not digested. And, if anyone tells

you that you know nothing, and you are not nettled at it, then

you may be sure t h a t you have b e g u n y o u r business. For s h e e p

don't throw up t h e grass to show t h e s h e p h e r d s how m u c h they

have eaten; but, inwardly digesting their food, they outwardly

p r o d u c e wool and milk. Thus, therefore, do you likewise not

show theorems to the u n l e a r n e d , but the actions p r o d u c e d by

t h e m after they have been digested.

47. W h e n you have b r o u g h t yourself to supply the necessities of

y o u r body at a small price, d o n ' t p i q u e yourself u p o n it; nor, if

you drink water, be saying u p o n every occasion, "I drink water."

But first consider how m u c h m o r e sparing and patient of h a r d -

ship the p o o r are than we. But if at any time you would i n u r e

yourself by exercise to labor, and b e a r i n g hard trials, do it for

your own sake, and not for the world; don't grasp statues, but,

when you are violently thirsty, take a little cold water in y o u r

m o u t h , and spurt it o u t and tell nobody.

48. T h e condition and characteristic of a vulgar p e r s o n , is, t h a t he

never expects e i t h e r benefit or h u r t f r o m himself, b u t f r o m

externals. T h e condition and characteristic of a p h i l o s o p h e r is,

t h a t he expects all h u r t and benefit f r o m himself. T h e marks of

104 • Epictetus

a proficient are, that he censures no one, praises no one, b l a m e s

no one, accuses no one, says n o t h i n g c o n c e r n i n g himself as

being anybody, or k n o w i n g anything: w h e n he is, in any

instance, hindered or restrained, he accuses himself; and, if he is

praised, he secretly laughs at the person w h o praises him; and, if

he is censured, he makes no defense. But he goes about with the

caution of sick or i n j u r e d people, d r e a d i n g to move a n y t h i n g

t h a t is set right, b e f o r e it is p e r f e c t l y fixed. He suppresses all

desire in himself; he transfers his aversion to t h o s e things only

which thwart the p r o p e r u s e of our own faculty of choice; t h e

exertion of his active powers toward a n y t h i n g is very gentle; if

he appears stupid or ignorant, he does n o t care, and, in a word,

he watches himself as an enemy, and o n e in ambush.

49. W h e n anyone shows himself overly confident in ability to

u n d e r s t a n d and i n t e r p r e t the works of C h r y s i p p u s , say to y o u r

-

self, "Unless C h r y s i p p u s had written obscurely, this person

would have had no subject f o r his vanity. But w h a t do I desire?

To u n d e r s t a n d n a t u r e and follow her. I ask, then, who i n t e r p r e t s

her, and, finding C h r y s i p p u s does, I have r e c o u r s e to him. 1 d o n ' t

u n d e r s t a n d his writings. I seek, therefore, one to i n t e r p r e t

them." So far t h e r e is n o t h i n g to value myself u p o n . And when I

find an interpreter, what remains is to m a k e u s e of his i n s t r u c -

tions. T h i s alone is the valuable thing. But, if I admire n o t h i n g

but m e r e l y the i n t e r p r e t a t i o n , what do I b e c o m e m o r e than a

g r a m m a r i a n instead of a philosopher? E x c e p t , indeed, t h a t

instead of H o m e r I i n t e r p r e t C h r y s i p p u s . W h e n anyone, t h e r e -

fore, desires me to read C h r y s i p p u s to him, I rather blush when

I c a n n o t show my actions agreeable and consonant to his dis-

course.

50. W h a t e v e r moral rules you have deliberately proposed to y o u r -

self. abide by t h e m as they w e r e laws, and as if you would be

guilty of i m p i e t y by violating any of t h e m . D o n ' t regard what

a n y o n e says of you, for this, after all, is no concern of yours.

H o w long, then, will you p u t off thinking yourself w o r t h y of t h e

highest i m p r o v e m e n t s and follow the d i s t i n c d o n s of reason? You

have received t h e philosophical theorems, with which you

o u g h t to be familiar, and you have been familiar with them.

The Enchiridion • 105

W h a t other master, then, do you wait for, to throw u p o n that the

delay of r e f o r m i n g yourself? You are no longer a hoy, b u t a

grown man. If, therefore, you will be negligent and slothful, and

always add procrastination to procrastination, p u r p o s e to p u r -

pose, and fix day after day in which you will attend to yourself,

you will insensibly continue w i t h o u t proficiency, and, living and

dying, p e r s e v e r e in being one of t h e vulgar. T h i s instant, then,

think yourself w o r t h y of living as a man grown up, and a profi-

cient Let w h a t e v e r appears to be the best be to you an invio-

lable law. And if any instance of pain or pleasure, or glory or

disgrace, is set b e f o r e you, r e m e m b e r that now is the combat,

now t h e O l y m p i a d comes on, nor can it be p u t off. Ry o n c e

being d e f e a t e d and giving way, proficiency is lost, or by the con-

trary preserved. T h u s Socrates b e c a m e perfect, improving him-

self by everything, attending to n o t h i n g but reason. And though

you are n o t yet a Socrates, you o u g h t , however, to live as o n e

desirous of b e c o m i n g a Socrates.

51. T h e first and most necessary topic in philosophy is that of t h e use

of moral theorems, such as, "We ought not to lie"; t h e second is

that of demonstrations, such as, " W h a t is the origin of o u r obli-

gation not to lie"; the third gives strength and articulation to the

o t h e r two, such as, " W h a t is the origin of this is a demonstration."

For what is demonstration? W h a t is consequence? W h a t contra-

diction? W h a t truth? W h a t falsehood? T h e third topic, then, is

necessary on the account of t h e second, and the second on the

account of the first. Rut the most necessary, and that whereon we

ought to rest, is the first. Rut we act just on the contrary. For we

spend all o u r t i m e on the third topic, and employ all o u r dili-

g e n c e about that, and entirely neglect the first. T h e r e f o r e , at the

same time that we lie, we are i m m e d i a t e l y prepared to show how

it is d e m o n s t r a t e d that lying is not right.

52. U p o n all occasions we o u g h t to have these maxims r e a d y at

hand:

" C o n d u c t me, Jove, and you, oh Destiny,

Wherever your decrees have fixed my station."

Cleanthes

• Epictetus

"I follow cheerfully; and, did T not,

Wicked and wretched, I must follow still

Whoever yields properly to Fate, is deemed

Wise among men, and knows the laws of

heaven."

Euripides, Fragments
And this third;

"O Crito, if it thus pleases the gods, thus let it

be. Anytus and Melitus may kill me indeed,

but hurt me they cannot."

Plato's Crito and Apology

CHAPTER 4

ST. A U G U S T I N E

St. Augustine penned one of the first great autobiographies in the

•Western tradition. His Confessions covers the first thirty-three years of

his life and his journey from scoffing at Christianity to becoming one

of the doctors of the Church. It is on the basis of this very candid

self-study, and a biography by his friend and contemporary Bishop

Possidius, that we know so many of the details of his remarkable life.

Aurelius Augustine was born in November, A.D. 354, in the N o r t h

African town of Tagaste (in what is now Algeria). Tagaste was a back-

water of the disintegrating Roman Empire. Augustine's pagan father,

Patricius, was a middle-class magistrate, and his mother, Monica, was

a devout Christian consumed with the desire to see her son accept

Christ as his savior.

Augustine was first educated at h o m e and then sent to school in

the nearby town of Madaura, where he studied Greek and Latin. In

his Confessions; Augustine complained that his parents were so filled

with worldly ambition that they were more concerned about his aca-

demic success than his character. T h e r e may have been some truth to

that accusation.

T h o u g h in tight financial circumstances, his father was able to

save enough money to send his gifted son to school in the city of

Carthage. T h e paterfamilias, who was baptized on his deathbed, died

soon after his son arrived in Carthage.

108 - St. Augustine

In C a r t h a g e , A u g u s t i n e took a c o n c u b i n e to whom he was v e r y

d e v o t e d . T h e two had o n e child, Adeodatus, w h o perished in c h i l d -

hood. A u g u s t i n e s t u d i e d philosophy and rhetoric. As a n i n e t e e n -

y e a r - o l d student, he was spellbound by Cicero's dialogue Hortensius.

T h i s work survives o n l y in f r a g m e n t s but we know that it was

i n t e n d e d to inspire a passion for philosophy and that it did f o r t h e

y o u n g Augustine. He wrote, " S u d d e n l y all t h e vanity that I had

h o p e d in I saw as worthless, and with an i n c r e d i b l e intensity of desire

I longed after i m m o r t a l w i s d o m " ( Confessions, III, 4).

At t h e time, A u g u s t i n e f o u n d Christianity a tissue of problems.

T a k e n literally, t h e r e w e r e m a n y cases in w h i c h biblical figures seem

to c o m m i t immoral acts. Moreover, t h e f u t u r e saint judged that

C h r i s t i a n i t y failed to o f f e r a sound explanation of the origins of evil.

A u g u s t i n e f o u n d cogent responses to this p r o b l e m in t h e Persian

religion of M a n i c h e a n i s m . Followers of M a n i (A.D. 216-277), t h e

M a n i c h e a n s believed that t h e r e are two c o m p e t i n g principles in the

cosmos, light and darkness, or spirit and matter. T h e individual is a

b a t t l e g r o u n d b e t w e e n t h e s e p r i m a l forces.

At t h e t e r m i n u s of his studies, Augustine r e t u r n e d to Tagaste for

a s h o r t time and then w e n t on to o f f e r i n s t r u c t i o n in r h e t o r i c

and

public s p e a k i n g in C a r t h a g e . From there, and with t h e help of his

p o w e r f u l network of M a n i c h e a n friends, he secured t e a c h i n g posi-

tions in R o m e and Milan. As he moved f r o m post to post, he was

a c c o m p a n i e d by his mother, M o n i c a .

A l t h o u g h he would b e c o m e a f e r v e n t believer, Augustine was well

s t u d i e d in the skeptical tradition and had a p o w e r f u l p r o p e n s i t y for

doubt. E v e n before he left f o r Rome, he was b e g i n n i n g to have mis-

givings about the superstitions and metaphysics of the M a n i c h e a n

system.

In M i l a n he h e a r d the silver-tongued p r e a c h i n g of Ambrose.

A m b r o s e b r o u g h t Christi an beliefs and N e o p l a t o n i s m t o g e t h e

r in a

way t h a t eased Augustine's intellectual qualms about Christianity.

But Augustine was still a lustful man with a divided will, a man who

o n c e looked to G o d and said, "Give me chastity and continence, but

not yet." However, t h e r e was no m o r e "not yet" after t h e s u m m e r of

A.D. 386. At that time, he heard a childlike voice c o m i n g f r o m his

M i l a n e s e garden and telling him over and over again, "Take up and

read." D u m b s t r u c k , the great i n t e r p r e t e r i n t e r p r e t e d these

words to

Ethics: The Essential Writings • 109

mean that he should go and open his Bible. Augustine writes, "I

seized, opened, and in silence read that section on which my eyes

first fell (Rom. 13:13): ' N o t in rioting and drunkenness, not in cham-

bering and wantonness, not in strife and envying; but put ye on the

Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, in concupis-

cence.' No further would I read; nor needed I: for instantly at the end

of this sentence, by a light as it were of serenity infused into my

heart, all the darkness of doubt vanished away."

T h i r t y - t w o years old, Augustine was baptized by Ambrose at the

Raster Vigil service in A.D. 387. In A.D. 391 he was ordained a priest

and a few years later was appointed Bishop of Hippo. He remained

Bishop for the next thirty-one years. D u r i n g that interval, he was a

whirl of activity, engaging in debates about heresy with the Donatists

and the Pelagians.

Augustine brought philosophical respectability to Christianity

He wrote voluminously on such issues as the nature of God, evil, the

soul, and free will. His two most famous works are his Confessions and

the City of God. Augustine died in A.D. 430 with the Vandals literally at

the gates of the city. T h e man who once bid God to take his time in

saving him was canonized in 1298 and recognized as one of the four

doctors of the Church. For Plato, everything that exists participates

in the form of t h e Good. Thus, there is nothing that is not good (evil)

that exists. Evil is an absence. Substitute G o d for Plato's form of the

Good, and you have cracked the door open to Augustine's ethic. For

Augustine there is nothing that is intrinsically good but God. As part

of His creation, God's moral law is written into our hearts. Evil stems

in part from a disorder in our hearts or desires. While we o u g h t to

love and desire God above all else, it is honor, health, or fame that we

crave most. When the will submits to these unruly desires, we trans-

gress. Augustine took the story of the fall of Adam quite literally and

held that we were born valuing most what matters least. To listen to

the Bishop of Hippo, righteousness requires the grace of God to help

us reorder our desires.

C I T Y O F G O D : BOOK X I X
4. What, the Christians believe regarding the supreme good and evil, in
opposition

to the philosophers, who have maintained that the supreme good is in themselves

If, then, we be asked what the city of G o d has to say upon these

points, and, in the first place, what its opinion regarding the supreme

good and evil is, it will reply that life eternal is the supreme good,

death eternal the supreme evil, and that to obtain the one and escape

the other we must live rightly. And thus it is written, " T h e just live

by faith," for we do not as yet see our good, and must therefore live

by faith; neither have we in ourselves power to live rightly, but can do

SO only if He who has given us faith to believe in His help do help us

when we believe and pray. As for those who have supposed that the

sovereign good and evil are to be found in this life, and have placed

it either in the soul or the body, or in both, or, to speak more explic-

itly, either in pleasure or in virtue, or in both; in repose or in virtue,

or in both; in pleasure and repose, or in virtue, or in all combined; in

the primary objects of nature, or in virtue, or in hoth—all these have,

with a marvelous shallowness, sought to find their blessedness in this

life and in themselves. C o n t e m p t has been poured upon such ideas

by the Truth, saying by the prophet, "The Lord knoweth the

thoughts of men" (or, as the Apostle Paul cites the passage, " T h e
Lord knoweth t h e thoughts of the wise") "that they are vain."

City of God: Book XIX • 111

For what flood of eloquence can suffice to detail the miseries of

this life? Cicero, in the Consolation on the death of his daughter, has

spent all his ability in lamentation; but how inadequate was even his

ability here? For when, where, how, in this life can these primary

objects of nature be possessed so that they may not be assailed by

unforeseen accident? Is the body of the wise man exempt from

any pain which may dispel pleasure, from any disquietude which

may banish repose? T h e amputation or decay of the members of the

body puts an end to its integrity, deformity blights its beauty, weak-

ness its health, lassitude its vigor, sleepiness or sluggishness its

activity—and which of these is it that may not assail the flesh of the

wise man? Comely and fitting attitudes and movements of the body

are numbered among the prime natural blessings; but what if some

sickness makes the members tremble? what if a man suffers from cur-

vature of the spine to such an extent that his hands reach the ground,

and he goes upon all-fours like a quadruped? Does not this destroy

all beauty and grace in the body, whether at rest or in motion? W h a t

shall I say of the fundamental blessings of the soul, sense and intel-

lect, of which the one is given for the perception, and the other for
the comprehension of truth? But what kind of sense is it that remains

when a man becomes deaf and blind? where are reason and intellect

when disease makes a man delirious? We can scarcely, or not at all,

refrain from tears, when we think of or see t h e actions and words of

such frantic persons, and consider how different from and even

opposed to their own sober judgment and ordinary conduct their

present demeanor is. And what shall I say of those who suffer from

demoniacal possession? W h e r e is their own intelligence hidden and

buried while the malignant spirit is using their body and soul accord-

ing to his own will? And who is quite sure that no such thing can hap-

pen to the wise man in this life? Then, as to the perception of truth,

what can we hope for even in this way while in the body, as we read

in the true book of Wisdom, "The corruptible body weigheth down

the soul, and the earthly tabernacle presseth down the miijd that

museth upon many things?" And eagerness, or desire of action, if

this is the right meaning to put upon the Greek 5p|irj, is also reck-

oned among the primary advantages of nature; and yet is it not this

which produces those pitiable movements of the insane, and those

112 - St. Augustine

actions which we s h u d d e r to see, when sense is deceived and reason

deranged?
In fine, v i r t u e itself, which is not a m o n g t h e p r i m a r y objects of

nature, b u t succeeds to t h e m as t h e result of learning, t h o u g h it holds

the h i g h e s t place a m o n g h u m a n good things, w h a t is its occupation

save to wage p e r p e t u a l war with v i c e s — n o t those that are o u t s i d e

of

us, b u t within; not other men's, but our o w n — a war which is waged

especially by t h a t v i r t u e which t h e G r e e k s call aGMppOOUvri, and we

t e m p e r a n c e , and which bridles carnal lusts, and prevents t h e m from

w i n n i n g the consent of the spirit to wicked deeds? For we m u s t not

fancy that t h e r e is no vice in us, when, as the apostle says, " T h e flesh

Iusteth against the spirit"; for to this vice there is a c o n t r a r y virtue,

when, as t h e same writer says, " T h e spirit Iusteth against the flesh."

"For t h e s e two," he says, "are c o n t r a r y o n e to t h e other, so that you

c a n n o t do the things which you would." But w h a t is it we wish to do

w h e n we seek to attain t h e s u p r e m e good, unless t h a t t h e flesh should

cease to lust against t h e spirit, and that t h e r e be no vice in us against

which the spirit may lust? And as we c a n n o t attain to this in t h e pres-

e n t life, however ardently we desire it, let us by G o d ' s help a c c o m -

plish at least this, to preserve the soul f r o m s u c c u m b i n g and yielding

to t h e flesh that lusts against it, and to r e f u s e o u r c o n s e n t to t h e p e r -

p e t r a t i o n of sin. Far be it f r o m us, then, to fancy that while we are still

engaged in this intestine war, we have already f o u n d the happiness

which we seek to reach by victory. And who is t h e r e so wise that he

has no conflict at all to maintain against his vices?

W h a t shall I say of that v i r t u e which is called p r u d e n c e ? Is not all

its vigilance spent in the d i s c e r n m e n t of good f r o m evil things, so

that no mistake may be admitted about what we should desire and

what avoid? And thus it is itself a proof t h a t we are in the midst of

evils, or that evils are in us; for it teaches us that it is an evil to c o n -

sent to sin, and a good to r e f u s e this consent. And yet this evil, to

which p r u d e n c e teaches and t e m p e r a n c e enables us n o t to consent, is

removed f r o m this life n e i t h e r by p r u d e n c e nor by t e m p e r a n c e .

And

justice, whose office it is to r e n d e r to every m a n his due, w h e r e b y

t h e r e is in man himself a certain just order of n a t u r e , so that t h e soul

is subjected to G o d , and t h e flesh to the soul, and c o n s e q u e n t l y both

soul and flesh to G o d — d o e s not this v i r t u e d e m o n s t r a t e that it is as

yet r a t h e r laboring toward its end than resting in its finished work?

City of God: Book XIX • 113

For the soul is so much the less subjected to G o d as it is less occupied

with the thought of God; and the flesh is so much the less subjected

to the spirit as it lusts more vehemently against the spirit. So long,

therefore, as we are beset by this weakness, this plague, this disease,

how shall we dare to say that we are safe? and if not safe, then how

can we be already enjoying our final beatitude? T h e n that virtue

which goes by the name of fortitude is the plainest proof of the ills of

life, for it is these ills which it is compelled to bear patiently. And this

holds good, no matter though the ripest wisdom co-exists with it.

And 1 am at a loss to understand how the Stoic philosophers can pre-

sume to say that these are no ills, though at the same time they allow

the wise man to commit suicide and pass out of this life if they

become so grievous that he cannot or ought not to e n d u r e them. But

such is the stupid pride of these men who fancy that the supreme

good can be found in this life, and that they can become happy by

their own resources, that their wise man, or at least the man whom

they fancifully depict as such, is always happy, even though he

become blind, deaf, dumb, mutilated, racked with pains, or suffer any

conceivable calamity such as may compel him make away with him-

self; and they are not ashamed to call the life that is beset with these

evils happy. O happy life, which seeks the aid of death to end it? If it

is happy, let the wise m a n remain in it; but if these ills drive him out

of it, in what sense is it happy? Or how can they say that these are not

evils which conquer t h e virtue of fortitude, and force it not only to

yield, but so to rave that it in one breath calls life happy and recom-

mends it to be given up? For who is so blind as not to see that if it

were happy it would not be fled from? And if they say we should flee

from it on account of the infirmities that beset it, why then do they

not lower their pride and acknowledge that it is miserable? Was it, I

would ask, fortitude or weakness which prompted Cato to kill him-

self? for he would not have done so had he not been too weak to

e n d u r e Cesar's victory. Where, then, is his fortitude? It has yielded,

it has succumbed, it has been so thoroughly overcome as to abandon,

forsake, flee this happy life. Or was it no longer happy? T h e n it was

miserable. How, then, were these not evils which m a d e life miserable,

and a thing to be escaped from?

And therefore those who admit that these are evils, as the Peri-

patetics do, and the Old Academy, t h e sect with Varro advocates,

114 - St. Augustine

express a m o r e intelligible doctrine; but theirs also is a surprising mis-

take, for they contend that this is a happy life which is beset by these

evils, even though they be so great that he who e n d u r e s t h e m should

c o m m i t suicide to escape them. "Pains and anguish of body," says

Varro, "are evils, and so m u c h the worse in p r o p o r t i o n to their sever-

ity; and to escape them you m u s t quit this life." W h a t life, 1 pray? T h i s
life, he says, which is oppressed by such evils. T h e n it is happy in t h e

midst of these very evils on account of which you say we m u s t quit it?

Or do you call it happy because you are at liberty to escape these evils

by death? W h a t , then, if by some secret j u d g m e n t of G o d you were

held fast and not permitted to die, nor suffered to live without these

evils? In that case, at least, you would say that such a life was miser-

able. It is soon relinquished, no doubt, but this does not make it not

miserable; for were it eternal, you yourself would p r o n o u n c e it miser-

able. Its brevity, therefore, does not clear it of misery; neither ought it

to be called happiness because it is a brief misery. Certainly t h e r e is a

m i g h t y force in these evils which compel a m a n — a c c o r d i n g to them,

even a wise m a n — t o cease to be a man that he may escape them,

t h o u g h they say, and say truly, that it is as it w e r e t h e first and

strongest d e m a n d of nature that a man cherish himself, and naturally

t h e r e f o r e avoid death, and should so stand his own friend as to wish

and v e h e m e n t l y aim at c o n t i n u i n g to exist as a living creature, and

subsisting in this union of soul and body. T h e r e is a mighty force in

these evils to overcome this natural instinct by which death is by

every m e a n s and with all a man's efforts avoided, and to overcome it

so completely that what was avoided is desired, sought after, and if it

c a n n o t in any other way be obtained, is inflicted by the man on h i m -

self. T h e r e is a mighty force in these evils which make fortitude a

h o m i c i d e — i f , indeed, that is to be called f o r t i t u d e which is so t h o r

-

oughly overcome by these evils, that it not only cannot preserve by

p a t i e n c e the man whom it u n d e r t o o k to govern and defend, but is

itself obliged to kill him. T h e wise man, I admit, ought to bear death

with patience, but when it is in flicted by another. If, then, as these men

maintain, he is obliged to inflict it on himself, certainly it m u s t be

o w n e d that t h e ills which c o m p e l him to this are not only evils, b u t

intolerable evils. T h e life, then, which is either subject to accidents, or

environed with evils so considerable and grievous, could never have

been called happy, if t h e m e n who give it this n a m e had condescended

City of God: Bonk XIX • 115

to yield to the truth, and to be conquered by valid arguments, when

they inquired after the happy life, as they yield to unhappiness, and

are overcome by overwhelming evils, w h e n they put themselves to

death, and if they had not fancied that the s u p r e m e good was to be

found in this mortal life; for the very virtues of this life, which are cer-

tainly its best and most useful possessions, are all the m o r e telling

proofs of its miseries in proportion as they are helpful against the vio-

lence of its dangers, toils, and woes. For if these are t r u e v i r t u e s — a n d

such cannot exist save in those who have t r u e p i e t y — t h e y do n o t pro-

fess to be able to deliver the men who possess them from all miseries;

for t r u e virtues tell no such lies, but they profess that by the hope of

the f u t u r e world this life, which is miserably involved in the m a n y and

great evils of this world, is happy as it is also safe. For if not yet safe,

how could it be happy? And therefore the Apostle Paul, speaking not

of men without p r u d e n c e , temperance, fortitude, and justice, b u t of

those whose lives were regulated by t r u e piety, and whose virtues

were therefore true, says, "For we are saved by hope: now h o p e which

is seen is not hope; for what a man seeth, why doth he yet h o p e for?

But if we h o p e for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for

it." As, therefore, we are saved, so we are m a d e happy by hope. And as

we do not as yet possess a present, but look for a f u t u r e salvation, so is

it with o u r happiness, and this "with patience"; for we are e n c o m -

passed with evils, which we ought patiently to endure, until we c o m e

to t h e ineffable e n j o y m e n t of u n m i x e d good; for there shall be no

longer anything to endure. Salvation, such as it shall be in the world

to come, shall itself be o u r final happiness And this happiness these

philosophers r e f u s e to believe in, because they do not see it, and

a t t e m p t to fabricate for themselves a happiness in this life, based u p o n

a v i r t u e which is as deceitful as it is proud.

116 - St. Augustine

CHAPTF.R I V

THE PROBLEM OF EVIL

12. All of nature, therefore, is good, since the C r e a t o r of all n a t u r e is

s u p r e m e l y good. But n a t u r e is not s u p r e m e l y and i m m u t a b l y

good as

is t h e C r e a t o r of it. T h u s t h e good in created things can he d i m i n -

ished and augmented. For good to be diminished is evil; still, h o w -

ever m u c h it is diminished, s o m e t h i n g m u s t r e m a i n of its original

n a t u r e as l o n g as it exists at all. For no m a t t e r w h a t kind or however

insignificant a thing may be, t h e good which is its "nature" cannot he

destroyed w i t h o u t the t h i n g itself being destroyed. T h e r e is good

reason, therefore, to praise an u n c o r r u p t e d thing, and if it were

indeed an i n c o r r u p t i b l e thing which could not be destroyed, it would

doubtless he all t h e m o r e w o r t h y of praise. W h e n , however, a t h i n g is

c o r r u p t e d , its c o r r u p t i o n is an evil because it is, by just so m u c h , a

privation of the good. W h e r e t h e r e is no privation of the good, t h e r e

is no evil. W h e r e t h e r e is evil, t h e r e is a c o r r e s p o n d i n g d i m i n u
t i o n of

the good. As long, then, as a thing is being c o r r u p t e d , t h e r e is good in

it of which it is being deprived; and in this process, if s o m e t h i n g of its

being r e m a i n s t h a t c a n n o t be f u r t h e r c o r r u p t e d , this will then

be an

i n c o r r u p t i b l e entity [ natura incorruptibilis\, and to this great good it

will have c o m e t h r o u g h t h e process of c o r r u p t i o n . But even if the

c o r r u p t i o n is n o t arrested, it still does not cease having s o m e good of

which it c a n n o t be f u r t h e r deprived. If, however, the c o r r u p t i o n

c o m e s to be total and entire, t h e r e is no good left either, because it is

no longer an entity at all. W h e r e f o r e c o r r u p t i o n c a n n o t c o n s u m

e t h e

good w i t h o u t also c o n s u m i n g t h e thing itself. Every actual entity

[natura] is t h e r e f o r e good; a g r e a t e r good if it c a n n o t be c o r r u p t

e d , a

lesser good if it can be. Yet only the foolish and u n k n o w i n g can deny

t h a t it is Still good even when c o r r u p t e d . W h e n e v e r a thing is c o n -

s u m e d by c o r r u p t i o n , not even t h e c o r r u p t i o n remains, for it is n

o t h -

i n g in itself, having no subsistent being in w h i c h to exist.

1 3. F r o m this it follows t h a t t h e r e is n o t h i n g to he called evil if

t h e r e is n o t h i n g good. A good that wholly lacks an evil aspect is

e n t i r e l y good. W h e r e t h e r e is s o m e evil in a thing, its good is d e f e c

-

tive or defectible. T h u s t h e r e can be no evil w h e r e t h e r e is no good.

City of God: Book XIX • 111

T h i s leads us to a surprising conclusion: that, since every being, inso-

far as it is a being, is good, if we then say that a defective thing is bad,

it would seem to m e a n t h a t we are saying that w h a t is evil is good,

that only what is good is ever evil and t h a t t h e r e is no evil apart f r o m

something good. T h i s is because every actual entity is good \omnis

natura bonum est]. N o t h i n g evil exists in itself hwt only as an evil aspect

of s o m e actual entity. T h e r e f o r e , there can be n o t h i n g evil except

s o m e t h i n g good. Absurd as this sounds, nevertheless the logical con-

nections of the a r g u m e n t compel us to it as inevitable. At t h e same

time, we m u s t take warning lest we incur the prophetic j u d g m e n t

which reads: "Woe to t h o s e who call evil good and good evil: who call

darkness light and light darkness; who call the bitter sweet and the

sweet bitter." M o r e o v e r the Lord himself saith: "An evil man brings

forth evil out of t h e evil treasure of his heart." What, then, is an

evil man b u t an evil entity [natura mala], since man is an entity? Now,

if a man is something good because he is an entity, what, then, is a bad

m a n except an evil good? W h e n , however, we distinguish between

these two concepts, we find that the bad man is not bad because he is

a m a n , nor is he good because he is wicked. Rather, he is a good entity

insofar as he is a man, evil insofar as he is wicked. T h e r e f o r e , if a n y -

o n e says t h a t simply to be a man is evil, or that to be a wicked man is

good, he rightly falls u n d e r the p r o p h e t i c judgment: "Woe to him

who calls evil good and good evil." For this a m o u n t s to finding fault

with God's work, because man is an entity of God's creation. It also

m e a n s t h a t we are praising the defects in this particular man because

he is a wicked person. T h u s , every entity, even if it is a defective one,

insofar as it is an entity, is good. Insofar as it is defective, it is evil.

14. Actually, then, in these two contraries we call evil and good,

the rule of t h e logicians fails to apply* No weather is both dark and

bright at the same time; no food or drink is both sweet and sour at t h e

s a m e time; no body is, at t h e same time and place, both white and

black, n o r d e f o r m e d and well-formed at t h e same time. T h i s p r i n -

ciple is found to apply in almost all disjunctions: two contraries can-

not coexist in a single thing. Nevertheless, while no one maintains

that good and evil are not contraries, they can not only coexist, b u t

t h e evil cannot exist at all w i t h o u t the good, or in a thing that is not a

' T h i s refers to Aristotle's well-known principle of "the excluded middle "

118 - St. Augustine

good. On the o t h e r hand, the good can exist w i t h o u t evil. For a man

or an ange! could exist and yet not be wicked, whereas there c a n n o t

be wickedness except in a m a n or an angel. It is good to be a m a n ,

good to be an angel; but evil to be wicked. T h e s e two contraries are

thus coexistent, so t h a t if t h e r e were no good in w h a t is evil, then the

evil simply could n o t he, since it can have no m o d e in which to exist,

n o r any source f r o m w h i c h c o r r u p t i o n springs, unless it be s o m e -

thing corruptible. Unless this s o m e t h i n g is good, it cannot be cor-

r u p t e d , because c o r r u p t i o n is n o t h i n g m o r e than t h e deprivation

of

the good. Evils, therefore, have t h e i r source in t h e good, and unless

they are parasitic on s o m e t h i n g good, they are not anything at all.

T h e r e is no o t h e r source w h e n c e an evil thing can c o m e to be. If this

is t h e case, then, insofar as a thing is an entity, it is u n q u e s t i o n a b l y

good. If it is an i n c o r r u p t i b l e entity, it is a great good. But even if it is

a c o r r u p t i b l e entity, it still has no m o d e of existence except as an

aspect of s o m e t h i n g that is good. Only by c o r r u p t i n g s o m e t h i n g

good

can c o r r u p t i o n inflict injury.

1 5. But when we say that evil has its s o u r c e in the good, do not

s u p p o s e that this denies o u r Lord's judgment: "A good tree c a n n o t

bear evil fruit." T h i s c a n n o t be, even as t h e T r u t h himself declareth:

" M e n do not gather grapes f r o m thorns," since thorns c a n n o t bear

grapes. Nevertheless, f r o m good soil we can see both vines and

thorns s p r i n g up. Likewise, just as a bad tree does n o t grow good fruit,

so also an evil will does not p r o d u c e good deeds. From a h u m a n

nature, which is good in itself, there can spring forth either a good or
an evil will. T h e r e was no o t h e r place f r o m w h e n c e evil could have

arisen in t h e first place except f r o m t h e n a t u r e — g o o d in itself—of an

angel or a man. T h i s is w h a t o u r Lord himself most clearly shows in

the passage about the trees and the fruits, for he said: "Make the tree

good and the fruits will be good, or make t h e t r e e bad and its f r u i t s

will be bad," T h i s is warning e n o u g h that bad f r u i t cannot grow on a

good tree n o r good fruit on a bad one. Yet f r o m that same earth to

which he was referring, both sorts of trees can grow.

CHAPTER 5

ST. T H O M A S A Q U I N A S

T h o m a s Aquinas was born in 1225 in present-day Lazio, Sicily. His

family was very wealthy and well connected. Thomas's brothers were

in the military and the plan for him was to become a cleric in a pow-

erful order.

A highly precocious student, T h o m a s began his studies at the

abbey that his uncle directed at M o n t e Casino. At fourteen, he

became a student at t h e University of Naples. H e r e he came u n d e r

the influence of a Dominican priest and joined the order. T h e

Dominicans took vows of poverty and this did not sit well with his

upwardly mobile parents. Knowing his parents' feelings, the Domini-

cans arranged for T h o m a s to be sent to Paris. On the way, he was kid-

napped by his brothers and imprisoned in his parents' castle. T h e

family tried everything to dissuade him from joining the Dominicans,

including sending a prostitute to his room. According to legend,

T h o m a s drove her away with a burning stick. Finally the family

relented and allowed him to join the order of mendicants.

After a stay in Naples, Aquinas was sent to study at the Universitv

of Paris, where he came under the aegis of Albertus Magnus (Albert

the Great). D u r i n g the Middle Ages, the works of Aristotle had m o r e

or less disappeared from the curriculum. However, there were dis-

coveries of long-lost texts. Albert the G r e a t was occupied in resusci-

tating interest in Aristotle's work and establishing that it was

120 • St. Thomas Aquinas

c o m p a t i b l e with Christianity. Aquinas m a d e i m p o r t a n t contributions

to the effort to bring Aristotle into the fold of p h i l o s o p h e r s a c c e p t -

able to t h e C h u r c h .

Aquinas was ordained in C o l o g n e in 1251 and then w e n t to Paris

for f u r t h e r studies. He received his master's in t h e o l o g y in 1256 and

also began to teach at t h e university, w h e r e he lectured on the Bible

and began composing a c o m m e n t a r y on P e t e r L o m b a r d ' s Sentences.

Aquinas was appointed r e g e n t master in theology and as such was

d e e p in t h e fray of m a n y theological disputes. He w r o t e many tracts

on disputations about t h e faith. It was d u r i n g this p e r i o d that he c o m -

m e n c e d work on his i m m o r t a l Summa Contra Gentiles. T h o m a s ' s

itin-

erant life was filled with praying, preaching, teaching, disputations,

and writing. In 1259, T h o m a s r e t u r n e d to N a p l e s as head of the

D o m i n i c a n H o u s e of Studies but then was t r a n s f e r r e d to Orvieto,

w h e r e he was tasked with t h e education of friars u n a b l e to attend a

studium generale. Aquinas moved to R o m e in 1265 to f o u n d a study

center for the Dominicans, and r e t u r n e d to Paris in 1268 where, f o r

the second time, he was a p p o i n t e d regent of t h e university. D u r i n g

his t e n u r e as regent, he was thrust into n u m e r o u s theological

debates, m a n y of which involved the question of Aristotle's relation

to the faith.

In 1272 Aquinas was able to return to his beloved N a p l e s to estab-

lish a studium generale. W h i l e in N a p l e s , he worked on c o m p l e t i n g t

h e

third p a r t of his Summa Theologica—a d o c u m e n t t h a t has c o m e to be

officially regarded as the definitive s t a t e m e n t of t h e Catholic faith.

In D e c e m b e r 1272 T h o m a s was celebrating mass when he refused

to follow his usual r o u t i n e of dictating to his scribe. W h e n bis assis-

tant begged him to work, he r e p o r t e d l y replied, "I c a n n o t because all

that I have written seems like straw to me." O n c e a veritable w r i t i n g

machine, Aquinas wrote no more. He died a year later, in 1274.

Aquinas's worldly life after d e a t h first had its downs and then its ups.

N o t l o n g after his demise, m a n y of his views w e r e c o n d e m n e d by t h

e

Bishop of France. But fifty years after his death, P o p e J o h n XXII p r o -

n o u n c e d T h o m a s a saint. In the Divine Comedy, D a n t e places the spirit

of his c h e r i s h e d Aquinas in highest heaven.

T h o m a s was an o r o t u n d individual who was h u m b l e and slow to

speak. S o m e of his fellow s t u d e n t s and teachers t h o u g h t of t h e genius

as a d u m b ox. But in a f a m o u s line, Albert the G r e a t prophetically

Ethics: The Essmtial Writings • 121

proclaimed, "We call him the d u m b ox but in his t e a c h i n g he will one

day p r o d u c e such a bellowing that it will be heard t h r o u g h o u t t h e

world." Augustine and Aquinas bridge the worlds of Athens and

J e r u s a l e m , of reason and faith. A harbinger of the E n l i g h t e n m e n t ,

Aquinas taught that since we are God's creation and G o d gave us

reason, reason alone can discern right f r o m w r o n g in t h e f o r m of

what Aquinas called "the natural law."

T h e natura! law is above all h u m a n laws. It is t h e set of strictures

t h a t enable h u m a n s to flourish. C u s t o m s and statutes that do not

c o m p l y with this standard are false laws. And as the r e a d e r will glean
in M a r t i n L u t h e r King, Jr.'s Letter from a Birmingham Jail, it is to

Aquinas's natural law that Dr. King will appeal to legitimize his

orchestration of acts of civil disobedience.

SUM MA THEOLOGICA:

Q U E S T I O N X C I V

T H E N A T U R A L LAW

(IN SIX ARTICLES)

We m u s t now consider the natural law, c o n c e r n i n g which t h e r e are

six points of inquiry: (1) W h a t is the natural law? (2) W h a t are t h e

p r e c e p t s of t h e natural law? (3) W h e t h e r all t h e acts of the virtues are

prescribed by the natural law? (4) W h e t h e r t h e natural law is the

same in all? (5) W h e t h e r it is changeable? (6) W h e t h e r it can be abol-

ished f r o m the mind of man?

FIRST ARTICLE

WHETHER THE NATURAL LAW IS A HABIT?

We proceed thus to the First Article:—

Objection 1. It would seem that the natural law is a habit. For, as the

P h i l o s o p h e r says, there are three things in the soul,power, habit and

passion.

But t h e natural law is not o n e of the soul's powers, nor is it one of t h e

passions, as we may see by going through them o n e by one. T h e r e -

fore t h e natural law is a habit.

Obj. 2. F u r t h e r , Basil says t h a t the conscience or synderesis is the law of

our mind\ which can apply only to the natural law. But synderesis is a

Summa Tbeoloffca: Question XCIV • 123

habit, as was shown in the First Part. T h e r e f o r e the natural law is a

habit.

Obj. 3. Further, the natural law abides in man always, as will be

shown f u r t h e r on. But man's reason, which the law regards, does not

always think about t h e natural law. T h e r e f o r e the natural law is not

an act, but a habit.

On the contrary, Augustine says th at a habit is that whereby something is

done when necessary. But such is not t h e natural law, since it is in infants

and in t h e d a m n e d who cannot act by it. T h e r e f o r e the natural law is

not a habit.

I answer that, A thing may be called a habit in two ways. First,

p r o p e r l y and essentially, and thus t h e natural law is not a habit. For it

has been stated above that the natural law is s o m e t h i n g appointed

by reason, just as a proposition is a work of reason. N o w that which

a man does is not t h e same as that w h e r e b y he does it, for he makes

a b e c o m i n g speech by the habit of grammar. Since, then, a habit

is that by which we act, a law cannot be a habit p r o p e r l y and

essentially.

Secondly, the term habit may be applied to that which we hold by

a habit. T h u s faith may mean that which we hold by faith. Accordingly,

since the precepts of the natural law are sometimes considered by

reason actually, while sometimes they are in the reason only h a b i t u -

ally, in this way t h e natural law may be called a habit. So, too, in spec-

ulative matters, the i n d e m o n s t r a b l e principles are not t h e habit itself

w h e r e b y we hold these principles; they are r a t h e r the principles of

which we possess t h e habit.

Reply Obj. 1. T h e P h i l o s o p h e r proposes t h e r e to discover t h e genus

of virtue; and since it is evident that virtue is a principle of action, he

mentions only those things which are principles of h u m a n acts, viz.,

powers, habits and passions. But there are o t h e r things in t h e soul

besides these three: e.g. , acts, as to will is in t h e o n e that wills; again,

there are things known in t h e knower; moreover its own natural

p r o p e r t i e s are in the soul, such as i m m o r t a l i t y and the like.

Reply Obj. 2. Synderesis is said to be the law of our intellect because

it is a habit containing t h e p r e c e p t s of the natural law, which are t h e

first principles of h u m a n actions.

Reply Obj. 3. T h i s a r g u m e n t proves that the natural law is held

habitually; and this is granted.

124 • St. Thomas Aquinas

To the argument advanced in the contrary sense we reply that s o m e -

times a man is u n a b l e to make use of that which is in him habitually,

because of s o m e i m p e d i m e n t . T h u s , because of sleep, a man is u n a b

l e

to use t h e habit of science. In like manner, t h r o u g h t h e deficiency of

his age, a child cannot use the habit of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g of p r i n -

ciples, or the natural law, which is in him habitually.

SECOND ARTICLE

WHETHER THE NATURAL IAW CONTAINS SEVERAL PRECEPTS, OR

ONLY ONE?

We proceed thus to the Second Article.—

Objection 1. It would seem t h a t t h e natural law contains, not several

precepts, b u t only one. For law is a kind of p r e c e p t , as was stated

above. If t h e r e f o r e t h e r e w e r e m a n y p r e c e p t s of the natural law, it

would follow t h a t t h e r e are also m a n y natural laws.

Obj. 2. Further, the natural law is c o n s e q u e n t u p o n h u m a n nature.

But h u m a n nature, as a whole, is one, though, as to its parts, it is m a n -

ifold. Therefore, e i t h e r t h e r e is but one p r e c e p t of the law of n a t u r e

b e c a u s e of t h e u n i t y of n a t u r e as a whole, or there are m a n y by rea-

son of t h e n u m h e r of parts of h u m a n nature. T h e result would he that

even things relating to the inclination of the concupiscible p o w e r

would b e l o n g to the n a t u r a l law.

Obj. 3. Further, law is s o m e t h i n g p e r t a i n i n g to reason, as was stated

above. N o w reason is b u t o n e in man. T h e r e f o r e there is only o n e

p r e c e p t of the natural law.

On the contrary, T h e p r e c e p t s of t h e natural law in man stand in

relation to operable m a t t e r s as first principles do to m a t t e r s of

d e m o n s t r a t i o n . But t h e r e are several first i n d e m o n s t r a b l e

principles.

T h e r e f o r e there are also several p r e c e p t s of t h e natural law.

I answer that, As was stated above, t h e p r e c e p t s of the natural law

are to t h e practical reason w h a t t h e first principles of d e m o n s t r a t i o n s

are to t h e speculative reason, because hoth are self-evident p r i n -

ciples. N o w a t h i n g is said to be self-evident in two ways: first, in

itself; secondly, in relation to us. Any proposition is said to be self-

e y i d e n t in itself if its p r e d i c a t e is contained in the notion ol the sub-

ject; even t h o u g h it may h a p p e n that to o n e who does not know the

definition of the subject, such a proposition is n o t s e l f - e v i d e n t For

Summa TheoLigica: Question XC.1V • j 27

instance, this proposition, Man is a rational being, is, in its very n a t u r e ,

self-evident, since he who says man, says a rational being, and yet to

o n e who does not know what a man is, this proposition is n o t self-
evident. H e n c e it is that, as Boethius says, certain axioms or proposi-

tions are universally self-evident to all; and such are the propositions

whose terms are known to all, as, Every whole is greater than its part, and,

Things equal to one and the same are equal to one another. But s o m e p r o p o
-

sitions are self-evident only to the wise, who u n d e r s t a n d the m e a n i n g

of the terms of such propositions. T h u s to o n e who u n d e r s t a n d s that

an angel is not a body, it is self-evident that an angel is n o t c i r c u m -

scriptively in a place. But this is not evident to the unlearned, for they

cannot grasp it.

N o w a certain o r d e r is to be found in those things that are a p p r e -

h e n d e d by men. For t h a t which first falls u n d e r apprehension is being,

t h e u n d e r s t a n d i n g of which is included in all things whatsoever a

man a p p r e h e n d s . T h e r e f o r e the first i n d e m o n s t r a b l e principle

is t h a t

the same thing cannot be affirmed and denied at the same time, which is

based on the notion of being and not-being, and on this principle all

o t h e r s are based, as is stated in Metaph. iv. N o w as being is t h e first

thing that falls u n d e r t h e apprehension absolutely, so good is the first

thing that falls u n d e r the apprehension of the practical reason,

which is directed to action (since every agent acts for an end, which

has t h e n a t u r e of good). Consequently, the first principle in the prac-

tical reason is o n e f o u n d e d on the n a t u r e of good, viz., t h a t good is that

which all things seek after. H e n c e this is t h e first p r e c e p t of law, that

good

is to be done and promoted, and evil is to be avoided, All o t h e r precepts of

t h e natural law are based u p o n this; so t h a t all the things which the

practical reason naturally a p p r e h e n d s as man's good belong to the

p r e c e p t s of the natural law u n d e r the form of things to be d o n e or

avoided.

Since, however, good has the nature of an end, and evil, the n a t u r e

of the contrary, h e n c e it is that all those things to which man has a

natural inclination are naturally a p p r e h e n d e d by reason as b e i n g

good, and consequently as objects of pursuit, and their contraries as

evil, and objects of avoidance. T h e r e f o r e , the o r d e r of the precepts of

the natural law is a c c o r d i n g to the order of natural inclinations. For

t h e r e is in man, first of all, an inclination to good in accordance with

the n a t u r e which he has in c o m m o n with all substances, inasmuch,

126 • St. Thomas Aquinas

namely, as every substance seeks the preservation of its own being,

according to its nature; and by reason of this inclination, whatever is

a m e a n s of preserving h u m a n life, and of w a r d i n g off its obstacles,

belongs to t h e natural law. Secondly, t h e r e is in man an inclination to

things t h a t . p e r t a i n to him m o r e specially, a c c o r d i n g to t h a t n a t u
r e

which he has in c o m m o n with o t h e r animals; and in v i r t u e of this

inclination, those things are said to belong to the natural law which

nature has taught to all animals. ; such as sexual intercourse, t h e e d u c a -

tion of offspring and so forth. Thirdly, t h e r e is in m a n an inclination

to good according to the n a t u r e of his reason, which n a t u r e is p r o p e r

to him. T h u s man has a natural inclination to know the t r u t h about

G o d , and to live in society; and in this respect, whatever pertains to

this inclination belongs to t h e natural law: e.g., to shun ignorance, to

avoid o f f e n d i n g those a m o n g whom o n e has to live, and other such

things r e g a r d i n g t h e above inclination.

Reply Obj. 1. All t h e s e p r e c e p t s of t h e law of nature have the c h a r -

acter of one natural law, inasmuch as they flow f r o m o n e first p r e c e p t .

Reply Obj. 2. All t h e inclinations of any parts whatsoever of h u m a n

n a t u r e , eg., of t h e concupiscible and irascible parts, insofar as they

are r u l e d by reason, belong to t h e natural law, and are r e d u c e d to o n e

first p r e c e p t , as was stated above. And thus t h e p r e c e p t s of t h e n a t u

-

ral law are m a n y in themselves, but they are based on one c o m m o n

f o u n d a t i o n .

Reply Obj. 3. Although reason is o n e in itself, yet it directs all things

r e g a r d i n g man; so t h a t w h a t e v e r can be ruled by reason is contained

u n d e r t h e law of reason.

T H I R D ARTICLE

WHETHER ALL THE ACTS OF THE VIRTUES ARE PRESCRIBED

BY THE NATURAL LAW?

We proceed thus to the Third Article:—

Objection 1. It would seem that not all t h e acts of t h e virtues are

prescribed by the natural law. For, as was stated above, it is of t h e

n a t u r e of law that it be ordained to t h e c o m m o n good. Rut s o m e acts

of the virtues are ordained to the private good of t h e individual, as is

Summa TheoLigica: Question XC.1V • j 27

evident especially in regard to acts of temperance. T h e r e f o r e , not all

the acts of the virtues are the subject of natural law.

Obj. 2. Further, every sin is opposed to s o m e virtuous act. If t h e r e -

fore all the acts of t h e virtues are prescribed by the natural law, it

seems to follow that all sins are against n a t u r e ; whereas this applies to

certain special sins.

Obj. 3. Further, those things which are according to n a t u r e are

c o m m o n to all. Rut the acts of the virtues are not c o m m o n to all,

since a thing is v i r t u o u s in one, and vicious in another. T h e r e f o r e , not

all the acts of the virtues are prescribed by t h e natural law.

On the contrary, D a m a s c e n e says t h a t virtues are natural. T h e r e f o r e

v i r t u o u s acts also are subject to the natural law.

I answer that, We may speak of virtuous acts in two ways: first, inso-

far as they are virtuous; secondly, as such and such acts considered in

their proper species. If, then, we are speaking of the acts of the virtues

insofar as they are virtuous, thus all virtuous acts belong to the natural

law. For it has been stated that to the natural law belongs everything to

which a man is inclined according to his nature. N o w each thing is

inclined naturally to an operation that is suitable to it according to its

form: e.g. , fire is inclined to give heat. T h e r e f o r e , since the rational soul

is the proper form of man, there is in every man a natural inclination

to act according to reason; and this is to act according to virtue. C o n -

sequently, considered thus, all the acts of the virtues are prescribed by

t h e natural law, since each one's reason naturally dictates to him to,act

virtuously. But if we speak of virtuous acts, considered in themselves,

i.e., in their p r o p e r species, thus not all virtuous acts are prescribed by

t h e natural law. For m a n y things are d o n e virtuously to which nature

does not primarily incline, but which, through the inquiry of reason,

have been found by m e n to be conducive to well-living.

Reply Obj. 1. T e m p e r a n c e is about t h e natural concupiscences of

food, drink and sexual matters, which are indeed ordained to the
c o m m o n good of nature, just as other m a t t e r s of law are ordained to

the moral c o m m o n good.

Reply Obj. 2. By h u m a n nature we may m e a n either t h a t which is

p r o p e r to man, and in this sense all sins, as being against reason, are

also against nature, as D a m a s c e n e states; or we may mean that n a t u r e

which is c o m m o n to man and other animals, and in this sense, certain

128 • St. Thomas Aquinas

special sins are said to be against nature: e.g. c o n t r a r y to sexual i n t e r -

course, which is natural to all animals, is unisexual lust, which has

received the special n a m e of t h e u n n a t u r a l crime.

Reply Obj. 3. T h i s a r g u m e n t considers acts in themselves. For it is

o w i n g to the various conditions of m e n that certain acts are v i r t u o u s

for some, as being p r o p o r t i o n e d and b e c o m i n g to them, while they

are vicious for others, as n o t being p r o p o r t i o n e d to t h e m .

FOURTH ARTICLE

WHETHER THF. NATURAL LAW IS THE SAME IN ALL MEN?

We proceed thus to the Fourth Article:—

Objection 1. It would seem that the natural law is not t h e s a m e in all.

For it is stated in the Decretals that the natural law is that which is con-

tained in the Law and the Gospel. But this is not c o m m o n to all m e n ,

because, as it is written (Rom. x. 16), all do not obey the gospel. T h e r e f o r e

t h e n a t u r a l law is not t h e s a m e in all men.

Obj. 2. F u r t h e r , Things which are;according to the law are said to be just,

as is stated in Ethics v. But it is stated in the s a m e book that n o t h i n g is

so just for all as n o t to be subject to change in regard to s o m e men.

T h e r e f o r e even the natural law is nor the same in all men.

Obj. 3. F u r t h e r , as was stated above, to t h e natural law belongs

e v e r y t h i n g to which a man is inclined according to his nature. N o w

d i f f e r e n t m e n are naturally inclined to d i f f e r e n t things,—some to t h e

desire of pleasures, others to t h e desire of honors, and other men to

o t h e r things. T h e r e f o r e , t h e r e is not one natural law for all.

On the contrary, Isidore says: The natural law is common to all nations.

J answer that, As we have stated above, to the natural law b e l o n g

those things to which a man is inclined naturally; and a m o n g these it

is p r o p e r to man to be inclined to act according to reason. N o w

it belongs to the reason to proceed f r o m what is c o m m o n to what is

proper, as is stated in Physics i. T h e speculative reason, however, is dif-

f e r e n t l y situated, in this matter, f r o m the practical reason. For, since

the speculative reason is c o n c e r n e d chiefly with necessary things,

which cannot be otherwise than they are, its p r o p e r conclusions, like

the universal principles, contain the t r u t h w i t h o u t fail. T h e practical

reason, on the other hand, is concerned with contingent matters,

Summa Theologica. Question XCIV • 129

which is the domain of h u m a n actions; and, consequently, although

t h e r e is necessity in the c o m m o n principles, t h e m o r e we descend

toward the particular, the m o r e f r e q u e n t l y we e n c o u n t e r defects.

Accordingly, then, in speculative matters truth is the same in all men,

b o t h as to principles and as to conclusions; although the truth is not

known to all as regards the conclusions, but only as regards the p r i n -

ciples which are called common notions. But in matters of action, truth

or practical rectitude is not the same for all as to what is particular, but

only as to the c o m m o n principles; and w h e r e there is the same recti-

t u d e in relation to particulars, it is not equally known to all.

It is t h e r e f o r e evident that, as regards the c o m m o n principles

w h e t h e r of speculative or of practical reason, t r u t h or r e c t i t u d e is the

same for all, and is equally known by all. But as to the p r o p e r con-

clusions of the speculative reason, the t r u t h is the same for all, b u t it

is n o t equally known to all. Thus, it is t r u e for all that the t h r e e angles

of a triangle are together equal to two right angles, although it is not

k n o w n to all. But as to the p r o p e r conclusions of the practical reason,

n e i t h e r is the truth or r e c t i t u d e t h e s a m e for all, nor, w h e r e it is the

same, is it equally known by all. T h u s , it is right and t r u e for all to act

a c c o r d i n g to reason, and from this p r i n c i p l e it follows, as a p r o p e r

conclusion, that goods entrusted to a n o t h e r should be restored to

their owner. N o w this is t r u e for t h e majority of cases. But it may

h a p p e n in a particular case that it would be injurious and t h e r e f o r e

unreasonable, to restore goods held in trust; for instance, if they are

claimed f o r the p u r p o s e of fighting against one's country. And this

principle will be f o u n d to fail the more, according as we descend f u r -

t h e r toward the particular, e.g., if one w e r e to say that goods held in

t r u s t should be restored with such and such a guarantee, or in such

and such a way; because the greater t h e n u m b e r of conditions added,

the greater the n u m b e r of ways in which the principle may fail, so

that it be not right to restore or not to restore.

Consequently, we m u s t say that t h e n a t u r a l law, as to the first c o m -

mon principles, is t h e same for all, both as to rectitude and as to

knowledge. But as to certain m o r e particular aspects, which are con-

clusions, as it were, of those c o m m o n principles, it is the same for all

in the majority of cases, both as to r e c t i t u d e and as to knowledge; and

yet in s o m e few cases it may fail, both as to rectitude, by reason of

certain obstacles (just as n a t u r e s subject to generation and c o r r u p -

130 • St. Thomas Aquinas

tion fail in s o m e few cases because of some obstacle), and as to

knowledge, since in some t h e reason is p e r v e r t e d hy passion, or evil

habit, or an evil disposition, of nature. T h u s at o n e t i m e theft,

although it is expressly c o n t r a r y to the natural law, was not c o n s i d -

ered w r o n g a m o n g t h e G e r m a n s , as J u l i u s Caesar relates.

Reply Obj. 1. T h e m e a n i n g of the sentence quoted is not t h a t w h a t -

ever is contained in t h e Law and the G o s p e l belongs to the natural

law, since they contain m a n y things that are above nature; b u t that

w h a t e v e r belongs to the natural law is fully contained in them.

T h e r e f o r e Gratian, a f t e r saying that the natural law is what is contained

in the Law and the Gospel, adds at once, by way of example, by which

everyone is commanded to do to others as he would be done by.

Refriy Obj. 2. T h e saying of t h e P h i l o s o p h e r is to be u n d e r s t o o d of

things t h a t are naturally just, n o t as c o m m o n principles, but as c o n -

clusions drawn f r o m t h e m , having r e c t i t u d e in the majority of cases,

b u t failing in a few.

Reply Obj. 3. J u s t as in m a n reason rules and c o m m a n d s t h e o t h e r

powers, so all t h e natural inclinations belonging to the o t h e r powers

m u s t n e e d s be directed according to reason. T h e r e f o r e it is u n i v e r -

sally right for all men that all their inclinations should be d i r e c t e d

a c c o r d i n g to reason.

FIFTH ARTICLE

WHETHER THE NATURAL LAW CAN BE CHANGED?

We proceed thus to the Fifth Article.—

Objection 1. It would seem that the natural law can be changed. For

on Ecclus. xvii. 9 (He gave them instructions, and the law of life) t h e Gloss

says: He wished the law of the letter to be written, in order to correct the law of

nature. But that which is c o r r e c t e d is changed. T h e r e f o r e the n a t u r a

l

law can be changed.

Obj. 2. Further, the slaying of t h e innocent, a d u l t e r y and t h e f t are

against t h e natural law. But we find these things changed hy G o d : as

when G o d c o m m a n d e d A b r a h a m to slay his i n n o c e n t son {Gen.

xxii.

2); and when He o r d e r e d t h e J e w s to b o r r o w and p u r l o i n the

vessels

of t h e E g y p t i a n s {Exod. xii. 35); and when He c o m m a n d e d Osee to

Summa TheoLigica: Question XC.1V • j 27

take to himself a wife of fornications (Osee i. 2). T h e r e f o r e the natural

law can be changed.

Obj. 3. Further, Isidore says that the possession of all things in common,

and universal freedom, are matters of natural law. But these things are seen

to be changed by h u m a n laws. T h e r e f o r e it seems that the natural law

is subject to change.

On the contrary, It is said in the Decretals: The natural law dates from the
creation of the rational creature. It does not vary according to time, but remains

unchangeable.

I answer that, A c h a n g e in the natural law may be u n d e r s t o o d in

two ways. First, by wav of addition. In this sense, nothing h i n d e r s t h e

natural law from being changed, since m a n y things for the benefit of

h u m a n life have been added over and above the natural law, both by

t h e divine law and by h u m a n laws:

Secondly, a change in the natural law may be understood by way of

subtraction, so that what previously was according to the natural law,

ceases to be so. In this sense, the natural law is altogether unchangeable

in its first principles. But in its secondary principles, which, as we have

said, are certain detailed proximate conclusions drawn from the first

principles, the natural law is not changed so that what it prescribes be

not right in most cases. But it may be changed in some particular cases

of rare occurrence, through some special causes hindering the obser-

vance of such precepts, as was stated above.

Reply Obj. 1. T h e written law is said to be given for t h e correction

of the natural law, either because it supplies what was w a n t i n g to the

natural law, or because the natural law was so p e r v e r t e d in the hearts

of some m e n , as to certain matters, that they esteemed those things

good which are naturally evil; which perversion stood in need of cor-
rection.

Reply Obj 2. All m e n alike, both guilty and innocent, die the death

of nature; which d e a t h of n a t u r e is inflicted by the power of G o d

because of original sin, according to 1 Kings ii. 6: The lord killeth and

maketh alive. Consequently, by the c o m m a n d of G o d , d e a t h can be

inflicted on any man, guilty or innocent, w i t h o u t any injustice what-

ever.—In like manner, adultery is i n t e r c o u r s e with another's wife;

who is allotted to him by the law e m a n a t i n g f r o m G o d . C o n s e q u e n

t l y

i n t e r c o u r s e with any woman, by the c o m m a n d of G o d , is n e i t h e r

132 • St. Thomas Aquinas

a d u l t e r y n o r f o r n i c a t i o n . — T h e s a m e applies to theft, which is t

h e

taking of another's p r o p e r t y For whatever is taken by t h e c o m m a n d

of G o d , to W h o m all things belong, is not taken against t h e will of its

owner, whereas it is in this that theft c o n s i s t s . — N o r is it only in

h u m a n things that whatever is c o m m a n d e d by G o d is right; but also

in natural things, whatever is d o n e by G o d is, in s o m e way, natural, as

was stated in the First Part.

Reply Obj. 3. A thing is said to belong to the natural law in two ways.

First, because nature inclines thereto: e.g. , that o n e should not do

harm to another. Secondly, because nature did not bring with it the
contrary. T h u s , we might say that for man to be naked is of the natu-

ral law, because nature did not give him clothes, but art invented

them. In this sense, the possession of all things in common and universal free-

dom are said to be of the natural law, because, namely, the distinction

of possessions and slavery w e r e not b r o u g h t in by nature, but devised

by h u m a n reason for t h e benefit of h u m a n life. Accordingly, the law of

n a t u r e was not changed in this respect, except by addition.

SIXTH ARTICLE

WHETHER THE NATURAL LAW

CAN BE ABOLISHED FROM THE HEART OF MAN?

We proceed thus to the Sixth Article:—

Objection 1. It would seem that the natural law can be abolished f r o m

the heart of man. For on Rom, ii. 14 ( When the Gentiles who have not the law,

etc.) the Gloss says that the law of justice, which sin had blotted out, is graven

on the heart of man -when he is restored by grace. But the law of justice is t h e

law of nature. T h e r e f o r e the law of nature can be blotted out.

Obj. 2. Further, t h e law of grace is m o r e efficacious than t h e law of

nature. But the law of grace is blotted out by sin. M u c h more, t h e r e -

fore, can t h e law of n a t u r e be blotted out.

Obj. 3. Further, that which is established by law is proposed as

s o m e t h i n g just. But m a n y things are enacted by m e n which are c o n -

trary to the law of nature. T h e r e f o r e t h e law of n a t u r e can be abol-

ished f r o m the h e a r t of man.

On the contrary, A u g u s t i n e says: Thy law is written in the hearts of

men, which iniquity itself effaces not. But the law which is written in

Summa TheoLigica: Question XC.1V • j 27

men's hearts is t h e natura] law. T h e r e f o r e the natural law c a n n o t be

blotted out.

I answer that, As we have stated above, t h e r e belong to the n a t u r a l

law, first, certain most c o m m o n precepts that are known to all; and

secondly, certain s e c o n d a r y and m o r e p a r t i c u l a r precepts, which are,

as it were, conclusions following closely f r o m first principles. As to

the c o m m o n principles, the natural law, in its universal meaning,

c a n n o t in any way be blotted out f r o m men's hearts. But it is blotted

out in t h e case of a particular action, insofar as reason is h i n d e r e d

from applying t h e c o m m o n principle to the particular action b e c a u s e

of concupiscence or s o m e other passion, as was stated above.—But as

to the other, i.e., t h e secondary precepts, the natural law can be blot-

ted o u t f r o m the h u m a n heart, either by evil persuasions, just as in

speculative m a t t e r s errors occur in respect of necessary conclusions;

or by vicious customs and c o r r u p t habits, as, a m o n g some men, theft,

and even u n n a t u r a l vices, as the Apostle states {Rom. i. 24), w e r e n o t

esteemed sinful.

Reply Ob 7. 1. Sin blots out the law of n a t u r e in particular cases, not

universally, except p e r c h a n c e in regard to the secondary p r e c e p t s of

the natural law, in the way stated above.

Reply Obj. 2. A l t h o u g h grace is m o r e efficacious than nature, yet

n a t u r e is m o r e essential to man, and t h e r e f o r e m o r e enduring.

Reply Obj. 3. T h i s a r g u m e n t is true of the secondary precepts of the

natural law, against which some legislators have f r a m e d certain

e n a c t m e n t s which are unjust.

CHAPTER 6

T H O M A S HOBBES

U p o n hearing the alarming news of the approach of the Spanish

Armada, Hobhes's m o t h e r w e n t into early labor. T h u s the philos-

opher T h o m a s Hobbes was born prematurely on April 5, 1588, in

Maimesbury, Wiltshire, England.

When Hobbes was a young child his father, the Vicar of Charlton

and Westport, brawled with a member of the clergy in front of his

church. In order to eschew punishment, the elder Hobbes fled to

London and left his wife, two sons, and daughter to be cared for by

his well-to-do younger brother, Francis.

Hobbes's uncle was able and willing to provide his nephew with a
superb education. T h o m a s was a brilliant student, very much e n a m -

ored of classic Greek literature. Before the age of fourteen, he was

able to p r o d u c e a complete translation into Latin of Eurpides's

Medea. H o b b e s went to Magdalen Hall, in the University of Oxford.

He took his BA in 1608 and became both page and tutor to future

earl William Cavendish.

Hobbes's association with t h e Cavendish clan was propitious. T h e

family boasted an extensive library and enjoyed lively relations with

intellectual elite such as Ben Jonson and Francis Bacon, with whom

Hobbes would enjoy m a n y conversations. H o b b e s even helped

Bacon translate some of his work into Latin. T i e s with the Cavendish

family, which would remain his entire life, also b r o u g h t H o b b e s into

Ethics• The Essential Writings 135

contact with the political establishment in England. M o r e than that,

since he was in the e m p l o y of an earl, he was naturally linked with

the t h r o n e in the conflict between the Royalists and P a r l i a m e n t a r i a n s

t h a t e r u p t e d into civil war in 1642.

H o b b e s and Cavendish, who was only slightly younger than his

tutor, traveled to the C o n t i n e n t in 1610. There, Hobbes became aware

of great advances being m a d e in science and in the e m e r g e n c e of an

empiricist worldview radically d i f f e r e n t f r o m the scholastic p e r s p e c -

tive that, m u c h to Hohbes's displeasure, d o m i n a t e d the c u r r i c u l u m at

Oxford.

Hobbes, who knew French, G e r m a n , and Italian, would spend

m a n y years on the C o n t i n e n t and in so d o i n g he developed intellec-

tual relations with such giants as Descartes, Galileo, and Gassendi.

In 1628, H o b b e s published the first English translation of T h u c y -

dides's History of the Peloponnesian War. S o m e scholars c o n t e n d t h a t he

chose to r e n d e r this work into English to caution his c o u n t r y m e n

about the dangers of democracy. In the same year, William Cavendish

fell victim to the plague. Hobbes then took a position offering instruc-

tion to the son of Sir G e r v a s e Clifton; however, in 1631, he r e t u r n e d

to t h e Cavendish family to tutor t h e son of his f o r m e r pupil.

In his forties, H o b b e s began to e n t e r into philosophical debates. In

1640, his short treatise, The Elements of Law, was circulated. In this

m o n o g r a p h he argued on behalf of the legitimacy of a sovereign

r u l e r and as a result i n c u r r e d the strong disfavor of the P a r l i a m e n -

tarians. Hobbes fled to Paris, w h e r e he r e m a i n e d until 1651. W h i l e

there, he t u t o r e d exiled C h a r l e s II in m a t h and labored over his

Leviathan, or the Matter, Forme, and Power of a Common Wealth, Ecclesiasti-

calland Civil, which was published in 1651. In this, his m a g n u m opus,

H o b b e s provides a secular basis for the a u t h o r i t y of an absolute sov-

ereign power. T h i s was a controversial position, as it e a r n e d t h e

o p p r o b r i u m of both a d h e r e n t s of d e m o c r a c y and of those who

held

to the divine right of kings.

Always amid dangerous political turmoil, Hobbes continued his

i m m e n s e scholarly productivity into his ninth decade. After prodding

friends for possible epitaphs, the now world-famous scholar settled on

the inscription "This is the true philosopher's stone." Hobbes died in

1679.

H o b b e s was a materialist and a d e t e r m i n i s t and, as such, o n e who

136 • Thomas Hobbes

was convinced that all could be explained in t e r m s of m a t t e r and

motion. On his account, t h e r e was no justification for appeals to

immaterial substances or powers. He insisted that good and evil do

not exist i n d e p e n d e n t l y of o u r d e s i r e s — t h e y are simply and

respec-

tively what we like and d e t e s t H o b b e s allowed that t h e r e was f r e e -

dom of the will but only in t h e sense t h a t we are free when o u r

actions are u n i m p e d e d and issue f r o m o u r desires, even though t h o s e

desires be d e t e r m i n e d by and ultimately identical with physical pro-

cesses. H a v i n g lived t h r o u g h a n u m b e r of political bloodbaths,

H o b b e s was not particularly sanguine about h u m a n nature. He held

t h a t h u m a n s are driven solely by their perceived self-interests. And

yet, as he pointed out, if everyone were free to follow his or h e r own

self-interest, we would live in a c o n t i n u o u s state of strife t h a t would

make it impossible to satisfy those self-interests. O u r natural state

would be a life that H o b b e s famously described as "solitary, poor,

nasty, brutish, and short."

In a state of nature, individuals would not be willing to t r u s t o n e

a n o t h e r e n o u g h to make agreements. T h e r e f o r e , it would be reason-

able to enter into a social c o n t r a c t w h e r e b y each of us agrees to c e d e

our rights to a r u l e r i m b u e d with the absolute p o w e r to enforce the

law. T h e r e is of course n o t h i n g to p r e v e n t the king or p a r l i a m e n t

f r o m abusing this power, b u t on Hobbes's analysis, even a tyrannical

r u l e r is p r e f e r a b l e to a lawless state of nature.

Hobbes's Leviathan is p e r h a p s the first full-bodied social contract

theory, i.e., a t h e o r y t h a t derives moral and political obligations f r o m

a g r e e m e n t s reached b e t w e e n hypothetical persons in a pre-political

state. J o h n Locke, J e a n - J a c q u e s Rousseau, and, in o u r own rime, J o h

n

Rawls all worked within a social contract framework.

L E V I A T H A N : P A R T I . O F M A N

CHAPTER X I
OF THE DIFFERENCE OF MANNERS

[1] By manners I mean not here decency of behavior, as how o n e

man should salute another, or how a man should wash his m o u t h

or pick his teeth b e f o r e company, and such

other points of the small morals, but those quali- What is here meant

ties of mankind that concern their living byManners.

together in peace and unity. To which end we

are to consider t h a t the felicity of this life consisteth not in the

repose of a mind satisfied. For there is no such Finis ultimus

( u t m o s t aim) nor Summum Bonum (greatest good) as is spoken of

in the books of t h e old moral philosophers. N o r can a man any

m o r e live, whose desires are at an end, than he whose senses and

imaginations are at a stand. Felicity is a continual progress of the

desire, from o n e object to another, the attaining of the f o r m e r

being still but the way to the latter. T h e cause whereof is that the

object of man's desire is not to enjoy once only, and for o n e

instant of time, but to assure forever t h e way of his f u t u r e desire.

And t h e r e f o r e the voluntary actions and inclinations of all m e n

138 • Thomas Hobbes

tend, not only to t h e p r o c u r i n g , but also to t h e assuring of a con-

tented life, and differ only in the way; which ariseth partly f r o m
t h e diversity of passions in divers men, and partly f r o m the dif-

f e r e n c e of t h e knowledge or opinion each one has of the causes

which p r o d u c e t h e effect desired.

[2] So that in the first place, T p u t for a general inclination of all

m a n k i n d , a p e r p e t u a l and restless desire of power after power,

that ceaseth only in death. A n d the cause of this is

A restless desire of n Q t a ] w a y s t h a t a m a n hopes for a m o r e intensive

Paver, mailmen. d e U g h t [ h a n h e h a s a l r e a d y a c t a i n e d to, o r that h

e

c a n n o t be c o n t e n t with a m o d e r a t e power, h u t because he can-

n o t assure the p o w e r and m e a n s to live well, which he hath pres-

ent, w i t h o u t t h e acquisition of more. And from h e n c e it is that

kings, whose power is greatest, t u r n their endeavors to the

assuring it at h o m e by laws or abroad by wars; and when that is

done, t h e r e succeedeth a new desire, in s o m e of f a m e f r o m n e w

conquest, in others of ease and sensual pleasure, in o t h e r s of

a d m i r a t i o n or being flattered for excellence in s o m e art or o t h e r

ability of t h e mind.

[3] C o m p e t i t i o n of riches, honor, c o m m a n d , or other power, in-

clineth to contention, enmity, and war; b e c a u s e the way of o n e

c o m p e t i t o r to t h e attaining of his desire is to kill,

Love of Contention s u p p l a n t , or repel the other. Particularly,

from Competition. c o m p e t i t i o n o f p r a i s e inclineth t o a r e v e r e n c e

o f

antiquity. For m e n c o n t e n d with the living, not with the dead, to

t h e s e ascribing m o r e than d u e , t h a t they may obscure t h e glory

of the other.

[4] Desire of ease and sensual delight disposeth m e n to obey a c o m -

m o n power, because by such desires a man d o t h abandon the

p r o t e c t i o n m i g h t be hoped for f r o m his own i n d u s -

Civil obedience from t r y a n c ] ]abor. Fear of death and w o u n d s disposeth to

love of Ease. t h e same, and for the same reason. On the contrary,

. n e e d y men, and hardy, not c o n t e n t e d with their p r e s -

From fear o f Death, o r ^ ^ ^ ^ a ] s o a ] , m f i n t h a t a r e a m b l t i o u S o f

wounds. • ,, , . v

military c o m m a n d , are inclined to c o n t i n u e the

causes of war, and to stir up trouble and sedition; for t h e r e is no

h o n o r military b u t by war, n o r any such hope to m e n d an ill game

as by causing a n e w shuffle.

Leviathan: Part I. Of Man - 139

[5] Desire of knowledge, and arts of peace, inclineth m e n to obey a

c o m m o n power. For such desire containeth a

desire of leisure, and consequently p r o t e c t i o n And from love of Arts.

f r o m some other p o w e r than their own.

CHAPTER X I I I

OF THE NATURAL CONDITION OF MANKIND, AS

C O N C E R N I N G THEIR FELICITY, A N D MISERY

[1] N a t u r e hath m a d e men so equal in the faculties of body and

mind as that, though there be f o u n d o n e man sometimes m a n i -

festly stronger in body or of quicker mind than another, yet when

all is reckoned together the difference between

man and man is not so considerable as that one Mm by nature Equal.

man can thereupon claim to himself any benefit

to which another may not pretend as well as he. For as to the

strength of body, the weakest has strength enough to kill the

strongest, either by secret machination, or by confederacy with

others that are in the same danger with himself.

[2] And as to the faculties of the m i n d — s e t t i n g aside the arts

g r o u n d e d u p o n words, and especially that skill of p r o c e e d i n g

u p o n general and infallible rules called science (which very few

have, and but in few things), as being n o t a native faculty (born

with us), nor attained (as p r u d e n c e ) while we look after s o m e -

what else—1 find yet a greater equality amongst men than t h a t

of strength. For p r u d e n c e is but experience, which equal time

equally bestows on all men in those things they equally apply

themselves unto. T h a t which may p e r h a p s make Such equality

incredible is b u t a vain conceit of one's own wisdom, which

almost all men think they have in a greater d e g r e e than the vul-

gar, that is, than all m e n but themselves and a few others w h o m ,

by f a m e or for c o n c u r r i n g with themselves, they approve. For

such is t h e n a t u r e of men that howsoever they may acknowledge

m a n y others to be m o r e witty, or m o r e eloquent, or m o r e

140 • Thomas Hobbes

learned, yet they will hardly believe t h e r e be many so wise as

themselves. For they see their own wit at hand, and o t h e r men's

at a distance. But this proveth rather that m e n are in that point

equal, than unequal. For t h e r e is not ordinarily a greater sign of

t h e equal distribution of anything than t h a t every man is c o n -

t e n t e d with his share.

[3] F r o m this equality of ability ariseth equality of h o p e in t h e

attaining of our ends. A n d therefore, if any two men desire the

s a m e thing, which nevertheless they c a n n o t both enjoy, they

b e c o m e enemies, and in t h e way to their end, which is princi-

pally their own conservation, and sometimes their

From Equality proceeds delectation only, endeavor to destroy or s u b d u e one

Diffidence. another. A n d f r o m h e n c e it c o m e s to pass that,

w h e r e an invader hath no m o r e to fear than a n o t h e r

man's single power, if o n e plant, sow, build, or possess a c o n v e -

n i e n t seat, others may p r o b a b l y be expected to come p r e p a r e d

with forces u n i t e d , to dispossess and deprive him, not only of

the f r u i t of his labor, b u t also of his life or liberty. And t h e

invader again is in t h e like danger of another.

[4] And f r o m this diffidence of one another, t h e r e is no way f o r any

m a n to s e c u r e himself so reasonable as anticipation, that is, by

f o r c e or wiles to master t h e persons of all men he can, so long till

he see no other power great enough to e n d a n g e r him. A n d this

is no m o r e than his own conservation requireth, and

is generally allowed. Also, b e c a u s e t h e r e be s o m e

From Diffidence War. ^ ^ ^ ^ contemp]adng their own

power in t h e acts of conquest, which they p u r s u e

f a r t h e r than their security requires, if o t h e r s (that o t h e r w i s e

would be glad to be at ease within m o d e s t bounds) should not

by invasion increase t h e i r power, they would not be able, long

time, by standing only on their defense, to subsist. And by con-

sequence, such a u g m e n t a t i o n of d o m i n i o n over men being n e c -

essary to a man's conservation, it o u g h t to be allowed him.

[5] Again, men have no pleasure, b u t on the c o n t r a r y a great deal of

grief, in keeping c o m p a n y w h e r e there is no power able to over-

awe t h e m all. For e v e r y man looketh t h a t his c o m p a n i o n should

value him at the same rate he sets u p o n himself, and u p o n all

signs of c o n t e m p t , or undervaluing, naturally endeavors, as far

Leviathan: Part 1. Of Man • 141

as he dares (which amongst them that have no c o m m o n p o w e r

to keep t h e m in quiet, is far enongh to make them destroy each

other), to extort a greater value f r o m his contemners, by d a m -

age, and f r o m others, by the example.

\6] So that in the n a t u r e of man we find t h r e e principal causes of

quarrel: first, competition; secondly, diffidence; thirdly, glory.

[7] T h e first maketh m e n invade for gain; t h e second, for safety;

and the third, f o r r e p u t a t i o n . T h e first use violence to m a k e

themselves masters of other men's persons, wives, children, and

cattle; the second, to defend them; t h e third, for trifles, as a

word, a smile, a d i f f e r e n t opinion, and any

o t h e r sign of u n d e r v a l u e , either direct in their Out of Civil States, there

persons, or by reflection in their kindred, is always war of every

their friends, their nation, their profession, or one against everyone.

their name.

[8] H e r e b y it is m a n i f e s t t h a t d u r i n g t h e t i m e m e n live w i t h o
u t a

c o m m o n power to keep t h e m all in awe, they are in that c o n d i -

tion which is called war, and such a war as is of every man

against every man. For WAR consisteth n o t in battle only, or t h e

act of fighting, but in a tract of t i m e w h e r e i n the will to c o n t e n d

by battle is sufficiently .known. And therefore, t h e notion of time

is to be considered in the n a t u r e of war, as it is in the n a t u r e of

weather. For as the n a t u r e of foul weather lieth not in a shower

or two of rain, but in an inclination t h e r e t o of m a n y days

together, so the n a t u r e of war consisteth n o t in actual fighting,

b u t in t h e known disposition t h e r e t o d u r i n g all t h e time t h e r e is

no assurance to the contrary. All o t h e r t i m e is PEACE.

[9] W h a t s o e v e r t h e r e f o r e is c o n s e q u e n t to a t i m e of war, w h e
r e

every man is e n e m y to every man, the s a m e is c o n s e q u e n t to t h e

t i m e wherein men live w i t h o u t o t h e r security than what their

own strength and t h e i r own invention shall furnish t h e m withal.

In such condition t h e r e is no place for industry,

because the f r u i t t h e r e o f is u n c e r t a i n , and con- * " ' " " ','"' ;' ''J

, , r , such a War.
sequently, no c u l t u r e of the earth, no naviga-

tion, n o r use of t h e c o m m o d i t i e s t h a t may be i m p o r t e d by sea,

no c o m m o d i o u s building, no i n s t r u m e n t s of moving and r e m o v -

ing such things as r e q u i r e m u c h force, no knowledge of t h e face

of t h e earth, no account of time, no arts, no letters, no society,

Thomas Hobbes

and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of v i o l e n t

d e a t h , and t h e life of m a n , solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and

short.

It may seem strange, to some man that has not well w e i g h e d

these things, that n a t u r e should thus dissociate, and r e n d e r m e n

apt to invade and destroy one another. A n d he may, t h e r e f o r e ,

not t r u s t i n g to this i n f e r e n c e m a d e from the passions, desire

p e r h a p s to have t h e s a m e confirmed by experience. L e t h i m

t h e r e f o r e consider with h i m s e l f — w h e n taking a journey, he

arms himself, and seeks to go well a c c o m p a n i e d ; when going to

sleep, he locks his doors; w h e n even in his house, he locks his

chests; and this when he knows there be laws, and public offi-

cers, armed, to revenge all injuries shall be d o n e h i m — w h a t

o p i n i o n he has of his fellow subjects, w h e n he rides armed; of his

fellow citizens, w h e n he locks his doors; and of his children and

servants, w h e n he locks his chests. D o e s he not there as m u c h

accuse mankind by his actions, as I do by my words? But n e i t h e r

of us accuse man's n a t u r e in it. T h e desires and o t h e r passions of

m a n are in themselves no sin. No m o r e are the actions t h a t p r o -

c e e d f r o m those passions, till they know a law that forbids

t h e m — w h i c h till laws be m a d e they c a n n o t know. N o r can any

law be made, till they have agreed u p o n the person that shall

make it.

it may p e r a d v e n t u r e be thought, t h e r e was never such a t i m e n o r

condition of war as this; and I believe it was never generally so,

over all the world. But t h e r e are m a n y places w h e r e they live so

now. For the savage p e o p l e in many places of America (except t h e

g o v e r n m e n t of small families, the c o n c o r d whereof d e p e n d e t h

on natural lust) have no g o v e r n m e n t at all, and live at this day in

that brutish m a n n e r as I said before. Howsoever, it may be p e r -

ceived what m a n n e r of life t h e r e would be where there were no

c o m m o n power to fear, by the m a n n e r of life which m e n that

have f o r m e r l y lived u n d e r a p e a c e f u l g o v e r n m e n t use to d e g e

n -

e r a t e into, in a civil war.

But t h o u g h t h e r e had never been any t i m e wherein particular

m e n were in a condition of war one against another, yet in all

t i m e s kings and persons of sovereign authority, because of their

i n d e p e n d e n c y , are in continual jealousies and in the state and

Leviathan: Part I. Of Man • 143

p o s t u r e of gladiators, having their weapons pointing and their

eyes fixed on one another, that is, their forts, garrisons, and guns

u p o n the frontiers of their kingdoms, and continual spies u p o n

their neighbors, which is a p o s t u r e of war. But because they

u p h o l d thereby the i n d u s t r y of their subjects, there does not fol-

low f r o m it that misery which accompanies the liberty of p a r t i c -

ular men.

[13] To this war of every man against every man, this also is conse-

quent: that nothing can be unjust. T h e notions of right and

wrong, justice and injustice, have t h e r e no place. W h e r e there is

no c o m m o n power, t h e r e is no law; where no law, no injustice.

Force and fraud are in war the two cardinal

virtues. Justice and injustice are n o n e of the In such a War,

faculties neither of the body, n o r mind. If they nothingis Unjust.

were, they might be in a man that were alone in

the world, as well as his senses and passions. T h e y are qualities

that relate to men in society, not in solitude. It is c o n s e q u e n t also

to the same condition that t h e r e be no propriety, no d o m i n i o n ,

no mine and thine distinct, but only that to be every man's t h a t he

can get, and for so long as he can keep it. And thus much f o r t h e

ill condition which man by m e r e n a t u r e is actually placed in,

though with a possibility to come out of it, consisting partly in

the passions, partly in his reason.

[14] T h e passions that incline men to p e a c e are fear of death, desire

of such things as are necessary to c o m m o d i o u s living, and a

h o p e by their industry to obtain them. And reason suggesteth

convenient articles of peace, u p o n which men may be drawn to

a g r e e m e n t T h e s e articles are they which

otherwise are called the Laws of N a t u r e , The Passions that

whereof I shall speak more particularly in the incline men to Peace.

-two following chapters.

P A R T I I .

O F C O M M O N W E A L T H

C H A P T E R X V T I

OF THE CAUSES, GENERATION, A N D

DEFINITION OF A COMMONWEALTH

f l ] T h e final cause, end, or design of m e n (who naturally love lib-

e r t y and d o m i n i o n over others) in the i n t r o d u c t i o n of t h a t

restraint u p o n themselves in which we see t h e m live

The End oj n c o m m o n w e a l t h s is the foresight of their own

.ammonwea , preservation, and of a m o r e c o n t e n t e d life thereby;

particular security. 1 . . .

that is to say, ot getting themselves o u t rrom that

miserable condition of war, which is necessarily c o n s e q u e n t (as

hath been shown [ch. xiii]) to the n a t u r a l passions of men, w h e n

t h e r e is no visible p o w e r to keep t h e m in awe, and tie t h e m by

fear of p u n i s h m e n t to the p e r f o r m a n c e of their covenants and

observation of t h o s e laws of n a t u r e set down in the f o u r t e e n t h

and fifteenth chapters.

[2] For the laws of n a t u r e (as justice, equity, modesty, mercy, and (in

sum) doing to others as we would be done to) of themselves, w i t h o u t

the terror of s o m e p o w e r to cause t h e m to be observed, are c o n -

trary to o u r natural passions, t h a t carry us to partiality, pride,

Part II. Of Common-wealth • 145

revenge, and t h e like. And covenants w i t h o u t the sword are but

words, and of no strength to secure a man at all. T h e r e f o r e

n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g t h e laws of n a t u r e (which

every one hath then kept, when he has the will w h k h " n o t t o he

to keep them, w h e n he can do it safely), if t h e r e h a d f r o m t h e L a w

be no power erected, or not great e n o u g h for

o u r security, every man will, and may lawfully rely on his own

strength and art, for caution against all other men. And in all

places w h e r e men have lived by small families, to rob and spoil

o n e a n o t h e r has been a trade, and so far from being r e p u t e d

against the law of n a t u r e that the g r e a t e r spoils they gained, t h e

greater was their h o n o r ; and men observed no other laws t h e r e i n

b u t the laws of honor, that is, to abstain f r o m cruelty, leaving to

m e n their lives and i n s t r u m e n t s of husbandry. And as small f a m -

ilies did then, so now do cities and kingdoms (which are but

greater families) for their own security enlarge their d o m i n i o n s

u p o n all pretences of danger and fear of invasion or assistance

that may be given to invaders, [and] e n d e a v o r as m u c h as they

can to s u b d u e or weaken their neighbors, by open force and

secret arts for want of other caution, justly (and are r e m e m b e r e d

for it in after ages with honor).

[3] N o r is it the joining together of a small n u m b e r of m e n that

gives them this security; because in small numbers, small addi-

tions on the o n e side or the o t h e r make the advantage of

strength so great as is sufficient to c a r r y t h e vic-

tory; and t h e r e f o r e gives e n c o u r a g e m e n t to an Nor from the

invasion. T h e m u l t i t u d e sufficient to confide in conjunction of a fern

for o u r security is not d e t e r m i n e d by any cer- men or families.

tain number, but by comparison with the

e n e m y we fear, and is then sufficient, when the odds of the

e n e m y is n o t of so visible and conspicuous m o m e n t , to d e t e r -

m i n e the event of war, as to move him to attempt.

[4] And be t h e r e never so great a m u l t i t u d e , yet if their actions be

directed a c c o r d i n g to their particular judg- Norfroma&eat

m e n t s and p a r t i c u l a r appetites, they can expect Multitude, unless

t h e r e b y no defense, n o r protection, n e i t h e r directed by one

against a c o m m o n enemy, nor against the ptdgKM.

injuries of o n e another. For being distracted in opinions

146 • Thomas Hobbes

concerning the best use and application of their strength, they do

n o t help, but h i n d e r one another, and r e d u c e their strength by

m u t u a l opposition to nothing; whereby they are easily, not only

s u b d u e d by a very few that agree together, but also when there is

no c o m m o n enemy, they make war u p o n each other, for their par-

ticular interests For if we could suppose a great m u l t i t u d e of men

to consent in the observation of justice and other laws of nature

without a c o m m o n power to keep them all in awe, we m i g h t as

well suppose all m a n k i n d to do the same; and then there n e i t h e r

would be, nor need to be, any civil government or c o m m o n w e a l t h

at all, because t h e r e would be peace without subjection.

[5] N o r is it e n o u g h for the security, which men desire should last

all the time of their life, that they be governed and directed by

one j u d g m e n t for a limited time, as in o n e battle or

. , , . . . one war. For t h o u g h they obtain a victory by their

And that continually. n 1.

u n a n i m o u s e n d e a v o r against a foreign enemy, yet

afterward, w h e n either they have no c o m m o n

enemy, or he that by o n e part is held for an e n e m y is by a n o t h e r

p a r t held for a friend, they m u s t n e e d s by t h e difference of t h e i r

interests dissolve, and fall again into a war amongst themselves.

[6] It is t r u e that certain living creatures (as bees and ants) live socia-

bly one with a n o t h e r (which are t h e r e f o r e by Aristotle n u m b e r e d

amongst political creatures) and yet have no o t h e r

Why certain creatures direction than their particular judgments and

without reason, or appetites, nor speech whereby o n e of them can sig-

speeck do nevertheless nify to a n o t h e r what he thinks expedient for t h e

live in Society, without c o m m o n benefit; and t h e r e f o r e some man ma)? p

e r -
any coercive Power. h a p s d e s i f e t Q ] , n o w w h y m a r i k i n d cannot d o
the

same. To which I answer,

[7] First, that men are continually in c o m p e t i t i o n for h o n o r and

dignity, which these creatures are not; and consequently,

a m o n g s t men there ariseth, on that g r o u n d , envy and hatred,

and finally war; but a m o n g s t these n o t so.

18] Secondly, that amongst t h e s e creatures the c o m m o n good dif-

fereth n o t f r o m the private; and being by n a t u r e inclined to their

private, they p r o c u r e thereby the c o m m o n benefit. But m a n ,

whose joy consisteth in c o m p a r i n g himself with other m e n , can

relish n o t h i n g but w h a t is eminent.

Part II. Of Commonwealth • 147

[9] Thirdly, that these creatures (having not, as man, the use of rea-

son) do not see, n o r think they see, any fault in the administra-

tion of their c o m m o n business; whereas amongst men t h e r e are

very m a n y that think themselves wiser, and abler to govern the

public, better than the rest; and these strive to reform and i n n o -

vate, o n e this way, another that way; and thereby bring it into

distraction and civil war.

[10] Fourthly, that these creatures, t h o u g h they have some use of

voice (in m a k i n g known to o n e a n o t h e r their desires and other

affections), yet they want that art of words by which s o m e men

can represent to others that which is good in the likeness of evil,

and evil in the likeness of good, and a u g m e n t or diminish the

apparent greatness of good and evil, discontenting m e n , and

troubling their p e a c e at their pleasure.

[11] Fifthly, irrational creatures c a n n o t distinguish between injury

and damage; and therefore, as long as they be at ease, they are not

offended with their fellows, whereas man is then most t r o u b l e -

some, when he is most at ease; f o r then it is that he loves to shew

his wisdom, and control t h e actions of t h e m that govern the

commonwealth.

[12] Lastly, the a g r e e m e n t of these creatures is natural; that of men is

by covenant only, which is artificial; and therefore, it is no w o n -

der if there be s o m e w h a t else r e q u i r e d (besides covenant) to

make their a g r e e m e n t constant and lasting, which is a c o m m o n

power to keep t h e m in awe, and to direct their actions to the

c o m m o n benefit.

[13] T h e only way to erect such a c o m m o n power as may be able to

defend them f r o m the invasion of foreigners and the injuries of

one another, and thereby to secure t h e m in such sort as that by

their own industry, and by the fruits of the earth,

they may nourish themselves and live c o n t e n t - The Generation of a

edly, is to confer all their power and strength Commonwealth.

u p o n one man, or u p o n o n e assembly of men,

that may r e d u c e all their wills, by plurality of voices, u n t o one

will, which is as m u c h as to say, to appoint one man or assembly

of men to bear their person, and every o n e to own and acknowl-

edge himself to be author of whatsoever he that so beareth their

person shall act, or cause to be acted, in those things which

148 • Thomas Hobbes

c o n c e r n the c o m m o n peace and safety, and therein to submit

their wills, every one to his will, and their judgments, to his judg-

ment. T h i s is m o r e than consent, or concord; it is a real u n i t y of

t h e m all, in one and the same person, m a d e by covenant of every

m a n with every man, in such m a n n e r as if every man, in such

m a n n e r as if every man should say to every man I authorize and

give up my right of governing myself to this man, or to this assembly of men,

on this condition, that, thou give up tJyy right to him, and authorize all his

actions in like manner. T h i s done, the m u l t i t u d e so united in o n e

person is called a COMMONWEALTH, in Latin CIVTTAS.

The Definition of a T h i s is the generation of that great LEVIATHAN, or

Commonwealth. rather (to speak more reverently) of that Mortal God to

which we owe, u n d e r the Immortal. God, our peace and

defense. For by this authority, given him by every particular man

in the commonwealth, he hath the use of so much power and

strength conferred on him that by terror thereof he is enabled to

conform the wills of them all to peace at h o m e and m u t u a l aid

against their enemies abroad. And in him consisteth the essence of

the commonwealth, which (to define it) is one person, of whose acts a

great, multitude, by mutual covenants one with another, have made them-

selves every one the author, to-the end he may use the strength and means of

them all, as he shall think expedient, for their peace and common defense.

[14] And he that carrieth this p e r s o n is called Sov-

Sovcreign, and Subject, EREIGN, and said to have Sovereign Power, and

every one besides, his SUBJECT.

[15] T h e attaining to this sovereign power is by two ways. O n e , by

n a t u r a l force, as when a man maketh his children to s u b m i t

themselves and their children to his g o v e r n m e n t , as being able

to destroy t h e m if t h e y refuse, or by war s u b d u e t h his e n e m i e s to

his will, giving t h e m their lives on that condition. T h e o t h e r is

when m e n agree amongst themselves to s u b m i t to s o m e m a n , or

assembly of men, voluntarily, on confidence to be p r o t e c t e d by

h i m against all others. T h i s latter may be called a political c o m -

m o n w e a l t h , or c o m m o n w e a l t h by institution, and the former, a

c o m m o n w e a l t h by acquisition. And first, T shall speak of a c o m -

m o n w e a l t h by institution.

CHAPTER 7

D A V I D H U M E

In 1641, Descartes published his Meditations. In that immortal text is

his famous cogito, "I think therefore I am." With these five words,

Descartes strove to answer the ancient skeptics by establishing a

secure foundation for knowledge. Seven decades later, in 1711, one

of the most powerful skeptics of them all was b o r n — t h e Scotsman

David Hume.

Hume's father died when he was two, leaving his devoted mother

to look after three young children. A highly precocious and yet shy

young man, H u m e entered the university at the age of twelve. His

m o t h e r pressed him to seek a career in law but as the philosopher

himself would later put it, he had "an insurmountable aversion to

everything but the pursuits of Philosophy and general learning."

H u m e was powerfully influenced by J o h n Locke and G e o r g e

Berkeley. As a university student, H u m e ' s curriculum consisted of,

among other things, philosophy, French, mathematics, Newtonian

physics, and a careful examination of such secular writers as Virgil

and Cicero.

H u m e had the kind of t e m p e r a m e n t that would allow him to raise

earthshaking metaphysical questions in the afternoon (such as: Do

causes really exist? Do we have any reason to believe that selves

exist?) and then to enjoy a night at the billiard table.

ISO • David Hume

At fifteen H u m e left t h e university w i t h o u t a d e g r e e and

i m m e r s e d himself in an intensive p e r s o n a l c o u r s e of studies.

W h e t h e r f r o m excessive intellectual c r a m m i n g or o t h e r causes, he,

like J o h n S t u a r t Mill, s u c c u m b e d to a serious depression in his early

twenties. For a brief t i m e H u m e sought out a m o r e practical career in

t h e m e r c a n t i l e business. However, he soon tired of t h e world of c o m -

m e r c e and in 1734 H u m e moved to Rheims, w h e r e he studied at La

Fleche, t h e site of Descarces's old college. W h i l e in France, H u m e

m a d e extensive u s e of t h e J e s u i t library, w h e r e he pored over the

w o r k s of M a l e b r a n c h e , D u b o s , and t h e F r e n c h skeptic P i e r r e
Bayle.

At t h e s a m e time, he c o m p l e t e d a draft of his Treatise on Human

Nature. P e r h a p s c o n c e r n e d about its anti-theological orientation,

H u m e published the first two books of the Treatise a n o n y m o u s l y in

1739. Always ambitious, he was disappointed with t h e public r e c e p -

tion and c l a i m e d t h a t "the book fell stillborn f r o m t h e pTess."

F r o m 1741 to 1742 H u m e put into print t h e t w o - v o l u m e Essays

Moral and Political. T h i s work explored some of t h e t h e m e s of the

Treatise but in a m o r e accessible fashion. It f o u n d a solid r e a d e r s h i p

and H u m e achieved s o m e notice. In 1745, H u m e began service as a

t u t o r to t h e daft if not d o w n r i g h t mad M a r q u i s of Annandale. A year

later, he was a p p o i n t e d private secretary to G e n e r a l St. Clair. N o w in

his mid-thirties, H u m e enjoyed trips with the general on d i p l o m a t i c

missions to Vienna and T u r i n .

H u m e r e t u r n e d to his philosophical reflections and in 1748 p u b -

lished Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding and then, t h r e e years

later, Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals. In 1752, he published

his very p o p u l a r Political Discourses and f r o m 1754 to 1762 he c a m e

o u t with his six-volume History of England: From the Invasion of Julius

Caesar to the Revolution in 1688. T h i s sweeping s t u d y b r o u g h t H u m e

great r e n o w n and, eventually, wealth.

A c r e a t u r e of the E n l i g h t e n m e n t , the Socratic Scotsman placed

great weight on both reason and experience. As early as 1748 H u m e

w r o t e this e p i g r a m for empiricism:

If we take in our hand any volume of divinity or school

metaphysics (works on religion and philosophy) let us ask

this question, does it contain any abstract reasoning con-

cerning quantity or number? N o . Does it contain any

Ethics: The Essential Writings • 151

experimental reasoning concerning m a t t e r of fact or exis-

tence? No. C o m m i t it then to the flames, for it can be

nothing but sophistry and illusion.

Late in his life, H u m e was able to live off royalties f r o m his writings.

He spent his last d e c a d e in E d i n b u r g h c o r r e c t i n g and r e - c o r r e c

t i n g

his manuscripts and composing his Dialogues Concetning Natural Reli-

gion. T h e elegantly written Dialogues raised p r o f o u n d questions about

traditional a r g u m e n t s f o r God's existence, and H u m e , who had long

been a target of attack for d e f e n d e r s of the faith, bid his close friend,

economist Adam Smith, to wait two and a half years after his d e a t h

before bringing it into print. H u m e died of cancer in 1776.

After his friend's demise, Smith scribbled a wistful letter: " U p o n

the whole, 1 have always considered him both in his lifetime and

since his death, as a p p r o a c h i n g as nearly to t h e idea of a perfectly

wise and virtuous m a n , as perhaps the n a t u r e of h u m a n frailty will

permit."
In stark contrast to m a n y philosophers of his time, H u m e recog-

nized t h e p a r a m o u n t i m p o r t a n c e of the passions. Unlike Kant, who

once r e m a r k e d that H u m e had awakened him f r o m his d o g m a t i c

slumbers, the Scotsman held that "Reason is, and ought only to he

the slave of the passions, and can never p r e t e n d to any o t h e r office

than to serve and obey them." T h o u g h H u m e maintained that reason

is required to develop general systems of ethics, he believed that t h e

brick and m o r t a r of a moral life was not o u r ability to reason b u t

instead o u r ahility to e m p a t h i z e

A N E N Q U I R Y C O N C E R N I N G T H E

P R I N C I P L E S OF M O R A L S

SECTION I. OF T H E G E N E R A L PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.

Disputes with men, pertinaciously obstinate in their principles, are,

of all others, the most irksome; except, perhaps, those with persons,

entirely disingenuous, who really do not believe the opinions they

defend, but engage in the controversy, from affectation, from a spirit

of opposition, or from a desire of showing wit and ingenuity, superior

to the rest of mankind. T h e same blind adherence to their own argu-

ments is to be expected in both; the same contempt of their antagonists;

and the same passionate vehemence, in inforcing sophistry and false-

hood. And as reasoning is not the source, whence either disputant

derives his tenets; it is in vain to expect, that any logic, which speaks not

to t h e affections, will ever engage him to embrace sounder principles.

T h o s e who have denied the reality of moral distinctions, may be

ranked among the disingenuous disputants; nor is it conceivable, that

any h u m a n creature could ever seriously believe, that all characters

and actions were alike entitled to t h e affection and regard of every

one. T h e difference, which nature has placed between one man and

another, is so wide, and this difference is still so much farther

widened, by education, example, and habit, that, where the opposite

extremes come at once u n d e r our apprehension, there is no scepti-

cism so scrupulous, and scarce any assurance so determined, as

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • ' 75

absolutely to d e n y all distinction b e t w e e n them. Let a man's insensi-

bility be ever so great, he m u s t often be t o u c h e d with the images of

R I G H T and W R O N G ; and let his prejudices be ever so obstinate, he

m u s t observe, that o t h e r s are susceptible of like impressions. T h e

only way, therefore, of converting an antagonist of this kind, is to

leave him to himself. For, finding that no body keeps up the c o n t r o -

versy with him, it is probable he will, at last, of himself, f r o m m e r e

weariness, c o m e over to the side of c o m m o n sense and reason.

T h e r e has been a controversy started of late, m u c h b e t t e r w o r t h

examination, c o n c e r n i n g the general f o u n d a t i o n of M O R A L S ;

w h e t h e r they be derived from R E A S O N , or from S E N T I M E N T ;

w h e t h e r we attain the knowledge of t h e m by a chain of a r g u m e n t and

induction, or by an i m m e d i a t e feeling and finer internal sense;

whether, like all sound j u d g m e n t of t r u t h and falsehood, they should

be the s a m e to every rational intelligent being; or whether, like the

p e r c e p t i o n of b e a u t y and deformity, they be f o u n d e d entirely on the

particular fabric and constitution of t h e h u m a n species.

T h e ancient philosophers, though they often affirm, that v i r t u e is

n o t h i n g but c o n f o r m i t y to reason, yet, in general, seem to consider

morals as deriving t h e i r existence f r o m taste and sentiment. On the

other hand, o u r m o d e r n enquirers, though they also talk m u c h of t h e

beauty of virtue, and d e f o r m i t y of vice, yet have c o m m o n l y e n d e a v

-

ored to account for these distinctions by metaphysical reasonings,

and by deductions from the most abstract principles of the u n d e r -

standing. Such confusion reigned in these subjects, that an opposition

of the greatest c o n s e q u e n c e could prevail between one system and

another, and even in t h e parts of almost each individual system;

and yet no body, till very lately, was ever sensible of it. T h e elegant

Lord SHAFTESBURY, who first gave occasion to remark this distinc-

tion, and who, in general, adhered to the principles of the ancients, is

not, himself, entirely f r e e f r o m the same confusion.

It m u s t be acknowledged, that both sides of the question are sus-

ceptible of specious arguments. M o r a l distinctions, it may be said,

are discernible by p u r e reason: Else, w h e n c e the many disputes that

reign in c o m m o n life, as well as in philosophy, with regard to this

subject: T h e long chain of proofs often p r o d u c e d on both sides; the

examples cited, the authorities appealed to, the analogies employed,

the fallacies detected, the inferences drawn, and the several c o n c l u -

154 • David Hume

sions adjusted to their p r o p e r principles. T r u t h is disputable; n o t

taste: W h a t exists in the n a t u r e of things is t h e standard of o u r j u d g -

ment; what each man feels within himself is t h e standard of senti-

ment. Propositions in g e o m e t r y may be proved, systems in physics

m a y be controverted; but the h a r m o n y of verse, the tenderness of

passion, the brilliancy of wit, m u s t give i m m e d i a t e pleasure. No man

reasons c o n c e r n i n g another's beauty; but f r e q u e n t l y c o n c e r n i n g

t h e

justice or injustice of his actions. In every criminal trial the first

object of the prisoner is to disprove the facts alleged, and d e n y t h e

actions i m p u t e d to him: T h e second to prove, that, even if these

actions were real, they m i g h t be justified, as i n n o c e n t and lawful. It is

confessedly by d e d u c t i o n s of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g , that the first point

is

ascertained: H o w can we s u p p o s e that a d i f f e r e n t faculty of the mind

is e m p l o y e d in fixing the other?

On the o t h e r hand, those w h o would resolve all moral d e t e r m i n a -

tions into sentiment, may endeavor to show, that it is impossible for

reason ever to draw conclusions of this nature. To virtue, say they, it

belongs to be amiable, and vice odious. T h i s f o r m s their very n a t u r e or

essence. But can reason or a r g u m e n t a t i o n distribute these d i f f e r e n t

e p i t h e t s to any subjects, and p r o n o u n c e b e f o r e - h a n d , that this m

u s t

p r o d u c e love, and t h a t hatred? Or what o t h e r reason can we ever

assign for these affections, b u t the original fabric and formation of

the h u m a n mind, which is naturally adapted to receive them?

T h e end of all moral speculations is to teach us our duty; and, hy

p r o p e r r e p r e s e n t a t i o n s of the d e f o r m i t y of vice and beauty of

virtue,

beget c o r r e s p o n d e n t habits, and engage us to avoid the one, and

e m b r a c e the other. But is this ever to be expected f r o m i n f e r e n c e s

and conclusions of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g , which of themselves have no

hold of the affections or set in motion the active powers of men?

T h e y discover truths: But w h e r e the truths which they discover are

i n d i f f e r e n t , and beget no desire or aversion, they can have no influ-

ence on c o n d u c t and behavior. W h a t is honorable, what is fair, w h a t

is becoming, what is noble, w h a t is generous, takes possession of t h e

heart, and animates us to e m b r a c e and maintain it. W h a t is intelligi-

ble, w h a t is evident, w h a t is probable, what is crue, p r o c u r e s only the

cool assent of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g ; and gratifying a speculative curios-

ity, puts an end to o u r researches.

Extinguish all the warm feelings and prepossessions in favor of

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • ' 75

virtue, and all disgust or aversion to vice: R e n d e r men totally indif-

f e r e n t toward these distinctions; and morality is no longer a practical

study, n o r has any t e n d e n c y to regulate our lives and actions.

T h e s e a r g u m e n t s on each side (and many m o r e m i g h t be p r o -

duced) are so plausible, that 1 am apt to suspect, they may, the o n e as

well as the other, be solid and satisfactory, and that reason and senti-

ment concur in almost all moral d e t e r m i n a t i o n s and conclusions. T h e

final sentence, it is probable, which p r o n o u n c e s characters and

actions amiable or odious, p r a i s e - w o r t h y or blameable; t h a t which

stamps on them the mark of honor or infamy, approbation or cen-

sure; that which r e n d e r s morality an active principle, and constitutes

v i r t u e o u r happiness, and vice o u r misery: It is probable, I say, that

this final sentence d e p e n d s on some internal sense or feeling, which

n a t u r e has m a d e universal in the whole species. For what else can

have an influence of this nature? But in o r d e r to pave t h e way for

such a sentiment, and give a p r o p e r d i s c e r n m e n t of its object, it is

often necessary, we find, that m u c h r e a s o n i n g should precede, that

nice distinctions be made, just conclusions drawn, distant c o m p a r -

isons formed, complicated relations examined, and general facts

fixed and ascertained. S o m e species of beauty, especially the natural

kinds, on their first appearance, c o m m a n d o u r affection and a p p r o -

bation; and w h e r e they fail of this effect, it is impossible for any rea-

soning to redress their influence, or adapt t h e m better to our taste

and sentiment. But in many orders of beauty, particularly those of

the finer arts, it is requisite to employ m u c h reasoning, in o r d e r to

feel the p r o p e r sentiment; and a false relish may frequently be cor-

rected by a r g u m e n t and reflection. T h e r e are just g r o u n d s to con-

clude, that moral b e a u t y partakes m u c h of this latter species, and

d e m a n d s the assistance of o u r intellectual faculties, in o r d e r to give

it a suitable influence on the h u m a n mind.

But though this question, concerning t h e general principles of

morals, be curious and important, it is needless for us, at present, to

employ f a r t h e r care in our researches c o n c e r n i n g it. For if we can be

so happy, in the course of this enquiry, as to discover the t r u e origin

of morals, it will then easily appear how far either s e n t i m e n t or rea-

son enters into all d e t e r m i n a t i o n s of this nature.* In order to attain

' S e e Appendix I. C o n c e r n i n g Moral Sentiment.

156 • David Hume

this p u r p o s e , we shall e n d e a v o r to follow a very simple m e t h o d : We

shall analyze t h a t c o m p l i c a t i o n of mental qualities, which form what,

in common, life, we call PERSONAL MERIT: We shall consider ever}'

attribute of the mind, which r e n d e r s a man an object e i t h e r of esteem

and affection, or of h a t r e d and c o n t e m p t ; every habit or s e n t i m e n t

or

faculty, which, if ascribed to any person, i m p l i e s either praise or

blame, and may e n t e r into any p a n e g y r i c or satire of his character

and manners, T h e quick sensibility, which, on this head, is so u n i v e r -

sal a m o n g m a n k i n d , gives a p h i l o s o p h e r sufficient assurance, that

he

can n e v e r be considerably mistaken in f r a m i n g the catalogue, or

i n c u r any d a n g e r of misplacing the objects of his c o n t e m p l a t i o n :

He

needs only e n t e r into his own breast f o r a m o m e n t , and consider

w h e t h e r or n o t he should desire to have this or t h a t quality ascribed

to h i m , and w h e t h e r such or such an i m p u t a t i o n would p r o c e e d f r
o m

a friend or an enemy. T h e very n a t u r e of language guides us almost

infallibly in f o r m i n g a j u d g m e n t of this n a t u r e ; and as every t o n g u

e

possesses one set of words which are taken in a good sense, and

a n o t h e r in the opposite, t h e least a c q u a i n t a n c e with t h e i d i o m

suf-

fices, w i t h o u t any reasoning, to direct us in collecting and a r r a n g i n g

the estimable or b l a m e a b l e qualities of men. T h e only object of rea-

s o n i n g is to discover t h e c i r c u m s t a n c e s on both sides, which are c o

m -

m o n to these qualities; to observe that p a r t i c u l a r in which t h e

e s t i m a b l e qualities a g r e e on t h e one hand, and the blameable on the

other; and t h e n c e to reach t h e f o u n d a t i o n of ethics, and find t h o s e

universal principles, f r o m which all c e n s u r e or approbation is ulti-

mately derived. As this is a question of fact, not of abstract science,

we can only e x p e c t success, by following the e x p e r i m e n t a l m e t h o d

,

and d e d u c i n g general maxims f r o m a c o m p a r i s o n of particular

instances. T h e other scientifical m e t h o d , w h e r e a general abstract

principle is first established, and is afterward b r a n c h e d out into a

variety of inferences and conclusions, may be m o r e p e r f e c t in itself,

but suits less the i m p e r f e c t i o n of h u m a n nature, and is a c o m m o n

s o u r c e of illusion and mistake in this as well as in o t h e r subjects. M e n

are now cured of their passion for h y p o t h e s e s and systems in natural

philosophy, and will hearken to no a r g u m e n t s hut those which are

derived f r o m experience. It is full time they should a t t e m p t a like

r e f o r m a t i o n in all moral disquisitions; and reject every system of

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • ' 75

ethics, however subtile or ingenious, which is not f o u n d e d on fact

and observation.

We shall begin o u r enquiry on this h e a d by the consideration of

social virtues, b e n e v o l e n c e and justice. T h e explication of t h e m

will probably give us an opening by which others may be a c c o u n t e d

for.

SECTION I I . O F BENEVOLENCE.

PART I.

It may be esteemed, perhaps, a superfluous task to prove, that t h e

benevolent or softer affections are E S T I M A B L E ; and wherever

they appear, engage t h e approbation, and good-will of m a n k i n d .

T h e epithets sociable, good-natured, humane, merciful, grateful,friendly, gen-

erous, beneficent; or t h e i r equivalents, are known in all languages,

and universally express the highest merit, which human nature is

capable of attaining. W h e r e these amiable qualities are attended

with birth and power and e m i n e n t abilities, and display themselves

in the good g o v e r n m e n t or useful instruction of mankind, they

seem even to raise t h e possessors of them above the rank of human

nature, and make t h e m approach in s o m e m e a s u r e to the divine.

E x a l t e d capacity, u n d a u n t e d courage, p r o s p e r o u s success; these

may

only expose a h e r o or politician to the envy or ill-will of the

public: But as soon as t h e praises are added of h u m a n e and benefi-

cent; when instances are displayed of lenity, tenderness, or f r i e n d -

ship: envy itself is silent, or joins the general voice of approbation

and applause.

W h e n PERICLES, the great ATHENIAN statesman and general, was

on his death-bed, his s u r r o u n d i n g friends, d e e m i n g him now insensi-

ble, began to indulge their sorrow for their expiring patron, by e n u -

m e r a t i n g his great qualities and successes, his conquests and

victories, the unusual length of his administration, and his nine tro-

phies erected over t h e e n e m i e s of the republic. You forget, cries the

158 • David Hume

dying hero, who had heard all, you forget the most eminent of my praises,

•while you dwell so much on those vulgar advantages, in which fortune had a
principal share. You have not. observed, that no citizen has ever yet. worne

mourning on my account.

In men of m o r e o r d i n a r y talents and capacity, the social virtues

become, if possible, still m o r e essentially requisite; there being n o t h -

ing eminent, in that case, to c o m p e n s a t e for the want of them, or p r e -

serve the person f r o m our severest hatred, as well as c o n t e m p t . A

high ambition, an elevated courage, is apt, says CLCERO, in less p e r -

fect characters, to d e g e n e r a t e into a t u r b u l e n t ferocity. T h e m o r e

social and softer virtues are t h e r e chiefly to be regarded. T h e s e are

always good and amiable.

T h e principal advantage, which JUVENAL discovers in the e x t e n -

sive capacity of the h u m a n species is, that it r e n d e r s o u r b e n e v o l e n c

e

also m o r e extensive, and gives us larger o p p o r t u n i t i e s of s p r e a d i n g

o u r kindly influence t h a n what are indulged to the inferior creation.

It must, indeed, be confessed, that by doing good only, can a man

truly enjoy the advantages of being eminent. His exalted station, of

itself, b u t t h e m o r e exposes him to d a n g e r and tempest. His sole p r e -

rogative is to afford shelter to inferiors, who r e p o s e themselves u n d e r

his cover and protection.

But I forget, that it is n o t my p r e s e n t business to r e c o m m e n d

generosity and benevolence, or to paint, in their t r u e colors, all the

g e n u i n e charms of the social virtues. T h e s e , indeed, sufficiently

engage every heart, on t h e first apprehension of t h e m ; and it is diffi-

cult to abstain f r o m s o m e sally of panegyric, as o f t e n as they o c c u r in

discourse or reasoning. But o u r object h e r e being m o r e t h e specula-

tive, than the practical part of morals, it will suffice to remark, (what

will readily, I believe, be allowed) that no qualities are m o r e intitled

to the general good-will and approbation of m a n k i n d than b e n e v o -

l e n c e and humanity, f r i e n d s h i p and gratitude, natural affection and

public spirit, or whatever p r o c e e d s from a t e n d e r s y m p a t h y with

others, and a g e n e r o u s c o n c e r n for o u r kind and species. T h e s e ,

w h e r e v e r they appear, seem to transfuse themselves, in a manner,

into each beholder, and to call forth, in their own behalf, the s a m e

favorable and affectionate sentiments, which they exert on all

around.

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • 159

PART II.

We may observe, that, in displaying t h e praises of any h u m a n e ,

beneficent man, there is one c i r c u m s t a n c e which never fails to be

a m p l y insisted on, namely, the happiness and satisfaction, derived to

society from his i n t e r c o u r s e and good offices. To his parents, we are

apt to say, he e n d e a r s himself by his p i o u s a t t a c h m e n t and d u t e o u
s

care, still m o r e than by the connexions of nature. His children never

feel his authority, but when employed for their advantage. With him,

the ties of love are consolidated by b e n e f i c e n c e and friendship. T h e

ties of f r i e n d s h i p approach, in a fond observance of each obliging

office, to those of love and inclination. H i s domestics and d e p e n d a n t s

have in him a sure resource; and no longer dread the p o w e r of for-

tune, but so far as she exercises it over him. From him the h u n g r y

receive food, t h e naked cloathing, the ignorant and slothful skill and

industry. Like the sun, an inferior minister of providence, he cheers,

invigorates, and sustains the s u r r o u n d i n g world.

If confined to private life, the s p h e r e of his activity is narrower;

but his influence is all benign and gentle. If exalted into a h i g h e r sta-

tion, mankind and posterity reap the f r u i t of his labors.

As these topics of praise never fail to be employed, and with suc-

cess, w h e r e we would inspire esteem for any one; may it not t h e n c e

be concluded, that the U T I L I T Y , resulting f r o m the social virtues,

forms, at least, a part of their merit, and is o n e source of that a p p r o -

bation and regard so universally paid to them?

W h e n we r e c o m m e n d even an animal or a plant as useful and ben-

eficialI we give it an applause and r e c o m m e n d a t i o n suited to its

nature. As, on t h e o t h e r hand, reflection on the baneful influence of

any of these inferior beings always inspires us with the s e n t i m e n t of

aversion. T h e eye is pleased with the prospect of corn-ficlds and

loaded vineyards; horses grazing, and flocks pasturing: But flies the

view of briars and brambles, affording shelter to wolves and serpents.

A machine, a piece of f u r n i t u r e , a vestment, a house well c o n -

trived for use and convenicncy, is so far beautiful, and is c o n t e m -

plated with pleasure and approbation. An experienced eye is h e r e

sensible to m a n y excellencies, which escape persons i g n o r a n t and

uninstructed.

160 • David Hume

C a n a n y t h i n g stronger he said in praise of a profession, such as

m e r c h a n d i z e or m a n u f a c t u r e , than to observe the advantages which

it p r o c u r e s to society? And is not a m o n k and inquisitor enraged

w h e n we treat his o r d e r as useless or pernicious to mankind?

T h e historian exults in displaying the benefit arising f r o m his

labors. T h e writer of r o m a n c e alleviates or denies the bad c o n s e -

q u e n c e s ascribed to his m a n n e r of composition.

In general, what praise is implied in the simple e p i t h e t useful!

W h a t r e p r o a c h in the contrary!
\ o u r Gods, says CICERO, in opposition to the EPICUREANS, c a n n o t

justly claim any worship or adoration, with w h a t e v e r imaginary p e r -

fections you may suppose them endowed. T h e y are totally useless

and unactive. Even the E G Y P T I A N S , w h o m you so m u c h ridicule,

never consecrated any animal but on account of its utility.

T h e sceptics assert, though absurdly, that the origin of all reli-

gious worship was derived f r o m the utility of i n a n i m a t e objects, as

the sun and moon, to the s u p p o r t and well-being of mankind. T h i s is

also the c o m m o n reason assigned by historians, for the deification of

e m i n e n t heroes and legislators.

To plant a tree, to cultivate a field, to beget children; m e r i t o r i o u s

acts, according to the religion of ZOROASTER.

In all d e t e r m i n a t i o n s of morality, this c i r c u m s t a n c e of public u t i

l -

ity is ever principally in view; and wherever d i s p u t e s arise, either in

p h i l o s o p h y or c o m m o n life, c o n c e r n i n g the b o u n d s of duty, the

ques-

tion cannot, by any means, be decided with g r e a t e r certainty, than by

ascertaining, on any side, the t r u e interests of mankind. If any false

opinion, e m b r a c e d f r o m appearances, has been f o u n d to prevail; as

soon as f a r t h e r e x p e r i e n c e and s o u n d e r reasoning have given us

juster notions of h u m a n affairs; we retract our first s e n t i m e n t , and

adjust anew the b o u n d a r i e s of moral good and evil.

G i v i n g alms to c o m m o n beggars is naturally praised; because it

seems to c a r r y relief to the distressed and indigent: But when we

observe the e n c o u r a g e m e n t t h e n c e arising to idleness and d e b a u c h

-

ery, we regard that species of charity r a t h e r as a weakness than a

virtue.

Tyrannicide, or the assassination of u s u r p e r s and oppressive

princes, was highly extolled in ancient times; b e c a u s e it both f r e e d

m a n k i n d f r o m m a n y of t h e s e monsters, and s e e m e d to keep t h e

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • ' 75

others in awe, w h o m the sword or poinard could not reach. But his-

tory and experience having since convinced us, that this practice

encreases the jealousy and cruelty of princes, a TlMOLKON and a

BRUTUS, though treated with i n d u l g e n c e on account of t h e p r e j u -

dices of their times, are now considered as very i m p r o p e r models for

imitation.

Liberality in princes is regarded as a mark of beneficence: But

when it occurs, that the homely bread of the honest and industrious

is often t h e r e b y converted into delicious cates for the idle and t h e

prodigal, we soon retract o u r heedless praises. T h e regrets of a

prince, for having lost a day, were noble and generous: But had he

intended to have spent it in acts of generosity to his greedy courtiers,

it was better lost than misemployed after that manner.

Luxury, or a r e f i n e m e n t on the pleasures and conveniencies of

life, had long been supposed the source of every c o r r u p t i o n in gov-

e r n m e n t , and the i m m e d i a t e cause of faction, sedition, civil wars, and

the total loss of liberty. It was, therefore, universally regarded as a

vice, and was an object of declamation to all satyrists, and severe

moralists. Those, who prove, or a t t e m p t to prove, that such refine-

m e n t s rather tend to the encrease of industry, civility, and arts, r e g u -

late anew o u r moral as well as political sentiments, and represent, as

laudable or innocent, what had formerly been regarded as p e r n i c i o u s

and blameable.

U p o n the whole, then, it seems undeniable, that n o t h i n g can

bestow m o r e merit on any h u m a n c r e a t u r e than the s e n t i m e n t of

benevolence in an e m i n e n t degree; and that a part, at least, of its merit

arises from its t e n d e n c y to p r o m o t e the interests of our species, and

bestow happiness on h u m a n society. We carry o u r view into the

salutary consequences of such a character and disposition; and what-

ever has so benign an influence, and forward so desirable an end, is

beheld with complacency and pleasure. T h e social virtues are never

regarded w i t h o u t their beneficial tendencies, nor viewed as barren

and u n f r u i t f u l . T h e happiness of mankind, t h e order of society, the

h a r m o n y of families, the mutual s u p p o r t of friends, are always,

considered as the result of their gentle dominion over t h e breasts

of men.

H o w considerable a p a r t of their merit we o u g h t to ascribe to their

utility, will b e t t e r appear f r o m f u t u r e disquisitions, as well as the rea-

162 • David Hume

son, why this c i r c u m s t a n c e has such a c o m m a n d over o u r esteem and

approbation.

SECTION TIL OF JUSTICE.

P A R T I .

T h a t J u s t i c e is u s e f u l to society, and c o n s e q u e n t l y that part of its

merit, at least, must arise f r o m that consideration, it would be a

s u p e r f l u o u s u n d e r t a k i n g to prove. T h a t public utility is the sole

origin

of justice, and that reflections on the beneficial consequences of this

v i r t u e are t h e sole f o u n d a t i o n of its merit; this proposition, being

m o r e curious and i m p o r t a n t , will better deserve o u r examination

and enquiry.

Let us suppose, that n a t u r e has bestowed on the h u m a n race such

p r o f u s e abundance of all external conveniencies, that, w i t h o u t any

u n c e r t a i n t y in the event, w i t h o u t any care or i n d u s t r y on o u r part,

every individual finds himself fully provided with whatever his m o s t

voracious appetites can want, or luxurious imagination wish or

desire. H i s natural beauty, we shall suppose, surpasses all acquired

o r n a m e n t s : T h e p e r p e t u a l c l e m e n c y of the seasons r e n d e r s
useless

all cloaths or covering: T h e raw herbage affords him the most deli-

cious fare; the clear f o u n t a i n , t h e richest beverage. No laborious

o c c u p a t i o n required: N o tillage: N o navigation. Music, poetry, and

c o n t e m p l a t i o n , form his sole business: Conversation, mirth, and

f r i e n d s h i p his sole a m u s e m e n t .

It seems evident, that, in such a h a p p y state, every o t h e r social

virtue would flourish, and receive tenfold encrease; b u t the cautious,

jealous v i r t u e of justice would never once have been d r e a m e d of. For

what p u r p o s e make a partition of goods, w h e r e every one has already

m o r e than enough? W h y give rise to property, w h e r e t h e r e c a n n o t

possibly be any injury? W h y call this object mine, when, u p o n t h e

seizing of it by another, I need b u t stretch o u t my hand to possess

myself of w h a t is equally valuable? Justice, in t h a t case, b e i n g totally

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • ' 75

U S E L E S S , would be an idle ceremonial, and could never possibly

have place in t h e catalogue of virtues.

We see, even in t h e present necessitous condition of m a n k i n d , that,

wherever any benefit is bestowed by nature in an unlimited a b u n -

dance, we leave it always in c o m m o n a m o n g the whole h u m a n race,

and- make no subdivisions of right and property. Water and air, t h o u g h

the most necessary of all objects, are not challenged as the p r o p e r t y of

individuals; nor can any man commit injustice by the most lavish use

and enjoyment of these blessings. In fertile extensive countries, with

few inhabitants, land is regarded on the same footing. And no topic is

so m u c h insisted on by those, who defend the liberty of the seas, as the

unexhausted use of them in navigation. Were the advantages, pro-

cured by navigation, as inexhaustible, these reasoners had never had

any adversaries to refute; nor had any claims ever been advanced of a

separate, exclusive d o m i n i o n over the ocean.

It may happen, in s o m e countries, at s o m e periods, that t h e r e be

established a p r o p e r t y in water, n o n e in land; if the latter be in

greater a b u n d a n c e than can be used by t h e inhabitants, and the for-

m e r be found, with difficulty, and in very small quantities.

Again; suppose, that, t h o u g h the necessities of h u m a n race c o n -

tinue the same as at present, yet the m i n d is so enlarged, and so

r e p l e t e with f r i e n d s h i p and generosity, t h a t every man has t h e

u t m o s t tenderness for every man, and feels no m o r e c o n c e r n for his

own interest than for that of his fellows: It seems evident, that the

U S E of justice would, in this case, be s u s p e n d e d by such an extensive

benevolence, n o r would the divisions and barriers of p r o p e r t y and

obligation have ever been t h o u g h t of. W h y should I bind another, by

a deed or promise, to do me any good office, when I know t h a t he is

already p r o m p t e d , by the strongest inclination, to seek my happiness,

and would, of himself, p e r f o r m the desired service; except t h e hurt,

he thereby receives, be greater than the benefit accruing to me? in

which case, he knows, that, f r o m my innate h u m a n i t y and friendship,

I should be the first to o p p o s e myself to his i m p r u d e n t generosity.

W h y raise l a n d - m a r k s between my neighbor's field and mine, w h e n

my heart has m a d e no division between o u r interests; but shares all

his joys and sorrows with the same force and vivacity as if originally

my own? Every man, u p o n this supposition, being a second self to

164 • David Hume

another, would trust all his interests to t h e discretion of every man;

w i t h o u t jealousy, w i t h o u t partition, w i t h o u t distinction. And t h e

whole h u m a n race would form only one family; w h e r e all would lie

in c o m m o n , and be used freely, w i t h o u t regard to p r o p e r t y ; b u t c a

u -

tiously too, with as entire regard to t h e necessities of each individual,

as if o u r own interests were most intimately c o n c e r n e d .

In the p r e s e n t disposition of the h u m a n heart, it would, perhaps,

be difficult to find c o m p l e a t instances of such enlarged affections; b u t

still we m a y observe, that the case of families a p p r o a c h e s toward it;

and the stronger the m u t u a l benevolence is a m o n g t h e individuals,

the n e a r e r it approaches; till all distinction of p r o p e r t y be, in a great

measure, lost and c o n f o u n d e d among them. Between married p e r -

sons, the c e m e n t of f r i e n d s h i p is by the laws supposed so strong as to

abolish all division of possessions: and has often, in reality, the force

ascribed to it. And it is observable, that, d u r i n g the ardor of new

enthusiasms, w h e n every principle is inflamed into extravagance, the

c o m m u n i t y of goods has frequently been a t t e m p t e d : and n o t h i n g

but

e x p e r i e n c e of its inconveniencies, f r o m the r e t u r n i n g or disguised

selfishness of m e n , could make t h e i m p r u d e n t fanatics adopt anew

the ideas of justice and of separate property. So t r u e is it, that this

v i r t u e derives its existence entirely f r o m its necessary use to t h e

i n t e r c o u r s e and social state of mankind.

To m a k e this t r u t h m o r e evident, let us reverse the foregoing s u p -

positions; and carrying every thing to the opposite extreme, consider

what would be the effect of these new situations. S u p p o s e a society

to fall into such want of all c o m m o n necessaries, that the u t m o s t f r u -

gality and industry c a n n o t preserve the greater n u m b e r from perish-

ing, and t h e whole from e x t r e m e misery: It will readily, I believe be

a d m i t t e d , th at the strict laws of justice are suspended, in such a press-

ing e m e r g e n c e , and give place to the stronger motives of necessity

and self-preservation. Is it any crime, after a shipwreck, to seize

whatever m e a n s or i n s t r u m e n t of safety o n e can lay hold of, w i t h o u

t

regard to f o r m e r limitations of property? Or if a city besieged were

p e r i s h i n g with h u n g e r ; can we imagine, that m e n will see any m e a n s

of preservation before t h e m , and lose their lives, f r o m a s c r u p u l o u s

regard to what, in other situations, would be the rules of equity and

justice? T h e U S E and T E N D E N C Y o f that v i r t u e i s t o p r o c u r e h

a p -

piness and security, by preserving order in society: But w h e r e t h e

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • ' 75

society is ready to perish f r o m e x t r e m e necessity, no g r e a t e r evil can

be d r e a d e d f r o m violence and injustice; and every man may now p r o -

vide f o r himself by all the means, which p r u d e n c e can dictate, or

h u m a n i t y permit. T h e public, even in less u r g e n t necessities, o p e n s

granaries, without the c o n s e n t of proprietors; as justly supposing,

t h a t t h e authority of magistracy may, consistent with equity, extend

so far: But were any n u m b e r of men to assemble, w i t h o u t the tye of

laws or civil jurisdiction; would an equal partition of bread in a

famine, though effected by power and even violence, be regarded as

criminal or injurious?

S u p p o s e likewise, t h a t it should be a v i r t u o u s man's fate to fall into

the society of ruffians, r e m o t e f r o m the protection of laws and gov-

e r n m e n t ; what c o n d u c t m u s t he e m b r a c e in that m e l a n c h o l y
situa-

tion? He sees such a d e s p e r a t e rapaciousness prevail; such a disregard

to equity, such c o n t e m p t of order, such stupid blindness to f u t u r e

consequences, as m u s t immediately have t h e most tragical conclu-

sion, and m u s t t e r m i n a t e in destruction to the greater number, and in

a total dissolution of society to t h e rest. H e , m e a n while, can have no

o t h e r expedient than to arm himself, to w h o m e v e r the sword he

seizes, or the buckler, may belong: To make provision of all m e a n s of

d e f e n s e and security: And his particular regard to justice being no

l o n g e r of U S E to his own safety or that of others, he m u s t consult t h e

dictates of self-preservation alone, w i t h o u t c o n c e r n f o r those who no

longer merit his care and attention.

W h e n any man, even in political society, r e n d e r s himself, by his

crimes, obnoxious to t h e public, he is p u n i s h e d by the laws in his

goods and person; that is, the o r d i n a r y rules of justice are, with

regard to him, s u s p e n d e d for a m o m e n t , and it b e c o m e s equitable to

inflict on him, for the benefit of society, what, otherwise, he could not

suffer without w r o n g or injury.

T h e rage and violence of public war; what is it but a suspension of

justice a m o n g the warring parties, who perceive, that this virtue is

now no longer of any use or advantage to them? T h e laws of war,

which then succeed to those of equity and justice, are rules c a l c u -

lated for the advantage and utility of that particular state, in which

m e n are now placed. And w e r e a civilized nation engaged with bar-

barians, who observed no rules even of war; the f o r m e r must also sus-

p e n d their observance of t h e m , w h e r e they no longer serve to any

166 • David Hume

p u r p o s e ; and must r e n d e r every action or r e n c o u n t e r as bloody and

p e r n i c i o u s as possible to the first aggressors.

T h u s , t h e rules of equity or justice d e p e n d entirely on the partic-

ular state and condition, in which m e n are placed, and owe their ori-

gin and existence to that U T I L I T Y , which results to the public f r o m

their strict and regular observance. Reverse, in any considerable cir-

cumstance, the condition of men: P r o d u c e e x t r e m e a b u n d a n c e or

e x t r e m e necessity: I m p l a n t in the h u m a n breast p e r f e c t moderation

and h u m a n i t y , or perfect rapaciousness and malice: Ry r e n d e r i n g jus-

tice totally useless, you t h e r e b y totally destroy its essence, and sus-

p e n d its obligation u p o n mankind.

T h e c o m m o n situation of society is a m e d i u m amidst all t h e s e

extremes, We are naturally partial to ourselves, and to o u r friends;

b u t are capable of learning the advantage resulting from a more equi-

table conduct. Few enjoyments are given us f r o m t h e open and liberal

h a n d of nature; but by art, labor, and industry, we can extract t h e m in

great abundance. H e n c e the ideas of p r o p e r t y b e c o m e necessary in

all civil society: H e n c e justice derives its usefulness to the public:

And h e n c e alone arises its merit and moral obligation.

T h e s e conclusions are so natural and obvious, that they have not

escaped even the poets, in their descriptions of t h e felicity, a t t e n d i n g

t h e golden age or the reign of SATURN. T h e seasons, in that first

p e r i o d of nature, were so temperate, if we credit these agreeable fic-

tions, t h a t t h e r e was no necessity for m e n to provide themselves with

cloaths and houses, as a security against the violence of h e a t and

cold: T h e rivers flowed with w i n e and milk: T h e oaks yielded honey;

and n a t u r e spontaneously produced her greatest delicacies. N o r

w e r e these t h e chief advantages of that happy age. T e m p e s t s w e r e

n o t alone removed from nature; but those m o r e furious tempests

w e r e u n k n o w n to h u m a n breasts, which now cause such uproar, and

e n g e n d e r such confusion. Avarice, ambition, cruelty, selfishness, were

never heard of: Cordial affection, compassion, sympathy, were t h e

only movements with which the mind was yet acquainted. Even the

punctilious distinction of mine and thine was banished f r o m a m o n g

t h a t h a p p y race of mortals, and carried with it t h e very notion of

p r o p e r t y and obligation, justice and injustice.

T h i s poetical fiction of t h e golden age is, in some respects, of a piece

with the philosophical fiction of the state of nature; only that the f o r m e r

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • 167

is represented as the most c h a r m i n g and most peaceahlc condition,

which can possibly be imagined; whereas the latter is painted out as

a state of m u t u a l war and violence, attended with the most e x t r e m e

necessity. On the first origin of mankind, we are told, their ignorance

and savage nature were so prevalent, that they could give no m u t u a l

trust, b u t m u s t each d e p e n d upon himself, and his own force or c u n -

n i n g for protection and security. No law was heard of: No rule of jus-

tice known: No distinction of p r o p e r t y regarded: Power was the only

m e a s u r e of right; and a p e r p e t u a l war of all against all was the result

of men s u n t a m e d selfishness and barbarity.*

W h e t h e r such a condition of h u m a n nature could ever exist, or if

it did, could continue so long as to m e r i t the appellation of a state,

may justly be doubted. M e n are necessarily born in a family-society,

at least; and are trained up by their parents to some rule of c o n d u c t

and behavior. But this must he admitted, that, if such a state of

' T h i s fiction of a state of nature, as a state of war, was not first started hy Mr
HOBBES,

as is commonly imagined. PLATO endeavors to refute an hypothesis very like it

in the

2nd, .3rd, and 4th books de republica. CLCIIRO, on the contrary, supposes it
certain a/id

universally acknowledged in the following passage. "Quis enim vestrum,

judices, igno-

rar, ita naturam rerum tulisse, ut quodam tempore homines, nondum neque
naturali,

neque civili jure descripto, fiisi per agros, ac dispersi vagarentur tantumque
haberent

quantum manu ac viribus, per CSEdem ac vulnera, aut eripere, aut retinere
potuissent?

Qui igitur primi virrute et consilio prastanti extiterunt, ii perspecto genere

humanie

docilitatis atqueingenii,dissipatos, unum in locum congregarunt, eosquc ex

feritate ilia

ad justiriam ac mansuetudincm transduxerunt. Turn res ad communem

utilitatem, quas
publicas appellamus, turn conventicula hominum, quae postea civitates n o m i n
a t e sunt,

turn domicilia conjimcta, quas urbes dicamus, invento et djvino et humano jure,

mo2nibus sepserunt. Atque inter hanc vitam, peipolitam humanitate, et illam

immanem, nihil tarn interest q u a m J U S atque VIS. H o r u m utro uti nolimus,

altero est

utendum. Vim volumus extingui? J u s valeat necesse est, id est, judicia, quibus
omne jus

continctur. Judicia displicent, aut nulla sunt? Vis dominetur necessc est. HSEC
vident

omnes." Pro Sext. 1. 42. [Can there be anyone among you, jurors, who does not
know

that nature had brought things about so that, a t o n e time, before natural or civil
law was

discerned, scattered and landless men roamed the country-side, men who had
just as

much as they had been able to snatch by force and defend by bloodshed and
violence?

Then those men who first stood out for their exceptional virtue and judgment,
having

recognized men's natural talent for training and ingenuity, brought the nomads

together and led them from savagery into justice and mildness. And after human
and

divine law were discovered, then matters were arranged for the general good,
which we

call public affairs, then common meeting places, which were later called
communities,

and eventually homes were brought within walls, which we call cities. And so
there is

16ft • David Hume

m u t u a l war and violence was ever real, the suspension of all laws of

justice, f r o m their absolute inutility, is a necessary and infallible c o n -

s e q u e n c e .

T h e m o r e we vary o u r views of h u m a n life, and t h e newer and

m o r e u n u s u a l the lights are, in which we survey it, t h e m o r e shall we

be convinced, that the origin h e r e assigned for the v i r t u e of justice is

real and satisfactory.

Were there a species of creatures, intermingled with men, which,

though rational, were possessed of such inferior strength, both of

body and mind, that they w e r e incapable of all resistance, and could

never, u p o n the highest provocation, make us feel t h e effects of their

resentment; the necessary consequence, I think, is, that we should be

b o u n d , by the laws of humanity, to give gentle usage to these crea-

tures, b u t should not, p r o p e r l y speaking, lie u n d e r any restraint of jus-

tice with regard to them, nor could they possess any right or property,

exclusive of such arbitrary lords. O u r intercourse with t h e m could not

be called society, which supposes a degree of equality; but absolute

c o m m a n d on the o n e side, and servile obedience on the other. W h a t -

ever we covet, they m u s t instantly resign: O u r permission is the only

tenure, by which they hold their possessions: O u r compassion and

kindness the only check, by which they curb o u r lawless will: And as

no inconvenience ever results f r o m the exercise of a power, so firmly

established in nature, t h e restraints of justice and property, being

totally useless, would never have place in so unequal a confederacy.

T h i s is plainly the situation of m e n , with regard to animals; and

how f a r these may be said to possess reason, I leave it to o t h e r s to

d e t e r m i n e . T h e great s u p e r i o r i t y of civilized EUROPEANS above

bar-

barous INDIANS, t e m p t e d us to imagine ourselves on the same foot-

ing with regard to t h e m , and m a d e us t h r o w off all restraints of

justice, and even of humanity, in o u r t r e a t m e n t of them. In many

nations, the female sex are r e d u c e d to like slavery, and are r e n d e r e d

no m o r e difference between this o r d e r l y c'iviljzcd life, and [hat former

savagery, than

there is between LAW and V I O L E N C E . If we p r e f e r nor to use nne of

these, we must

use the other. Do we want violence eradicated? T h e n law must prevail, i.e., the
vcrdicrs

in which all law is contained. Are the verdicts disliked or ignored? T h e n

violence m u s t
p r e v a i l . E v e r y o n e understands t h i s ]

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • ' 75

incapable of all property, in opposition to their lordly masters. But

though the males, when u n i t e d , have, in all countries, bodily force

sufficient to maintain this severe tyranny; yet such are the insinua-

tion, address, and c h a r m s of their fair companions, that w o m e n are

c o m m o n l y able to break the confederacy, and share with the o t h e r

sex in all t h e rights and privileges of society.

W e r e the h u m a n species so framed by n a t u r e as that each individ-

ual possessed within himself every faculty, requisite both for his own

preservation and for the propagation of his kind: Were all society and

i n t e r c o u r s e cut off b e t w e e n man and man, by the p r i m a r y intention

of the s u p r e m e C r e a t o r : It seems evident, t h a t so solitary a being

would be as m u c h incapable of justice, as of social discourse and c o n -

versation. W h e r e m u t u a l regards and f o r b e a r a n c e serve to no m a n -

n e r of purpose, they would never direct the c o n d u c t of any

r e a s o n a b l e man. T h e h e a d l o n g course of t h e passions would be

checked by no reflection on f u t u r e consequences. And as each man is

h e r e supposed to love himself alone, and to d e p e n d only on himself

and his own activity for safety and happiness, he would, on every

occasion to the u t m o s t of his power, challenge the p r e f e r e n c e above

every o t h e r being, to n o n e of which he is b o u n d by any ties, e i t h e r of

n a t u r e or of interest.

But suppose the conjunction of the sexes to be established in

n a t u r e , a family i m m e d i a t e l y arises; and particular rules being f o u n d

requisite for its subsistence, these are i m m e d i a t e l y embraced; t h o u g h

w i t h o u t c o m p r e h e n d i n g the rest of m a n k i n d within their prescrip-

tions. Suppose, that several families u n i t e together into o n e society,

which is totally disjoined from all others, the rules, which preserve

p e a c e and order, enlarge themselves to the u t m o s t extent of that

society; but b e c o m i n g t h e n entirely useless, lose their force w h e n

carried one step farther. But again suppose, that several distinct soci-

eties maintain a kind of i n t e r c o u r s e for m u t u a l convenience and

advantage, the b o u n d a r i e s of justice still grow larger, in p r o p o r t i o n to

the largeness of men's views, and the force of their m u t u a l c o n n e x -

ions. History, experience, reason sufficiently instruct us in this n a t u -

ral progress of h u m a n sentiments, and in t h e gradual e n l a r g e m e n t of

o u r regards to justice, in p r o p o r t i o n as we b e c o m e acquainted with

the extensive utility of that virtue.

170 • David flame

PART II.

If we e x a m i n e the particular laws, hy which justice is directed, and

p r o p e r t y d e t e r m i n e d ; we shall, still be p r e s e n t e d with the same
con-

clusion. T h e good of mankind is t h e only object of all these laws and

regulations. N o t only it is requisite, for the peace and interest of soci-

ety, t h a t men's possessions should be separated; b u t the rules, which

we follow, in making the separation, are such as can best be contrived

to serve f a r t h e r the interests of society.

We shall suppose, that a creature, possessed of reason, but u n a c -

quainted with h u m a n nature, deliberates with himself what R U L E S

of justice or p r o p e r t y would best p r o m o t e public interest, and estab-

lish p e a c e and security a m o n g mankind: His most obvious t h o u g h t

would be, to assign the largest possessions to the most extensive

virtue, and give every o n e the p o w e r of d o i n g good, p r o p o r t i o n e d to

his inclination. In a p e r f e c t theocracy, w h e r e a being, infinitely intel-

ligent, governs by particular volitions, this r u l e would certainly have

place, and might serve to the wisest purposes: But were mankind to

e x e c u t e such a law; so great is the u n c e r t a i n t y of merit, both f r o m its

natura] obscurity, and f r o m t h e self-conceit of each individual, that

no d e t e r m i n a t e rule of c o n d u c t would ever result from it; and t h e

total dissolution of society m u s t be the i m m e d i a t e consequence.

Fanatics may suppose, that dominion is founded on grace, and that saints
alone inherit the earth-, but the civil magistrate very justly puts these

s u b l i m e theorists on the s a m e footing with c o m m o n robbers, and

teaches them by t h e severest discipline, that a rule, which, in s p e c u -

lation, m a y seem the most advantageous to society, may yet be f o u n d ,

in practice, totally p e r n i c i o u s and destructive.

T h a t t h e r e w e r e religious fanatics of this kind in E N G L A N D , d u r i n

g

t h e civil wars, we learn f r o m history; though it is probable, that t h e

obvious tendency of these principles excited such h o r r o r in mankind,

as soon obliged the d a n g e r o u s enthusiasts to r e n o u n c e , or at least

conceal their tenets. Perhaps, the levelers, who claimed an equal dis-

tribution of property, w e r e a kind of political fanatics, which arose

f r o m the religious species, and m o r e openly avowed their p r e t e n -

sions; as carrying a m o r e plausible appearance, of being practicable

in themselves, as well as useful to h u m a n society.

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • ' 75

It must, indeed, be confessed, that n a t u r e is so liberal to m a n k i n d ,

that, were all her presents equally divided a m o n g the species, and

improved by art and industry, every individual would enjoy all the

necessaries, and even m o s t of the c o m f o r t s of life; n o r would ever be

liable to any ills, b u t such as might accidentally arise f r o m the sickly

f r a m e and constitution of his hody. Tt m u s t also be confessed, that,

wherever we d e p a r t f r o m this equality, we rob the p o o r of m o r e sat-

isfaction than we add to t h e rich, and t h a t the slight gratification of a

frivolous vanity, in o n e individual, f r e q u e n t l y costs more than bread

to m a n y families, and even provinces. It m a y appear withal, that the

r u l e of equality, as it would be highly useful, is n o t altogether imprac-

ticable; hut has taken place, at least in an i m p e r f e c t degree, in s o m e

republics; particularly t h a t of SPARTA; w h e r e it was attended, it is

said, with the most beneficial consequences. N o t to mention, that the

AGRARIAN laws, so f r e q u e n t l y claimed in ROMK, and carried into exe-

cution in many GREEK cities, p r o c e e d e d , all of them, from a general

idea of the utility of this principle.

But historians, and even c o m m o n sense, may inform us, that, how-

ever specious these ideas o(perfect equality may seem, they are really,

at bottom, impracticable; and were they not so, would be extremely per-

nicious to h u m a n s o c i e t y R e n d e r possessions ever so equal, men's dif-

f e r e n t degrees of art, care, and industry will i m m e d i a t e l y break that

equality. Or if you check these virtues, you r e d u c e society to t h e

m o s t extreme indigence; and instead of p r e v e n t i n g want and beggary

in a few, r e n d e r it u n a v o i d a b l e to the whole community. T h e m o s t

rigorous inquisition too is requisite to watch every inequality on its

first appearance; and the most severe jurisdiction, to punish and

redress it But besides, that so much a u t h o r i t y m u s t soon d e g e n e r a t e

into tyranny, and be exerted with great partialities; who can possibly

be possessed of it, in such a situation as is h e r e supposed? P e r f e c t

equality of possessions, destroying all subordination, weakens e x t r e m e l y

t h e authority of magistracy, and m u s t r e d u c e all power nearly to a

level, as well as property.

We may conclude, therefore, that, in o r d e r to establish laws for the

regulation of property, we m u s t be acquainted with the n a t u r e and

situation of man; m u s t reject appearances, which may be false,

t h o u g h specious; and m u s t search for those rules, which are, on t h e

172 • David Hume

whole, most useful and beneficial. Vulgar sense and slight e x p e r i e n c e

are sufficient for this purpose; w h e r e m e n give n o t way to too selfish

avidity, or too extensive enthusiasm.

W h o sees not, for instance, that w h a t e v e r is p r o d u c e d or improved

by a man's art or industry ought, for ever, to be secured to him, in

o r d e r to give e n c o u r a g e m e n t to such useful habits and accomplish-

ments? T h a t the p r o p e r t y o u g h t also to descend to children and rela-

tions, for t h e same useful purpose? T h a t it may be alienated by

c o n s e n t , in o r d e r t o bege t tha t c o m m e r c e and intercourse , which is

so

beneficial to h u m a n society? And that all contracts and promises o u g h t

carefully to be fulfilled, in o r d e r to secure m u t u a l t r u s t and confi-

dence, by which the general interest of m a n k i n d is so m u c h p r o -

moted?

E x a m i n e t h e writers on t h e laws of n a t u r e ; and you will always

find, that, whatever principles they set o u t with, they are sure to ter-

m i n a t e h e r e at last, and to assign, as the u l t i m a t e reason for every

r u l e w h i c h they establish, t h e c o n v e n i e n c e and necessities of

m a n k i n d . A concession thus extorted, in opposition to systems, has

m o r e authority, than if it had been m a d e in prosecution of them.

W h a t other reason, i n d e e d , could writers ever give, why this m u s t

be mine and that yours; since u n i n s t r u c t e d n a t u r e , surely, never m a d

e

any such distinction? T h e objects, which receive those appellations,

are, of themselves, foreign to us; they are totally disjoined and sepa-

rated f r o m us; and n o t h i n g but the general interests of society can

form t h e connexion.

Sometimes, the interests of society may r e q u i r e a r u l e of justice in

a particular case; but may not d e t e r m i n e any particular rule, a m o n g

several, which are all equally beneficial. In that case, t h e slightest

analogies are laid hold of, in o r d e r to p r e v e n t t h a t i n d i f f e r e n c e
and

ambiguity, which would be t h e source of p e r p e t u a l dissention. T h u s

possession alone, and first possession, is supposed to convey p r o p -

erty, w h e r e no b o d y else has any p r e c e d i n g claim and pretension.

M a n y of t h e reasonings of lawyers are of this analogical nature, and

d e p e n d on very slight connexions of the imagination.

Does any o n e scruple, in e x t r a o r d i n a r y cases, to violate all regard

to the private p r o p e r t y of individuals, and sacrifice to public interest

a distinction, which had been established for t h e sake of that interest?

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • ' 75

T h e safety of the p e o p l e is the s u p r e m e law: All other particular laws

are subordinate to it, and d e p e n d a n t on it: And if, in t h e common

course of things, they be followed and regarded; it is only because the

public safety and interest commonly d e m a n d so equal and impartial an

administration.

Sometimes both utility and analogy fail, and leave the laws of jus-

tice in total uncertainty. Thus, it is highly requisite, that prescription

or l o n g possession should convey property; b u t what n u m b e r of days

or m o n t h s or years should be sufficient for that purpose, it is impos-

sible for reason alone to determine. Civil laws h e r e supply the place
of the natural code, and assign d i f f e r e n t t e r m s for prescription,

according to the d i f f e r e n t utilities, p r o p o s e d by the legislator. Bills of

exchange and promissory notes, by the laws of most countries,

prescribe sooner than bonds, and mortgages, and contracts of a m o r e

f o r m a l nature.

In general, we may observe, t h a t all questions of p r o p e r t y are sub-

o r d i n a t e to authority of civil laws, which extend, restrain, modify,

and alter the rules of n a t u r a l justice, a c c o r d i n g to the particular con-

venience of each c o m m u n i t y T h e laws have, or ought to have, a con-

stant r e f e r e n c e to t h e constitution of government, the manners, t h e

climate, t h e religion, the c o m m e r c e , the situation of each society. A

late a u t h o r of genius, as well as learning, has prosecuted this subject

at large, and has established, f r o m these principles, a system of polit-

ical knowledge, which abounds in ingenious and brilliant thoughts,

and is not wanting in solidity*

' T h e author of L'Espritdes Loix. T h i s illustrious writer, however, sets o u t

with a differ-

ent theory, and supposes all right to be founded on certain rapports or relations,
which

is a system, that, in my opinion, never will be reconciled with t r u e philosophy.

Father

MALEBRANCHE, as far as T can learn, was the first that started this abstract
theory of
morals, which was afterward adopted by CUDWORTH, CLARKE, and others;
and as it

excludes all sentiment, and pretends to found every thing on reason, it has not
wanted

followers in this philosophic age. See Section 1. and Appendix 1. With regard to
justice,

the virtue here treated of, the inference against this theory seems short and
conclusive.

P r o p e r t y is allowed to be d e p e n d e n t on civil laws; civil laws are

allowed to have no

o t h e r object, but the interest of society: T h i s t h e r e f o r e must be allowed

to be the sole

foundation of property and justice. N o t to mention, that our obligation itself to

obey

the magistrate and his laws is founded on nothing but the interests of society.

174 • David Hume

What is a man's property? Any thing, which it is lawful for him, and

for him alone, to use. But what rule have we, by which we can distinguish

these objects? Here we must have r e c o u r s e to statutes, customs, p r e c e -

dents, analogies, and a h u n d r e d o t h e r circumstances; some of which

are constant and inflexible, s o m e variable and arbitrary. But the

u l t i m a t e point, in which they all professedly terminate, is, the

interest and happiness of h u m a n society. W h e r e this enters n o t into

consideration, n o t h i n g can appear m o r e whimsical, u n n a t u r a l , and

even superstitious, than all or most of the laws of justice and of

property.

T h o s e , who ridicule vulgar superstitions, and expose the folly of

p a r t i c u l a r regards to meats, days, places, postures, apparel, have an

easy task; while they consider all t h e qualities and relations of the

objects, and discover no a d e q u a t e cause for that affection or antipa-

thy, v e n e r a t i o n or horror, which have so mighty an influence over

a considerable p a r t of mankind. A SYRIAN would have starved

r a t h e r than taste pigeon; an EGYPTIAN would not have a p p r o a c h e d

bacon: But if these species of food be e x a m i n e d by the senses of

sight, smell, or taste, or scrutinized by the sciences of chymistry,

m e d i c i n e , or physics; no d i f f e r e n c e is ever f o u n d between t h e m

and

any o t h e r species, n o r can that precise c i r c u m s t a n c e be pitched on,

which may afford a just f o u n d a t i o n for t h e religious passion. A fowl

on T h u r s d a y is lawful food; on Friday abominable: Eggs, in this

If the ideas of |ustice, sometimes, do not follow the dispositions of civil law: we
shall

find, that these cases, instead of objections, are confirmations of the theory
delivered

above, W h e r e a civil law is so perverse as to cross all the interests of society,

it loses all

its authority, and men judge by the ideas of natural justice, which are
conformable to

those interests. Sometimes also civil laws, for useful purposes, require a
ceremony or

form to any deed; and where that is wanting, their decrees r u n contrary to the
usual

rcnor of justice; but one who takes advantage of such chicancs, is not commonly

regarded as an honest man, Thus, the interests of society require, that contracts
be ful-

filled; and there is not a more material article either of natural or civil justice:
Bur the

omission of a trilling circumstance will often, by law, invalidate a contract, in

foro

bumano, but not in foro conscientiis, as divines express themselves. In these

cases, the mag-

istrate is supposed only to withdraw his power of enforcing the right, not to have

altered the right Where his intention extends to the right, and is conformable to
the

interests of society; it never fails to alter the right; a clear proof of the origin of
justice

and of property, as assigned above.

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • 175

house, and in this diocese, are p e r m i t t e d d u r i n g Lent; a h u n d r e d

paces farther, to eat t h e m is a d a m n a b l e sin. T h i s earth or building,

yesterday was profane; to-day, by the m u t t e r i n g of certain words, it

has b e c o m e holy and sacred. Such reflections as these, in the m o u t h

of a philosopher, one may safely say, are too obvious to have any

influence; because they must always, to every man, occur at first

sight; and w h e r e they prevail not, of themselves, they are surely

o b s t r u c t e d by education, prejudice, and passion, not by ignorance or

mistake.

It may appear to a careless view, or r a t h e r a too abstracted reflec-

tion, that t h e r e enters a like superstition into all the sentiments of

justice; and that, if a m a n expose its object, or what we call property,

to t h e same scrutiny of sense and science, he will not, by the

m o s t accurate enquiry, find any f o u n d a t i o n for the d i f f e r e n c e

m a d e by moral sentiment. I may lawfully nourish myself f r o m this

tree; b u t the f r u i t of a n o t h e r of the same species, ten paces off, it

is criminal for me to touch. H a d I w o r n e this apparel an h o u r ago,

I had m e r i t e d t h e severest p u n i s h m e n t ; b u t a man, by p r o n o u n c i

n g a

f e w magical syllables, has now r e n d e r e d it fit for my use and service.

Were this house placed in the n e i g h b o r i n g territory, it had been

i m m o r a l for me to dwell in it; but being built on this side of the river,

it is subject to a d i f f e r e n t municipal law, and, by its b e c o m i n g mine, I

i n c u r no blame or censure. T h e same species of reasoning, it may be

thought, which so successfully exposes superstition, is also applica-

ble to justice; nor is it possible, in the one case m o r e than in the other,

to point out, in t h e object, that precise quality or circumstance,

which is the f o u n d a t i o n of the sentiment.

But t h e r e is this material difference between superstition and justice,

that t h e f o r m e r is frivolous, useless, and b u r d e n s o m e ; the latter is

absolutely requisite to t h e well-being of m a n k i n d and existence of

society. W h e n we abstract f r o m this c i r c u m s t a n c e (for it is too a p p a

r -

ent ever to be overlooked) it m u s t be confessed, that all regards to

right and property, seem entirely w i t h o u t foundation, as m u c h as t h e

grossest and most vulgar superstition. Were the interests of society

nowise concerned, it is as unintelligible, why another's articulating

c e r t a i n sounds implying consent, should c h a n g e the n a t u r e of my

actions with regard to a particular object, as why t h e reciting of a

liturgy by a priest, in a certain habit and posture, should d e d i c a t e a

176 • Daind Hume

h e a p of brick and timber, and r e n d e r it, t h e n c e f o r t h and for ever,

s a c r e d *

T h e s e reflections are far f r o m weakening t h e obligations of justice,

or d i m i n i s h i n g any.thing f r o m the most sacred attention to property.

On t h e contrary, such s e n t i m e n t s m u s t acquire new force f r o m t h e

p r e s e n t reasoning. For w h a t stronger f o u n d a t i o n can be desired or

conceived for any duty, t h a n to observe, that h u m a n society, or even

h u m a n n a t u r e could not subsist, w i t h o u t t h e establishment of it; and

will still arrive at greater degrees of happiness and perfection, the

m o r e inviolable the regard is, which is paid to t h a t duty?

T h e d i l e m m a seems obvious: As justice evidently tends to p r o m o t e

public utility and co s u p p o r t civil society, the s e n t i m e n t of justice is

e i t h e r derived f r o m our reflecting on that tendency, or like hunger,

thirst, and other appetites, r e s e n t m e n t , love of life, attachment to off-

spring, and other passions, arises from a simple original instinct in the

h u m a n breast, which n a t u r e has implanted for like salutary purposes.

Tf the latter be t h e case, it follows, that property, which is the object of

justice, is also distinguished by a simple, original instinct, and is not

*It is evident, that the will or conscnt alone never transfers property, nor causes
the

obligation of a promise (for the same reasoning extends to both) but the will m u
s t be

expressed by words or signs, in order to i m p o s e a tye u p o n any man. T h e

expression

being o n c e b r o u g h t in as subservient to the will, soon b e c o m e s the

principal part of the

promise; nor will a man be less bound by his word, though he secretly give a
different
direction to his intention, and with-hold the assent of his mind. But though the
expres-

sion makes, on most occasions, t h e whole of the promise, yet it does not always
so; and

one who should make use of any expression, of which he knows not che
meaning, and

which he uses without any sense of the consequences, would not certainly be
bound by

it. Nay, though he know its meaning, yet if he use it in jest only, and with such
signs as

evidently show, that he has no serious intention of binding himself, he would not
lie

u n d e r any obligation of p e r f o r m a n c e ; but it is necessary, that t h e

words be a p e r f e c t

expression of the will, without any contrary signs. Nay, even this we must not
carry so

far as to imagine, that one, whom, by our quickness of understanding, we

conjecture,

from certain signs, to have an intention of deceiving us, is not b o u n d by his

expression

or verbal promise, if we accept of it; b u t must limit this conclusion to those

cases where

the signs are of a different nature f r o m those of deceit. All these contradictions
are eas-

ily accounted for, if justice arise entirely from its usefulness to society; but will
never be

explained on any other hypothesis.

It is remarkable, that the moral decisions of the Jesuits and other relaxed
casuists,

were c o m m o n l y formed in prosecution of some such subtilties of reasoning

as are h e r e

pointed out, and proceed as much f r o m the habit of scholastic refinement as

from any

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • 111

ascertained by any a r g u m e n t or reflection. But who is t h e r e t h a t

ever heard of such an instinct? O r i s this a subject, in which n e w dis-

coveries can be made? We may as well a t t e m p t to discover, in t h e

body, n e w senses, which had before escaped the observation of all

mankind.

But farther, though it seems a very simple proposition to say, that

n a t u r e , by an instinctive sentiment, distinguishes property, yet in

reality we shall find, that t h e r e are required for that p u r p o s e ten

t h o u s a n d d i f f e r e n t instincts, and these e m p l o y e d about objects of

the

greatest intricacy and nicest discernment. For w h e n a definition of

property is required, t h a t relation is f o u n d to resolve itself into any

possession acquired by occupation, by industry, by prescription, by

inheritance, by contract, &c. Can we think, t h a t nature, by an origi-

nal instinct, instructs us in all these m e t h o d s of acquisition?

These words too, i n h e r i t a n c e and contract, stand for ideas infi-

nitely complicated; and to define t h e m exactly, a h u n d r e d volumes of

laws, and a thousand v o l u m e s of c o m m e n t a t o r s , have not been f o u n

d

sufficient. Does nature, whose instincts in men are simple, e m b r a c e

corruption of the heart, if we may follow the authority of Mons. BAYLE. See his
Dictio-

nary, article LOYOLA And why has the indignation of mankind risen so high
against these

casuists; but because every one perceived, that human society could not subsist
were

such practices authorized, and that morals must always be handled with a view
to public

interest, more than philosophical regularity' If the secret direction of the

intention, said

every man of sense, could invalidate a contract; where is our security? And yet a
meta-

physical schoolman might think, that where an intention was supposed to be

requisite, if

that intention really had not place, no consequence ought to follow, and no
obligation be

imposed. T h e casuistical suhtilties may not be greater than the subtilties of

lawyers,

hinted at above; but as t h e former are pernicious, and the latter innocent and
even necessary,

this is t h e reason of the very different reception they meet with from the world

It is a doctrine of the church of ROME, that the priest, by a secret direction of

his

intention, can invalidate any s a c r a m e n t T h i s position is derived from a

strict and reg-

ular prosecution of the obvious truth, that empty words alone, without any m e a
n i n g or

intention in the speaker, can never be attended with any effect. If the same
conclusion

be not admitted in reasonings concerning civil contracts, w h e r e the affair is

allowed to

be of so much less consequence than the eternal salvation of thousands, it

proceeds

entirely from men's sense of t h e danger and inconvenience of the doctrine in

the for-

m e r case: And we may thence observe, that however positive, arrogant, and
dogmatical

any superstition may appear, it never can convey any thorough persuasion of the
real-

ity of its objects, or p u t them, in any degree, on a balance with the common
incidents

of life, which we learn from daily observation and experimental reasoning.

178 • David Hume

such complicated and artificial objects, and c r e a t e a rational creature,

w i t h o u t trusting any t h i n g to the operation of his reason?

But even t h o u g h all this w e r e admitted, it would not be satisfac-

tory. Positive laws can c e r t a i n l y transfer property. Is it by a n o t h e r

original instinct, t h a t we recognize the a u t h o r i t y of kings and s e n -

ates, and mark all the b o u n d a r i e s of their jurisdiction? J u d g e s too,

even though their s e n t e n c e be e r r o n e o u s and illegal, m u s t be

allowed, for the sake of p e a c e and order, to have decisive authority,

and ultimately to d e t e r m i n e property. H a v e we original, i n n a t e ideas

of praetors and c h a n c e l o r s and juries? W h o sees not, that all these

institutions arise m e r e l y f r o m the necessities of h u m a n society?

All birds of the same species, in every age and country, build t h e i r

nests alike: In this we see t h e force of instinct. M e n , in d i f f e r e n t t i m e s

and places, f r a m e their houses differently: H e r e we perceive the

i n f l u e n c e of reason and custom. A like i n f e r e n c e may be drawn f r o m

c o m p a r i n g the instinct of g e n e r a t i o n and t h e institution of property.

H o w great soever the variety of m u n i c i p a l laws, it m u s t be c o n -

fessed, t h a t their chief out-lines p r e t t y regularly concur; b e c a u s e t h e

purposes, to which they tend, are every w h e r e exactly similar. In like

m a n n e r , all houses have a roof and walls, w i n d o w s and chimneys;

t h o u g h diversified in t h e i r shape, figure, and materials. T h e p u r p o s e s

of t h e latter, directed to the conveniences of h u m a n life, discover not

m o r e plainly their origin f r o m reason and reflection, than do t h o s e of

the former, which point all to a like end.

I n e e d not m e n t i o n the variations, which all the rules of p r o p e r t y

receive f r o m the finer t u r n s and connexions of t h e imagination, and

f r o m t h e subtilties and abstractions of law-topics and reasonings.

T h e r e is no possibility of reconciling this observation to the notion

of original instincts.

W h a t alone will beget a d o u b t c o n c e r n i n g t h e theory, on which I

insist, is the influence of education and acquired habits, by which we

are so accustomed to blame injustice, that we are not, in every

instance, conscious of any i m m e d i a t e reflection on t h e pernicious

c o n s e q u e n c e s of it. T h e views the m o s t familiar to us are apt, for that

very reason, to escape us; and what we have very frequently per-

f o r m e d from certain motives, we are apt likewise to c o n t i n u e m e c h a n

-

ically, w i t h o u t recalling, on every occasion, the reflections, which first

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • 179

d e t e r m i n e d us. T h e convenience, or rather necessity, which leads to

justice, is so universal, and every w h e r e points so much to the same

rules, that the habit takes place in all societies; and it is not w i t h o u t

s o m e scrutiny, that we are able to ascertain its t r u e origin. T h e matter,

however, is not so obscure, but that, even in c o m m o n life, we

have, every m o m e n t , recourse to the principle of public utility, and

ask, What must become of the world, if such practices prevail? How could
society
subsist under such disorders? W e r e the distinction or separation of

possessions entirely useless, can any o n e conceive, t h a t it ever should

have obtained in society?

T h u s we seem, u p o n the whole, to have attained a k n o w l e d g e of

t h e f o r c e of that principle h e r e insisted on, and can d e t e r m i n e w h a t

d e g r e e of esteem or moral approbation may result f r o m reflections

on public interest and utility. T h e necessity of justice to the s u p p o r t

of society is t h e S O L E f o u n d a t i o n of t h a t virtue; and since no moral

excellence is m o r e highly esteemed, we may conclude, that this cir-

c u m s t a n c e of usefulness has, in general, t h e strongest energy, and

most entire c o m m a n d over our sentiments. It must, therefore, be the

s o u r c e of a considerable part of t h e m e r i t ascribed to h u m a n i t y ,

benevolence, friendship, public spirit, and o t h e r social virtues of t h a t

stamp; as it is the S O L E source of the moral approbation paid to

fidelity, justice, veracity, integrity, and t h o s e o t h e r estimable and use-

ful qualities and principles. It is entirely agreeable to the rules of phi-

losophy, and even of c o m m o n reason; w h e r e any principle has b e e n

f o u n d to have a great force and energy in o n e instance, to ascribe to

it a like energy in all similar instances. T h i s indeed is NEWTON'S

chief rule of philosophizing.

APPENDIX I . C O N C E R N I N G M O R A L S E N T I M E N T .
IF t h e foregoing hypothesis be received, it will now be easy for us to

d e t e r m i n e the question first started, c o n c e r n i n g the genera] p r i n -

ciples of morals; and t h o u g h we p o s t p o n e d t h e decision of that ques-

tion, lest it should t h e n involve us in intricate speculations, which are

unfit for moral discourses, we may r e s u m e it at present, and e x a m i n e

180 • David Hume

how far e i t h e r reason or sentiment e n t e r s into all decisions of praise or

censure.

O n e principal f o u n d a t i o n of moral praise b e i n g supposed to lie in

t h e usefulness of any quality or action; it is evident, that reason m u s t

enter for a considerable s h a r e in all decisions of this kind; since n o t h -

ing b u t that faculty can i n s t r u c t us in the t e n d e n c y of qualities and

actions, and point o u t t h e i r beneficial c o n s e q u e n c e s to society and to

their possessor. In m a n y cases, this is an affair liable to great c o n t r o -

versy: D o u b t s may arise; o p p o s i t e interests m a y occur; and a p r e f e r -

e n c e m u s t be given to o n e side, f r o m very nice views, and a small

o v e r b a l a n c e of utility. T h i s is particularly r e m a r k a b l e in questions

with regard to justice; as is, indeed, n a t u r a l to suppose, f r o m that

species of utility, which attends this virtue. W e r e every single

instance of justice, like t h a t of benevolence, u s e f u l to society; this

would be a m o r e simple state of the case, and s e l d o m liable to great

controversy. But as single instances of justice are often p e r n i c i o u s in

their first and i m m e d i a t e tendency, and as t h e advantage to society

results only from t h e o b s e r v a n c e of t h e general rule, and f r o m the

c o n c u r r e n c e and c o m b i n a t i o n of several p e r s o n s in the s a m e e

q u i -

table conduct; the case h e r e b e c o m e s m o r e intricate and involved.

T h e various c i r c u m s t a n c e s of society; the various c o n s e q u e n c e s

of

any practice; the various interests, which may be proposed: T h e s e , on

m a n y occasions, are d o u b t f u l , and subject to great discussion and

enquiry. T h e object of m u n i c i p a l laws is to fix all the questions with

regard to justice: T h e d e b a t e s of civilians; t h e reflections of politi-

cians; the p r e c e d e n t s of history and public records, are as directed to

t h e same purpose. And a very accurate reason or judgment is o f t e n r e q -

uisite, to give the t r u e d e t e r m i n a t i o n , amidst such intricate d o u b t s

arising f r o m obscure or o p p o s i t e utilities.

But t h o u g h reason w h e n fully assisted and i m p r o v e d , be sufficient

to i n s t r u c t us in the p e r n i c i o u s or u s e f u l t e n d e n c y of qualities
and

actions, it is not alone sufficient to p r o d u c e any m o r a l blame or

approbation. Utility is only a t e n d e n c y to a certain end; and w e r e the

end totally i n d i f f e r e n t to us, we should feel the same i n d i f f e r e n c e

toward the means. It is requisite a sentiment should h e r e display itself,

in o r d e r to give a p r e f e r e n c e to the useful above t h e p e r n i c i o u s t e

n -

dencies. T h i s s e n t i m e n t can be no o t h e r than a feeling for the h a p p i -

ness of m a n k i n d , and as r e s e n t m e n t of their misery; since these are

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • 181

the d i f f e r e n t ends which virtue and vice have a tendency to p r o m o t e .

H e r e , therefore, reason instructs us in t h e several tendencies of

actions, and humanity makes a distinction in favor to those which are

useful and beneficial.

T h i s partition b e t w e e n the faculties of u n d e r s t a n d i n g and senti-

ment, in an moral decisions, seems clear f r o m the p r e c e d i n g h y p o t h -

esis. But I shall suppose that hypothesis false: It will then be requisite

to look out for s o m e o t h e r theory, t h a t may be satisfactory; and I dare

v e n t u r e to affirm, t h a t n o n e such will ever be found, so long as we

suppose reason to be t h e sole source of morals. To prove this, it will

be p r o p e r to weigh the five following considerations.

I. It is easy for a false hypothesis to maintain some a p p e a r a n c e of

t r u t h , while it keeps wholly in generals, makes use of u n d e f i n e d

terms, and employs comparisons, instead of instances. T h i s is partic-

ularly r e m a r k a b l e in that philosophy, which ascribes t h e d i s c e r n m e n

t
of all moral distinctions to reason alone, w i t h o u t the c o n c u r r e n c e of

sentiment. It is impossible that, in any particular instance, this

hypothesis can so m u c h as be r e n d e r e d intelligible; whatever spe-

cious figure it may m a k e in general d e c l a m a t i o n s and discourses.

E x a m i n e the c r i m e of ingratitude, for instance; which has place, w h e r -

ever we observe good-will, expressed and known, t o g e t h e r with

good-offices p e r f o r m e d , on t h e one side, and a return of ill-will or

indifference, with ill-offices or n e g l e c t on the other: A n a t o m i z e all

these circumstances, and examine, by y o u r reason alone in what con-

sists t h e d e m e r i t or blame: You never will c o m e to any issue or con-

clusion.

Reason judges either of matter of fact or of relations. E n q u i r e then,

first, w h e r e is that m a t t e r of fact, which we h e r e Call crime; p o i n t it

out;

d e t e r m i n e the time of its existence; describe its essence or nature;

explain t h e sense or faculty, to which it discovers itself. It resides in

the m i n d of the p e r s o n , who is ungrateful. He must, therefore, feel it,

and be conscious of it. But n o t h i n g is there, except t h e passion of ill-

will or absolute indifference. You c a n n o t say, that these, of t h e m -

selves, always, and in all circumstances, are crimes. N o : T h e y are

only crimes, when directed toward persons, who have b e f o r e

expressed and displayed good-will toward us. Consequently, we may

infer, that the c r i m e of ingratitude is not any particular individual

fact; but arises f r o m a complication of circumstances, which, b e i n g

182 • David Hume

p r e s e n t e d to the spectator, excites the sentiment of blame, by the par-

ticular s t r u c t u r e and fabric of his mind.

T h i s representation, you say, is false. C r i m e , indeed, consists not

in a particular fact, of whose reality we are assured by reason But it

consists in certain moral relations, discovered by reason, in the s a m e

m a n n e r as we discover, by reason, the t r u t h s of g e o m e t r y or algebra.

But w h a t are the relations, 1 ask, of which you h e r e talk? In the case

stated above, I see first good-will and good-offices in one person;

then ill-will and ill-offices in t h e other. Between these, there is the

relation of contrariety. D o e s the crime consist in that relation? But

s u p p o s e a person bore me ill-will or did me ill-offices; and I, in

r e t u r n , w e r e indifferent toward him, or did him good-offices: H e r e is

t h e same relation of contrariety-, and yet my c o n d u c t is often highly

laudable. Twist and t u r n this matter as much as you will, you can

never rest t h e morality on relation; but must have recourse to the

decisions of sentiment.

W h e n it is affirmed, that two and three are equal to the half of ten;
this relation of equality, I u n d e r s t a n d perfectly. I conceive, that if ten

be divided into two parts, of which one has as m a n y units as t h e

other; and if any of these parts be compared to two added to three, it

will contain as m a n y units as t h a t c o m p o u n d number. But when you

d r a w t h e n c e a c o m p a r i s o n to moral relations, I own that I am alto-

g e t h e r at a loss to u n d e r s t a n d you. A moral action, a crime, such as

ingratitude, is a complicated object. D o e s morality consist in the

relation of its parts to each other? How? After what manner? Specify

the relation: Be m o r e particular and explicit in y o u r propositions;

and you will easily see their falsehood.

N o , say you, the morality consists in the relation of actions to the

rule of right; and they are d e n o m i n a t e d good or ill, according as they

agree or disagree with it. W h a t then is this rule of right? In what does

it consist? H o w is it d e t e r m i n e d ? By reason, you say, which examines

the m o r a l relations of actions. So that moral relations are d e t e r m i n e d

by the comparison of actions to a rule. And that rule is d e t e r m i n e d

by c o n s i d e r i n g the moral relations of objects. Is not this fine reason-

ing?

All this is metaphysics, you cry: T h a t is enough: T h e r e n e e d s

n o t h i n g m o r e to give a strong p r e s u m p t i o n of falsehood. Yes, reply I:

H e r e are metaphysics surely; But they are all on y o u r side, who

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • 183

advance an abstruse hypothesis, which can never be made intelligi-

ble, n o r q u a d r a t e with any particular instance or illustration. T h e

h y p o t h e s i s which we e m b r a c e is plain. It maintains, that m o r a l i t y is

d e t e r m i n e d by sentiment. It defines v i r t u e to be whatever mental action

or quality gives to a spectator the pleasing sentiment of approbation; and vice

t h e contrary. We then p r o c e e d to examine a plain m a t t e r of fact, to

wit, what actions have this influence: We consider all the c i r c u m -

stances, in which these actions agree: And thence endeavor to

extract s o m e general observations with regard to these sentiments. If

you call this metaphysics, and find any thing abstruse here, you n e e d

only conclude, that y o u r turn of mind is n o t suited to the moral sci-

ences.

II. W h e n a man, at any time, deliberates c o n c e r n i n g his own c o n -

d u c t (as, whether he had better, in a particular emergence, assist a

b r o t h e r or a benefactor), he m u s t consider these separate relations,

with all the circumstances and situations of the persons, in o r d e r to

d e t e r m i n e the superior d u t y and obligation: And in order to d e t e r -

m i n e t h e p r o p o r t i o n of lines in any triangle, it is necessary to e x a m -

ine the n a t u r e of that figure, and the relations which its several parts

bear to each other. But n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g this appearing similarity in

the two cases, t h e r e is, at bottom, an e x t r e m e difference b e t w e e n

t h e m . A speculative reasoner c o n c e r n i n g triangles or circles consid-

ers the several known and given relations of the parts of these figures;

and t h e n c e infers s o m e u n k n o w n relation, which is d e p e n d e n t on

the

former. But in moral deliberations, we m u s t be acquainted, b e f o r e -

hand, with all the objects, and all their relations to each other; and

f r o m a comparison of the whole, fix o u r choice or approbation. No

n e w fact to be ascertained: No n e w relation to be discovered. All t h e

c i r c u m s t a n c e s of the case are supposed to be laid before us, ere we

can fix any sentence of blame or approbation. If any material cir-

c u m s t a n c e be yet u n k n o w n or doubtful, we must first e m p l o y o u r

e n q u i r y or intellectual faculties to assure us of it; and m u s t suspend

for a time all moral decision or sentiment. W h i l e we are ignorant,

w h e t h e r a man were aggressor or not, how can we d e t e r m i n e w h e t h e

r

the person who killed him, be criminal or innocent? But after eveiy

circumstance, every relation is known, the u n d e r s t a n d i n g has no far-

ther room to operate, n o r any object on which it could e m p l o y itself.

T h e approbation or blame, which then ensues, cannot be the work of

184 • David Hume

t h e j u d g m e n t , but of the heart; and is not a speculative proposition or

affirmation, but an active f e e l i n g or sentiment. In the disquisitions of

t h e u n d e r s t a n d i n g , f r o m known circumstances and relations, we infer

s o m e new and u n k n o w n . In moral decisions, all t h e c i r c u m s t a n c e s

and relations m u s t be previously known; and the mind, from the con-

t e m p l a t i o n of the whole, feels s o m e new impression of affection or

disgust, esteem or c o n t e m p t , approbation or blame.

H e n c e the great difference between a mistake of fact and one of

right; and hence the reason why the one is c o m m o n l y criminal and not

the other. W h e n OEDIPUS killed LAIUS, he was ignorant of the relation,

and from circumstances, i n n o c e n t and involuntary, formed erroneous

opinions concerning the action which he committed. But when N E R O

killed AGRIPPINA, all the relations between himself and the person, and

all the circumstances of t h e fact, were previously known to him: But

t h e motive of revenge, or fear, or interest, prevailed in his savage heart

over t h e sentiments of duty and humanity. And when we express that

detestation against him, to which he, himself, in a little time, became

insensible; it is not, that we see any relations, of which he was ignorant;

but that, from t h e rectitude of our disposition, we feel sentiments,

against which he was h a r d e n e d , from flattery and a long perseverance

in the most e n o r m o u s crimes. In these sentiments, then, not in a dis-

covery of relations of any kind, do all moral determinations consist.

Before we can pretend to form any decision of this kind, every thing

m u s t be known and ascertained on the side of the object or acdon.

N o t h i n g remains but to feel, on o u r part, some s e n t i m e n t of blame or

approbation; whence we p r o n o u n c e the action criminal or virtuous.

III. T h i s d o c t r i n e will b e c o m e still m o r e evident, if we c o m p a r e

moral b e a u t y with natural, to which, in m a n y particulars, it bears so

n e a r a resemblance. It is on the p r o p o r t i o n , relation, and position of

parts, t h a t all natural b e a u t y d e p e n d s ; but it would he absurd t h e n c e

to infer, that the p e r c e p t i o n of beauty, like that of truth in g e o m e t r i -

cal problems, consists wholly in the p e r c e p t i o n of relations, and was

p e r f o r m e d entirely by t h e u n d e r s t a n d i n g or intellectual faculties. In

all t h e sciences, o u r mind, f r o m the known relations, investigates the

u n k n o w n : But in all decisions of taste or external beauty, all t h e rela-

tions are before hand obvious to the eye; and we t h e n c e p r o c e e d to

feel a s e n t i m e n t of c o m p l a c e n c y or disgust, according to t h e n a t u r

e

of t h e object, and disposition of our organs.

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • 185

E U C L I D has fully explaine d all th e qualitie s of th e circle; b u t has

not, in any proposition, said a word of its beauty. T h e reason is evi-

dent. T h e beauty is n o t a quality of t h e circle Tt lies not in any part

of t h e line, whose parts are equally distant from a c o m m o n center. It

is only t h e effect, which that figure p r o d u c e s u p o n the mind, whose

peculiar fabric or s t r u c t u r e r e n d e r s it susceptible of such sentiments.

In vain would you look for it in the circle, or seek it, e i t h e r by y o u r

senses or by m a t h e m a t i c a l reasonings, in all the p r o p e r t i e s of that

figure.

Attend to PALLADIO and P E R R A U L T , while they explain all t h e

parts and p r o p o r t i o n s of a pillar; T h e y talk of the cornice and frieze

and base and e n t a b l a t u r e and shaft and architrave; and give the

description and position of each of t h e s e m e m b e r s . But should you

ask t h e description and position of its beauty, they would readily

reply, that the b e a u t y is not in any of the parts or m e m b e r s of a pil-

lar, but results f r o m the whole, when t h a t complicated figure is p r e -

sented to an intelligent mind, susceptible to those finer sensations.

T i l l such a spectator appear, t h e r e is n o t h i n g but a figure of such

particular dimensions and proportions: F r o m his sentiments alone

arise its elegance and beauty.

Again; attend to C l C E R O , while he paints t h e crimes of a V E R R E S or

a C A T I L I N E ; you m u s t acknowledge that the moral t u r p i t u d e results,

in the s a m e manner, f r o m the c o n t e m p l a t i o n of the whole, when p r e

-
sented to a being, whose organs have such a particular s t r u c t u r e and

formation. T h e o r a t o r may paint rage, insolence, barbarity on the

one side: Meekness, suffering, sorrow, i n n o c e n c e on the other: But if

you feel no indignation or compassion arise in you f r o m this compli-

cation of circumstances, you would in vain ask him, in what consists

the crime or villany, which he so v e h e m e n t l y exclaims against: At

what time, or on what subject it first began to exist: And what has a

few months afterward b e c o m e of it, when every disposition and

t h o u g h t of all the actors is totally altered, or annihilated. No satis-

factory answer can be given to any of these questions, u p o n the

abstract hypothesis of morals; and we m u s t at last acknowledge, that

the c r i m e of i m m o r a l i t y is no particular fact or relation, which can he

the object of the u n d e r s t a n d i n g : . B u t arises entirely f r o m t h e senti-

m e n t of disapprobation, which, by t h e s t r u c t u r e of h u m a n nature, we

u n a v o i d a b l y feel on the a p p r e h e n s i o n of barbarity or treachery.

186 • David Hume

TV. I n a n i m a t e objects may bear to each other all the same rela-

tions, which we observe in moral agents; though the f o r m e r can n e v e r

be t h e object of love or h a t r e d , nor are c o n s e q u e n t l y susceptible of

merit or iniquity. A y o u n g tree, which over-tops and destroys its p a r -

ent, stands in all the s a m e relations.with NLIRO, when he m u r d e r e d

AGRIPPINA; and if morality consisted merely in relations, would, no

doubt, be equally criminal.

V. It a p p e a r s evident, that the u l t i m a t e ends of h u m a n actions can

never, in any case, be a c c o u n t e d for by reason, hut r e c o m m e n d t h e m

-

selves entirely to t h e s e n t i m e n t s and affections of mankind, w i t h o u t

any d e p e n d a n c e on t h e intellectual faculties. Ask a man, why he uses

exercise, he will answer, because he desires to keeep his health. If you then

enquire, why he desires health, he will readily reply, because sickness is

painful. If you push y o u r enquiries farther, and desire a reason, why he

hates pain, it is impossible he can ever give any. T h i s is an u l t i m a t e

end, and is never r e f e r r e d to any other object.

Perhaps, to your second question, why he desires health, he may also

reply, that it is necessary for the exercise of his calling If you ask, why he is

anxious on that head, he will answer, because he desires to get money. If you

d e m a n d Why? It is the instrument of pleasure, says he. And beyond this it

is an absurdity to ask for a reason. It is impossible t h e r e can be a

progress in "infinitum; and t h a t o n e thing can always be a reason, why

a n o t h e r is desired. S o m e t h i n g m u s t be desirable on its own account,

and b e c a u s e of its i m m e d i a t e accord or a g r e e m e n t with h u m a n

sen-

t i m e n t and affection.
N o w as v i r t u e is an end, and is desirable on its own account, w i t h -

o u t fee or reward, merely, for t h e i m m e d i a t e satisfaction which it

conveys; it is requisite that t h e r e should be s o m e sentiment, which it

touches; s o m e internal taste or feeling, or whatever you please to call

it, which distinguishes moral good and evil, and which embraces the

one and rejects the other.

T h u s the distinct b o u n d a r i e s and offices of reason and of taste are

easily ascertained. T h e f o r m e r conveys the k n o w l e d g e of t r u t h and

falsehood: T h e latter gives t h e s e n t i m e n t of b e a u t y and deformity,

vice and virtue. T h e one discovers objects, as they really stand in

n a t u r e , w i t h o u t addition or d i m i n u t i o n : T h e o t h e r has a
productive

faculty, and gilding or staining all natural objects with the colors,

An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals • 187

borrowed f r o m internal sentiment, raises, in a manner, a n e w cre-

ation. Reason, being cool and disengaged, is no motive to action, and

directs only the i m p u l s e received from a p p e t i t e or inclination, by

showing us the m e a n s of attaining h a p p i n e s s or avoiding misery:

Taste, as it gives pleasure or pain, and t h e r e b y constitutes happiness

or misery, b e c o m e s a motive to action, and is the first spring or

i m p u l s e to desire and volition. From circumstances and relations,

k n o w n or supposed, the f o r m e r leads us to the discovery of t h e con-

cealed and unknown: After all circumstances and relations are laid

b e f o r e us, t h e latter makes us feel f r o m the whole a n e w s e n t i m e n t

of

b l a m e or approbation. T h e standard of the one, being f o u n d e d on the

n a t u r e of things, is eternal and inflexible, even by the will of t h e

S u p r e m e Being: T h e standard of the other, arising f r o m the internal

f r a m e and constitution of animals, is ultimately derived f r o m that

S u p r e m e Will, which bestowed on each b e i n g its peculiar nature, and

arranged t h e several classes and orders of existence.

CHAPTER a

I M M A N U E L K A N T

T h e son of a saddler, Kant was born in Konigsberg, Germany, in 1724.

He died there in 1804. In between, he was first a privatdozent and

then a professor at the University of Konigsberg. Kant's life was so

rigidly structured that the people of Konigsberg used to set their

watches by his walks. To all appearances, Immanuel Kant led a very

quiet and uneventful life.

A philosopher much influenced by Kant, Soren Kierkegaard

instructed that you cannot discern the inner from the outer, one's

spirit from one's actions. Kant is a case in point. T h o u g h he spent

most of his days at a desk or lectern, he turned t h e world of ideas

upside d o w n — o r maybe it would be better to say right side up. His

work was aimed at answering philosophers skeptical of our ability to

acquire knowledge and to base morals on reason.

Like Jean-Paul Sartre, Kant was very small of stature (five feet)

but there is no one with a longer influence on Western views on

ethics. Most ethicists today think of themselves as either Kantians or

Utilitarians. Parlous as it may he to paint in such broad strokes, the

Kantians tend to be absolutists in the sense that there are certain

actions that they regard as simply w r o n g — n o matter what the con-

sequences. If, for instance, you could save the lives of thousands or,

for that matter, mi llions, by torturing one innocent, most followers of

Ethics: The Essential Writings • 189

Kant would insist that the millions m u s t be prepared to die. M a n y

Utilitarians would take the opposite view.

In the Groundwork to the Metaphysics of Morals, Kant offers his t h r e e

formulations of the f a m o u s categorical imperative. T h o u g h these

f o r m u l a t i o n s are logically related to one another, I would emphasize

t h e first, which states:

Act only according to that maxim by which you can at the same time

will that it should become a universal law.

Applying the categorical imperative should enable us to d e c i d e

w h e t h e r or not an act is morally permissible. In order to i m p l e m e n t

it you need only consider your personal reason for an action, p e r h a p s

to lie to a t e a c h e r that you were ill in order to p r o c u r e m o r e time to

p r e p a r e for an exam. In the grips of this temptation, Kant suggests

t h a t you take the p r o p o s e d course of action and formulate it into a

m a x i m or rule. H e r e t h e rule might run: "I will lie when it is to my

benefit and I believe t h a t the lie will not h a r m anyone else." N e x t ask

yourself whether or not you could vote for such a rule if you were

writing legislation for all humankind. To this question Kant replies

with a resounding N o . For his part, we could not agree to such a rule.

Its acceptance would entail the breakdown of meaningful h u m a n

speech.

A quintessential E n l i g h t e n m e n t thinker, Kant placed extraordi-

nary emphasis on the t h e m e s of respect and t h e dignity of h u m a n

beings. He recognized that in the world of appearances, all events

m u s t be treated as though they were causally determined. However,

he also believed that it was reasonable to postulate a realm that was

beyond appearances and the ken of scientific explanation. Morality,

according to Kant, is of this nature. Praising and blaming p e o p l e for

their actions does not, he thought, make sense unless we assume that
we are free to do one t h i n g or the other. And so, he was in one way a

d e t e r m i n i s t and in a n o t h e r a firm believer in the f r e e d o m of the

will.

T h o u g h Kant recognizes that our reason is naturally at the service

of o u r desire to obtain the highest good, happiness, the achievement

of happiness cannot, f r o m a moral point of view, be the aim of o u r

actions. For instance, t h e shopkeeper who does not cheat his client

190 • Irmnanuel Kant

only b e c a u s e be fears losing business is not acting o u t of moral con-

siderations but rather o u t of p r u d e n t i a l ones. For Kant an action that

is solely or mainly driven by self-interest is at best amoral. It c a n n o t

have t r u e moral worth.

T h i s master of moral reflection was clear that on the e a r t h l y

plane, t h e righteous life does not always pay off P e r h a p s just t h e

opposite. And yet, because practical reason c a n n o t divorce t h e ideas

of virtue and happiness, it is, Kant argued, plausible to believe both

in G o d and the i m m o r t a l i t y of the soul, that is, in a realm beyond

n a t u r e in which virtue and happiness correspond.

F U N D A M E N T A L P R I N C I P L E S O F T H E

M E T A P H Y S I C S OF M O R A L S

FIRST SECTION
TRANSITION FROM THE COMMON RATIONAL

KNOWLEDGE OF MORALITY TO THE PHILOSOPHICAL

N o t h i n g can possibly be conceived in the world, or even out of it,

which can be called good without qualification, except a G o o d Will.

Intelligence, wit, judgment, and the other talents of the mind, how-

ever they may be named, or courage, resolution, perseverance, as

qualities of temperament, are undoubtedly good and desirable in

many respects; hut these gifts of nature may also become extremely

bad and mischievous if the will which is to make use of them, and

which, therefore, constitutes what is called character, is not good. It is

the same with the gifts of fortune. Power, riches, honor, even health,

and the general well-being and contentment with one's condition

which is called happiness, inspire pride, and often presumption, if

there is not a good will to correct the influence of these on the mind,

and with this also to rectify the whole principle of acting and adapt it

to its end. T h e sight of a being who is not adorned with a single fea-

t u r e of a pure and good will, enjoying unbroken prosperity, can never

give pleasure to an impartial rational spectator. T h u s a good will

192 • Irmnanuel Kant

appears to constitute t h e indispensable condition even of being w o r -

thy of happiness.
T h e r e are even s o m e qualities which are of service to this good will

itself, and may facilitate its action, yet which have no intrinsic u n c o n -

ditional value, but always presuppose a good will, and this qualifies the

esteem that we justly have for them, and does not p e r m i t us to regard

them as absolutely good. M o d e r a t i o n in the affections and passions,

self-control and calm deliberation are not only good in many respects,

but even seem to constitute part of the intrinsic worth of the person;

but they are far from deserving to be called good without qualification,

although they have been so unconditionally praised by the ancients.

For w i t h o u t the principles of a good will, they may become extremely

bad, and the coolness of a villain n o t only makes him far more danger-

ous, b u t also directly makes him m o r e abominable in o u r eyes than he

would have been w i t h o u t it.

A good will is good not b e c a u s e of what it p e r f o r m s or effects, not

by its aptness for the a t t a i n m e n t of some proposed end, but simply by

virtue of t h e volition, that is, it is good in itself, and considered by

itself is to be e s t e e m e d m u c h h i g h e r than all that can be b r o u g h t

about by it in favor of any inclination, nay, even of the sum total of

all inclinations. Even if it should h a p p e n that, o w i n g to special disfa-

vor of f o r t u n e , or t h e niggardly provision of a s t e p - m o t h e r l y nature,

this will should wholly lack p o w e r to accomplish its purpose, if with

its greatest efforts it should yet achieve nothing, and there should

r e m a i n only the good will (not, to be sure, a m e r e wish, but the s u m -

m o n i n g of all means in o u r power), then, like a jewel, it would still

shine by its own light, as a t h i n g which has its whole value in itself. Its

usefulness or fruitlessness can n e i t h e r add to nor take away any-

thing from this value. It would be, as it were, only the setting to

enable us to h a n d l e it the m o r e conveniently in c o m m o n c o m m e r c e ,

or to attract to it the attention of those who are n o t yet connoisseurs,

b u t not to r e c o m m e n d it to t r u e connoisseurs, or to d e t e r m i n e its

value.

T h e r e is, however, s o m e t h i n g so strange in this idea of t h e

absolute value of the m e r e will, in which no account is taken of its

utility, that n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g t h e thorough assent of even c o m m o n

reason to t h e idea, yet a suspicion m u s t arise that it may p e r h a p s

really be t h e p r o d u c t of m e r e high-flown fancy, and that we may have

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • \V.V

m i s u n d e r s t o o d the p u r p o s e of n a t u r e in assigning reason as t h e

gov-

ernor of our will. T h e r e f o r e we will e x a m i n e this idea from this point

of view.

In t h e physical constitution of an organized being, t h a t is, a being

adapted suitably to the purposes of life, we assume it as a f u n d a m e n -

tal principle that no organ for any p u r p o s e will be found b u t w h a t is

also t h e fittest and best adapted for that purpose. N o w in a being

which has reason and a will, if the p r o p e r object of narure w e r e its

conservation, its welfare, in a word, its happiness, then n a t u r e would have

hit u p o n a very bad a r r a n g e m e n t in selecting the reason of the crea-

t u r e to carry out this purpose. For all t h e actions which the c r e a t u r e

has to perform with a view to this purpose, and the whole r u l e of its

conduct, would be far m o r e surely prescribed to it hy instinct, and

that end would have been attained thereby m u c h m o r e certainly

than it ever can he by reason. Should reason have been c o m m u n i -

cated to this favored c r e a t u r e over and above, it m u s t only have

served it to c o n t e m p l a t e t h e happy constitution of its nature, to

a d m i r e it, to c o n g r a t u l a t e itself thereon, and to feel t h a n k f u l for it

to

the beneficent cause, b u t not t h a t it should subject its desires to that

weak and delusive guidance, and m e d d l e hunglingly with t h e p u r - .

pose of nature. In a word, n a t u r e would have taken care that reason

should not break f o r t h into practical exercise, n o r have the p r e s u m p -

tion, with its weak insight, to think out for itself the plan of h a p p i -

ness, and of the m e a n s of attaining it. N a t u r e would not only have

taken on herself the choice of t h e ends, but also of the means, and

with wise foresight would have e n t r u s t e d both to instinct.

And, in fact, we find that the more a cultivated reason applies itself

with deliberate p u r p o s e to t h e e n j o y m e n t of life and happiness, so

m u c h the m o r e does the man fail of t r u e satisfaction. And f r o m this

c i r c u m s t a n c e there arises in many, if they are candid enough to con-

fess it, a certain d e g r e e of misology, t h a t is, hatred of reason, especially

in t h e case of those who are most experienced in t h e use of it,

because after calculating all the advantages they derive, 1 do not say

f r o m the invention of all the arts of c o m m o n luxury, b u t even f r o m

t h e sciences (which seem to t h e m to be after all only a l u x u r y of the

understanding), they find that they have, in fact, only b r o u g h t m o r e

trouble on their shoulders, rather than gained in happiness; and they

end by envying, r a t h e r than despising, the m o r e c o m m o n s t a m p of

194 • Irmnanuel Kant

m e n who keep closer to t h e g u i d a n c e of m e r e instinct, and do not

allow their reason m u c h influence on their conduct. And this we

m u s t admit, that the j u d g m e n t of those who would v e r y much lower

the lofty eulogies of the advantages which reason gives us in regard

to t h e happiness and satisfaction of life, or who would even r e d u c e

t h e m below zero, is by no m e a n s m o r o s e or u n g r a t e f u l to the g o o

d -

ness with which the world is governed, but t h a t t h e r e lies at the root

of t h e s e j u d g m e n t s t h e idea that o u r existence has a d i f f e r e n t and

far

n o b l e r end, for which, and not for happiness, reason is p r o p e r l y

i n t e n d e d , and which must, therefore, be regarded as the s u p r e m e

condition to which the private ends of man must, for the most part,

be p o s t p o n e d .

For as reason is not c o m p e t e n t to g u i d e the will with certainty in

regard to its objects and t h e satisfaction of all our wants (which it to

some e x t e n t even multiplies), this being an end to which an

i m p l a n t e d instinct would have led with m u c h g r e a t e r certainty; and

since, nevertheless, reason is i m p a r t e d to us as a practical faculty, i.e.

as o n e which is to have i n f l u e n c e on the will, therefore, admitting that

n a t u r e generally in the distribution of h e r capacities has adapted the

m e a n s to the end, its t r u e destination m u s t be to p r o d u c e a will, not

m e r e l y good as a means to s o m e t h i n g else, but good in itself, for which

reason was absolutely necessary. T h i s will then, though not indeed

t h e sole and c o m p l e t e good, m u s t be the s u p r e m e good and the con-

dition of every other, even of the desire of happiness. U n d e r t h e s e

circumstances, there is n o t h i n g inconsistent with the wisdom of

n a t u r e in the fact that the cultivation of t h e reason, which is requisite

for t h e first and u n c o n d i t i o n a l purpose, does in m a n y ways interfere,

at least in this life, with the a t t a i n m e n t of t h e second, which is always

conditional, namely, happiness. Nay, it may even r e d u c e it to n o t h -

ing, w i t h o u t nature thereby failing of her purpose. For reason r e c o g -

nizes the establishment of a good will as its highest practical

destination, and in attaining this p u r p o s e is capable only of a satis-

faction of its own p r o p e r kind, namely, that f r o m the attainment of an

end, which end again is d e t e r m i n e d by reason only, n o t w i t h s t a n d -

ing t h a t this m a y involve m a n y a d i s a p p o i n t m e n t to t h e ends of

inclination.

We have then to develop t h e notion of a will which deserves to be

highly esteemed for itself, and is good w i t h o u t a view to a n y t h i n g

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • >9i

further, a notion which exists already in the sound natural u n d e r -

standing, r e q u i r i n g r a t h e r to be cleared up than to be taught, and

which in estimating t h e value of o u r actions always takes the first

place, and constitutes t h e condition of all the rest. In o r d e r to do this

we will take the notion of duty, which i n c l u d e s that of a good will,

although i m p l y i n g certain subjective restrictions and hindrances.

T h e s e , however, far f r o m concealing it, or r e n d e r i n g it u n r e c o g n i

z -

able, rather bring it o u t by contrast, and make it shine forth so m u c h

t h e brighter.

I o m i t here all actions which are already recognized as inconsis-

tent with duty, although they may be useful for this or t h a t p u r p o s e ,

for with these t h e question w h e t h e r they are don e. from duty c a n n o t

arise at all, since they even conflict with it. I also set aside t h o s e

actions which really c o n f o r m to duty, b u t to which men have no

direct inclination, p e r f o r m i n g them because they are impelled t h e r e t o

by s o m e other inclination. For in this case we can readily distinguish

w h e t h e r t h e action which agrees with d u t y is d o n e from duty, or f r o m

a selfish view. It is m u c h h a r d e r to make this distinction when the

action accords with duty, and the subject has besides a direct inclina-

tion to it. For example, it is always a m a t t e r of d u t y that a dealer

should not overcharge an inexperienced purchaser, and w h e r e v e r

t h e r e is m u c h c o m m e r c e the p r u d e n t tradesman does not over-

charge, but keeps a fixed price for everyone, so that a child b u y s of

him as well as any other. M e n are t h u s honestly served; but this is not

enough to make us believe that the t r a d e s m a n has so acted f r o m d u t y

and f r o m principles of honesty: his own advantage required it; it is

out of t h e question in this case to suppose t h a t he might besides have

a direct inclination in favor of the buyers, so that, as it were, f r o m

love he should give no advantage to one over another. Accordingly

t h e action was d o n e n e i t h e r f r o m d u t y nor from direct inclination,

but m e r e l y with a selfish view.

On the o t h e r hand, it is a d u t y to maintain one's life; and, in addi-

tion, every one has also a direct inclination to do so. But on this

a c c o u n t t h e often anxious care which most men take for it has no

intrinsic worth, and their maxim has no moral import. T h e y preserve

their life as duty requires, no doubt, bu t not because duty requires. On t h e

o t h e r hand, if adversity and hopeless sorrow have c o m p l e t e l y taken

away the relish for fife; if the u n f o r t u n a t e one, strong in mind, i n d i g -

196 • Irmnanuel Kant

n a n t at his fate r a t h e r than d e s p o n d i n g or dejected, wishes for death,

and yet preserves his life w i t h o u t loving i t — n o t f r o m inclination or

fear, but from d u t y — t h e n his m a x i m has a moral worth.

To be beneficent w h e n we can is a duty; and besides this, t h e r e are

m a n y m i n d s so sympathetically constituted that, w i t h o u t any o t h e r

motive of vanity or self-interest, they find a pleasure in s p r e a d i n g joy

around them, and can take delight in the satisfaction of others so far

as it is their own work. But I maintain that in such a case an action of

this kind, however proper, h o w e v e r amiable it may be, has n e v e r t h e -

less no t r u e moral worth, b u t is on a level with other inclinations, e.g.

the inclination to honor, which, if it is happily directed to that which

is in fact of public utility and accordant with duty, and c o n s e q u e n t l y

honorable, deserves praise and e n c o u r a g e m e n t , but not esteem. For

the m a x i m lacks the moral i m p o r t , namely, t h a t such actions be d o n e

from duty, not from inclination. P u t the case that the m i n d of that phi-

lanthropist were c l o u d e d by sorrow of his own, extinguishing all

s y m p a t h y with the lot of others, and that while he still has the p o w e r

to benefit others in distress, he' is not t o u c h e d by their trouble

because he is absorbed with his own; and now suppose that he tears

himself out of this dead insensibility and p e r f o r m s the action with-

out any inclination to it, b u t simply f r o m duty, then first has his

action its g e n u i n e moral worth. F u r t h e r still; if n a t u r e has p u t little

sympathy in the h e a r t of this or that man; if he, supposed to be an

upright man, is by t e m p e r a m e n t cold and i n d i f f e r e n t to the s u f f e r

-

ings of others, p e r h a p s because in respect of his own he is provided

with t h e special gift of p a t i e n c e and fortitude, and supposes, or even

requires, that others should have the s a m e — a n d such a man would

certainly n o t be the m e a n e s t p r o d u c t of n a t u r e — b u t if n a t u r e
had

not specially f r a m e d him for a philanthropist, would he not still find

in himself a source f r o m w h e n c e to give himself a far higher worth

than that of a g o o d - n a t u r e d t e m p e r a m e n t could be? Unquestionably.

It is just in this that the moral worth of the character is b r o u g h t o u t

which is i n c o m p a r a b l y t h e highest of all, namely, that he is benefi-

cent, not f r o m inclination, b u t f r o m duty.

To secure one's own happiness is a duty, at least indirectly; for dis-

content with one's condition, u n d e r a pressure of m a n y anxieties and

amidst unsatisfied wants, m i g h t easily b e c o m e a great temptation to

transgression of duty. But here again, w i t h o u t looking to duty, all m e n

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals - 197

have already the strongest and most i n t i m a t e inclination to h a p p i -

ness, because it is just in this idea that all inclinations are c o m b i n e d

in one total. Rut the p r e c e p t of happiness is often of such a sort that

it greatly interferes with s o m e inclinations, and yet a man c a n n o t

form any definite and certain conception of t h e sum of satisfaction of

all of them which is called happiness. It is not t h e n to be w o n d e r e d at

that a single inclination, definite both as to what it promises and as to

t h e time within which it can be gratified, is often able to o v e r c o m e

such a fluctuating idea, and that a gouty patient, for instance, can

choose to enjoy what he likes, and to suffer what he may, since,

according to his calculation, on this occasion at least, he has [only]

not sacrificed the e n j o y m e n t of the p r e s e n t m o m e n t to a possibly

mistaken expectation of a happiness which is supposed to be f o u n d in

health. But even in this case, if the general desire for happiness did

not influence his will, and supposing that in his particular case health

was not a necessary e l e m e n t in this calculation, there yet remains in

this, as in all o t h e r cases, this law, namely, t h a t he should p r o m o t e his

happiness not f r o m inclination but f r o m duty, and by this would his

c o n d u c t first acquire true moral worth.

It is in this manner, u n d o u b t e d l y , that we are to u n d e r s t a n d those

passages of Scripture also in which we are c o m m a n d e d to love o u r

neighbor, even o u r enemy. For love, as an affection, cannot be c o m -

m a n d e d , but beneficence for duty's sake may; even though we are not

impelled to it by any inclination—nay, are even repelled by a n a t u -

ral and u n c o n q u e r a b l e aversion. T h i s is practical love, and not patho-

logical—a love which is seated in the will, and n o t in the propensions

of sense—in principles of action and not of t e n d e r sympathy; and it

is this love alone which can be c o m m a n d e d .

T h e second proposition is: T h a t an action d o n e f r o m d u t y derives

its moral worth, not from the purpose which is to be attained by it, b u t

f r o m the maxim by which it is d e t e r m i n e d , and t h e r e f o r e does not

d e p e n d on t h e realization of the object of the action, but merely on

the principle of volition by which the action has taken place, w i t h o u t

regard to any object of desire. It is clear f r o m what p r e c e d e s that the

p u r p o s e s which we may have in view in o u r actions, or their effects

regarded as ends and springs of the will, c a n n o t give to actions any

u n c o n d i t i o n a l or moral worth. In what, then, can their worth lie, if it

is not to consist in the will and in r e f e r e n c e to its expected effect? It

198 • Irmnanuel Kant

c a n n o t lie a n y w h e r e but in the principle of the mill w i t h o u t regard to

the ends which can be attained by t h e action. For the will stands

b e t w e e n its a prion principle, which is formal, and its a posteriori

spring, which is material, as between two roads, and as it m u s t be

d e t e r m i n e d by something, it follows that it m u s t be d e t e r m i n e d by

t h e f o r m a ! principle of volition when an action is d o n e f r o m duty, in

which case every material principle has been w i t h d r a w n from it.

T h e third proposition, which is a c o n s e q u e n c e of t h e two p r e c e d -

ing, I would express thus: Duty is the necessity of acting from respect.for the

lain. 1 may have inclination f o r an object as the e f f e c t of my p r o p o s e d

action, b u t I cannot have respect far it, just for this reason, that it is an

effect and not an e n e r g y of will. Similarly, I c a n n o t have, respect for

inclination, w h e t h e r my own or another's; I can at most, if my own,

approve it; if another's, s o m e t i m e s even love it; i.e. look on it as favor-

able to my own interest It is only what is c o n n e c t e d with my will as a

principle, by no m e a n s as an e f f e c t — w h a t does not subserve my

inclination, but overpowers it, or at least in case of choice excludes

it f r o m its calculation—in o t h e r words, simply the law of itself

which can be an object of respect, and h e n c e a c o m m a n d . N o w an

action d o n e f r o m d u t y m u s t wholly exclude the influence of inclina-

tion, and with it every object of the will, so that n o t h i n g remains

which can d e t e r m i n e the will except objectively t h e law, and subjec-

tively pure respect for this practical law, and c o n s e q u e n t l y t h e maxim*

t h a t I should follow this law even to t h e t h w a r t i n g of all my inclina-

tions.

T h u s t h e moral worth of an action does not lie in t h e e f f e c t

e x p e c t e d f r o m it, nor in any principle of action which r e q u i r e s to

b o r r o w its motive f r o m this expected effect. For all these e f f e c t s —

agreeableness of one's condition, and even t h e p r o m o t i o n of the h a p -

piness of o t h e r s — c o u l d have been also b r o u g h t about by o t h e r

causes, so that for this t h e r e would have been no n e e d of the will of a

rational being; whereas it is in this alone that t h e s u p r e m e and

u n c o n d i t i o n a l good can be found. T h e p r e - e m i n e n t good which

we

call moral can t h e r e f o r e consist'in n o t h i n g else than the conception of

*A maxim is the subjective principle of volition. The objective principle ( i.e.
that which

would also serve subjectively as a practical principle to all rational beings if

reason had

full power over the faculty of desire) is the practical law.

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • \V.V

law in itself, whtch certainly is only possible in a rational being, insofar as

this conception, and n o t the expected effect, determines t h e will. T h i s

is a good which is already present in the person who acts accordingly,

and we have not to wait for it to appear first in the result*

But what sort of law can that be, the conception of which m u s t

d e t e r m i n e the will, even without p a y i n g any regard to the effect

expected f r o m it, in o r d e r that this will m a y be called good

absolutely and w i t h o u t qualification? As 1 have deprived the will of

every i m p u l s e which could arise to it f r o m o b e d i e n c e to any law,

t h e r e remains n o t h i n g but the universal c o n f o r m i t y of its actions to

law in general, which alone is to serve the will as a principle, i.e. I am

never to act o t h e r w i s e than so that I could also will that my maxim should

become a universal law. H e r e now, it is the simple c o n f o r m i t y to law in

general, w i t h o u t assuming any particular law applicable to certain

actions, that serves the will as its principle, and must so serve it, if

d u t y is not to be a vain delusion and a chimerical notion. T h e c o m -

mon reason of men in its practical j u d g m e n t s perfectly coincides

with this, and always has in view the p r i n c i p l e h e r e suggested. Let the

question be, for example: M a y T when in distress make a p r o m i s e with

*T[ might be here objected to me that I take refuge behind the word respectm an
obscure

feeling, instead of giving a distinct solution of the question by a concept of the

reason.

But although respect is a feeling, it is not a feeling received through influence,

but is self-

wrought by a rational concept, and, therefore, is specifically distinct from all

feelings of

the former kind, which may be referred e i i h e r t o inclination or fear. W h a t I

recognize

immediately as a law for me, I recognizc with respect. This merely signifies the
con-

sciousness that my will is subordinate to a law, without the intervention of other

influ-

ences on my sense. T h e immediate determination of the will by the law, and the

consciousness of this is called respect., so that this is regarded as an effect of the

law on the

subject, and not as the cause of it. Respect is properly the conception of a worth
which

thwarts my self-love Accordingly it is something which is considered neither as

an

objcct of inclination nor of fear, although it has something analogous to both. T h

e
object of respect is the law only, and that, the law which we impose on
ourselves, and yet

recognize as necessary in itself. As a law, we are subjected to it without

consulting self-

love; as imposed by us on ourselves, it is a result of our will. In the former

aspect it has

an. analogy to fear, in the latter to inclination. Respect for a person is properly
only

respect for the law (of honesty, &c.), of which he gives us an example. Since we
also look

on the improvement of our talents as a duty, we consider that we see in a person

of tal-

ents, as it were, the example of a law (viz. to become like him in this by
exercise), and

this constitutes our respect. All so-called moral interest consists simply in
respect for

the law

200 • Irmnanuel Kant

the intention not to keep it? I readily distinguish h e r e between the

two significations which the question may have: W h e t h e r it is p r u -

dent, or w h e t h e r it is right, to make a false promise. T h e f o r m e r may

u n d o u b t e d l y often be the case. 1 see clearly indeed that it is n o t

e n o u g h to extricate myself f r o m a p r e s e n t difficulty by means of this

s u b t e r f u g e , b u t it m u s t be well considered w h e t h e r t h e r e may not

h e r e a f t e r s p r i n g f r o m this lie much greater i n c o n v e n i e n c e than

that

f r o m which 1 now f r e e myself, and as, with all my supposed cunning,

the c o n s e q u e n c e s c a n n o t be so easily foreseen but that credit o n c e

lost may be m u c h m o r e i n j u r i o u s to me than any mischief which I

seek to avoid at present, it should be considered w h e t h e r it would n o t

be m o r e prudent to act herein according to a universal maxim, and to

make it a habit to promise n o t h i n g except with the intention of k e e p -

i n g it. But it is soon clear to me t h a t such a m a x i m will still only be

based on t h e fear of consequences. N o w it is a wholly d i f f e r e n t t h i n g

to be t r u t h f u l f r o m duty, and to be so from a p p r e h e n s i o n of

injurious

consequences. In the first case, t h e very notion of the action already

implies a law for me; in t h e second case, I m u s t first look a b o u t else-

w h e r e to see what results may be combined with it which would

affect myself. For to deviate f r o m the principle of d u t y is beyond all

d o u b t wicked; but to be u n f a i t h f u l to my maxim of p r u d e n c e may

often be very advantageous to me, although to abide by it is certainly

safer. T h e shortest way, however, and an u n e r r i n g one, to discover the

answer to this question w h e t h e r a lying p r o m i s e is consistent with

duty, is to ask myself, Should I be c o n t e n t t h a t my m a x i m (to extri-

cate myself f r o m difficulty by a false promise) should hold good as a

universal law, for myself as well as for others? and should I be able to

say to myself, "Every one may make a deceitful promise when he

finds himself in a difficulty from which he c a n n o t otherwise extricate

himself?" T h e n I presently b e c o m e aware that while I can will the lie,

I can by no means will that lying should be a universal law. For with

such a law t h e r e would be no promises at all, since it would be in vain

to allege my intention in regard to my f u t u r e actions to those who

would not believe this allegation, or if they over-hastily did so would

pay me back in my own coin. H e n c e my maxim, as soon as it should

be m a d e a universal law, would necessarily destroy itself.

I do not, therefore, n e e d any f a r - r e a c h i n g penetration to discern

what I have to do in o r d e r that my will m a y be morally good. Inex-

Fundamental Principle; of the Metaphysics of Morals • 201

perienced in the course of the world, incapable of being prepared for

all its contingencies, I only ask myself Canst thou also will that thy

maxim should be a universal law? If not, then it must be rejected and

that not because of a disadvantage accruing from it to myself or even

to others, but because it cannot enter as a principle into a possible

universal legislation, and reason extorts from me immediate respect

for such legislation. I do not indeed as yet discern on what this respect

is based (this the philosopher may inquire), but at least I understand

this, that it is an estimation of the worth which far outweighs all

worth of what is recommended by inclination, and that the necessity

of acting from pure respect for the practical law is what constitutes

duty, to which every other motive must give place, because it is the

condition of a will being good in itself, and the worth of such a will is

above everything.

Thus, then, without quitting the moral knowledge of c o m m o n

h u m a n reason; we have arrived at its principle. And although no

doubt, common men do not conceive it in such an abstract and uni-

versal form, yet they always have it really before their eyes, and use it

as the standard of their decision. H e r e it would be easy to show how

with this compass in hand, men are well able to distinguish, in every

case that occurs, what is good, what bad, conformably to duty or

inconsistent with it, if, without in the least teaching them anything

new, we only, like Socrates, direct their attention to the principle

they themselves employ; and that therefore we do not need science

and philosophy to know what we should do to be honest and good

vea, even wise and virtuous. Indeed we might well have conjectured

beforehand that the knowledge of what every m a n is bound to do,

and therefore also to know, would be within the reach of every m a n '

even the commonest. H e r e we cannot forbear admiration when we

see how great an advantage the practical judgment has over the the-

oretical in the common understanding of men. In the latter if com-

mon reason ventures to depart from the laws of experience and from

the perceptions of the senses it falls into m e r e i n c o n c e i v a b i l i t i e s and

self-contradictions, at least into a chaos of uncertainty, obscurity, and

instability. But in the practical sphere it is just when the common

understanding excludes all sensible springs from practical laws that

its power of judgment begins to show itself to advantage. It then

becomes even subtle, whether it be that it chicanes with its own con-

202 • Irmnanuel Kant

science or with other claims respecting what is to be called right, or

w h e t h e r it desires for its own instruction to d e t e r m i n e honestly t h e

worth of actions; and, in the latter case, it may even have as good a

h o p e of hitting the mark as any p h i l o s o p h e r whatever can p r o m i s e

himself Nay, it is almost m o r e sure of doing so, b e c a u s e the philos-

o p h e r c a n n o t have any o t h e r principle, while he may easily p e r p l e x

his j u d g m e n t by a m u l t i t u d e of considerations foreign to the matter,

and so t u r n aside f r o m the right way. Would it n o t t h e r e f o r e be wiser

in moral concerns to acquiesce in the j u d g m e n t of c o m m o n reason,

or at most only to call in philosophy f o r the p u r p o s e of r e n d e r i n g the

system of morals m o r e c o m p l e t e and intelligible, and its rules m o r e

c o n v e n i e n t for use (especially for disputation), b u t not so as to draw

off the c o m m o n u n d e r s t a n d i n g f r o m its h a p p y simplicity, or to b r

i n g

it by m e a n s of philosophy into a new path of inquiry and instruction?

I n n o c e n c e is indeed a glorious thing, only, on t h e o t h e r hand, it is

very sad that it cannot well maintain itself, and is easily seduced. On

this a c c o u n t even w i s d o m — w h i c h o t h e r w i s e consists m o r e in c

o n -

d u c t than in k n o w l e d g e — y e t has need of science, not in o r d e r to

learn f r o m it, but to secure f o r its p r e c e p t s admission and p e r m a -

nence. Against all the c o m m a n d s of duty which reason r e p r e s e n t s to

man as so deserving of respect, he feels in himself a p o w e r f u l c o u n -

terpoise in his wants and inclinations, the entire satisfaction of which

he sums up u n d e r the n a m e of happiness. N o w reason issues its c o m -

mands unyieldingly, w i t h o u t promising a n y t h i n g to t h e inclinations,

and, as it were, with disregard and c o n t e m p t for these claims, which

are so i m p e t u o u s , and at the same time so plausible, and which will

not allow themselves to be suppressed by any c o m m a n d . H e n c e

there arises a natural dialectic, i.e. a disposition, to argue against these

strict laws of d u t y and to question their validity, or at least their

purity and strictness; and, if possible, to make t h e m m o r e a c c o r d a n t

with o u r wishes and inclinations, that is to say, to c o r r u p t t h e m at

their very source, and entirely to destroy t h e i r w o r t h — a thing which

even c o m m o n practical reason c a n n o t u l t i m a t e l y call good.

T h u s is the common reason of man c o m p e l l e d to go out of its sphere,

and to take a step into t h e field of a practicalphilosopliy, not to satisfy

any speculative want (which never occurs to it as long as it is c o n t e n t

to be m e r e sound reason), b u t even on practical grounds, in o r d e r to

attain in it i n f o r m a t i o n and clear instruction respecting the source of

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • 203

its principle, and the correct d e t e r m i n a t i o n of it in opposition to t h e

m a x i m s which are based on wants and inclinations, so t h a t it may

escape from the p e r p l e x i t y of opposite claims, and not run t h e risk of

losing all g e n u i n e moral principles t h r o u g h t h e equivocation into

which it easily falls. Thus, when practical reason cultivates itself,

t h e r e insensibly arises in it a dialectic which forces it to seek aid in

philosophy, just as h a p p e n s to it in its t h e o r e t i c use; and in this case,

therefore, as well as in the other, it will find rest n o w h e r e but in a

t h o r o u g h critical examination of o u r reason.

SECOND SECTION

TRANSITION FROM POPULAR MORAL PHILOSOPHY

TO THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS

If we have h i t h e r t o drawn our notion of d u t y f r o m t h e c o m m o n use

of o u r practical reason, it is by no means to be inferred that we have

treated it as an empirical notion. On the contrary, if we attend to the

e x p e r i e n c e of men's c o n d u c t , we m e e t f r e q u e n t and, as we
ourselves

allow, just complaints that o n e cannot find a single certain e x a m p l e of

the disposition to act f r o m p u r e duty. Although m a n y things are d o n e

in conformity with what duty prescribes, it is nevertheless always

d o u b t f u l w h e t h e r they are d o n e strictly from duty, so as to have a

moral worth. H e n c e t h e r e have, at all times, been p h i l o s o p h e r s w h o

have altogether denied that this disposition actually exists at all in

h u m a n actions, and have ascribed e v e r y t h i n g to a m o r e or less

refined self-love. N o t that they have on that a c c o u n t questioned the

soundness of the c o n c e p t i o n of morality; on the contrary, they spoke

with sincere regret of t h e frailty and c o r r u p t i o n of h u m a n nature,

which though noble e n o u g h to take as its r u l e an idea so worthy of

respect, is yet too weak to follow it, and employs reason, which o u g h t

to give it t h e law only f o r t h e p u r p o s e of p r o v i d i n g f o r the interest

of

the inclinations, w h e t h e r singly or at the best in the greatest possible

h a r m o n y with o n e another.

In fact, it is absolutely impossible to make o u t by experience with

204 • Imma n el Kant

c o m p l e t e certainty a single case in which t h e m a x i m of an action,

h o w e v e r right in itself, rested simply on moral g r o u n d s and on t h e

c o n c e p t i o n of duty. S o m e t i m e s it h a p p e n s t h a t with the sharpest

self-

e x a m i n a t i o n we can find n o t h i n g beside t h e moral principle of d u t y

which could have been p o w e r f u l e n o u g h to move us to this or that

action and to so great a sacrifice; yet we c a n n o t f r o m this i n f e r with

c e r t a i n t y that it was n o t really s o m e secret i m p u l s e of self-love,

u n d e r t h e false a p p e a r a n c e of duty, t h a t was t h e actual d e t e r m i n

i n g

cause of the will. We like t h e n to flatter ourselves by falsely t a k i n g

credit for a m o r e noble motive; whereas in fact we can never, even by

t h e strictest examination, get c o m p l e t e l y b e h i n d t h e secret springs of

action; since when the question is of m o r a l w o r t h , it is not with the

actions which we see that we are c o n c e r n e d , b u t with those inward

p r i n c i p l e s of t h e m which we do not see.

M o r e o v e r , we cannot b e t t e r serve the wishes of those who ridicule

all m o r a l i t y as a m e r e chimera of h u m a n imagination o v e r - s t e p p i

n g

itself f r o m vanity, than by c o n c e d i n g to t h e m that notions of d u t y

m u s t be drawn only f r o m e x p e r i e n c e (as f r o m indolence, p e o p l e

are

r e a d y to think is also the case with all o t h e r notions); for this is to

p r e p a r e for t h e m a certain t r i u m p h . I am willing to admit o u t of love

of h u m a n i t y that even most of our actions are correct, but if we look

closer at t h e m we e v e r y w h e r e c o m e u p o n t h e d e a r self which is

always p r o m i n e n t , and it is this they have in view, and n o t the strict

c o m m a n d of d u t y which would often r e q u i r e self-denial. W i t h o u t

being an e n e m y of virtue, a cool observer, o n e that does not mistake

t h e wish for good, however lively, for its reality, m a y s o m e t i m e s

d o u b t w h e t h e r t r u e v i r t u e is actually found a n y w h e r e in the

world,

and this especially as years increase and t h e j u d g m e n t is partly m a d e

wiser by experience, and partly also m o r e acute in observation. T h i s

b e i n g so, nothing can secure us f r o m falling away altogether f r o m o u r

ideas of duty, or maintain in t h e soul a w e l l - g r o u n d e d respect for its

law, b u t the clear conviction that although there should never have

b e e n actions which really sprang f r o m such p u r e sources, yet

w h e t h e r this or t h a t takes p l a c e is not at all t h e question; but that r e a -

son of itself, i n d e p e n d e n t on all experience, ordains what o u g h t to

take place, chat accordingly actions of which p e r h a p s the world has

h i t h e r t o never given an example, the feasibility even of which m i g h t

be v e r y m u c h d o u b t e d by o n e who founds e v e r y t h i n g on
experience,

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • \V.V

are nevertheless inflexibly c o m m a n d e d by reason; that, ex. gr. even

t h o u g h t h e r e m i g h t never yet have been a sincere friend, yet n o t a

whit the less is p u r e sincerity in friendship required of every man,

because, prior to all experience, this d u t y is involved as d u t y in the

idea of a reason d e t e r m i n i n g the will by a prion principles.

W h e n we add f u r t h e r that, unless we d e n y that the notion of

morality has any t r u t h or r e f e r e n c e to any possible object, we m u s t

admit that its law m u s t be valid, not m e r e l y for m e n , b u t for all

rational creatures generally, not m e r e l y u n d e r certain contingent c o n d i -

tions or with exceptions, but with absolute necessity, then it is clear t h a t

no experience could enable us to infer even the possibility of such

apodictic laws. For with what right could we bring into u n b o u n d e d

respect as a universal p r e c e p t for every rational nature that which

p e r h a p s holds only u n d e r the contingent conditions of humanity? Or

how could laws of the d e t e r m i n a t i o n of oar will be regarded as laws

of the d e t e r m i n a t i o n of t h e will of rational beings generally, and for

us only as such, if they were m e r e l y empirical, and did not take their

origin wholly a priori f r o m p u r e but practical reason?

N o r could a n y t h i n g be m o r e fatal to morality than that we should

wish to derive it f r o m examples. For e v e r y example of it that is set

b e f o r e me must be first itself tested by principles of morality w h e t h e r

it is w o r t h y to serve as an original example, i.e. as a pattern b u t by no

m e a n s can it authoritatively furnish t h e conception of morality. Even

the Holy O n e of the Gospels m u s t first be compared with o u r ideal

of moral perfection b e f o r e we can recognize Him as such; and so He

says of Himself, " W h y call ye Me (whom you see) good; n o n e is good

(the model of good) b u t G o d only (whom ye do not see)?" But

w h e n c e have we the c o n c e p t i o n of G o d as the s u p r e m e good? Sim-

ply f r o m the idea of moral perfection which reason frames a prion,

and connects inseparably with the notion of a free-will. Imitation

finds no place at all in morality, and e x a m p l e s serve only for e n c o u r -

agement, i.e. they p u t beyond doubt the feasibility of what the law

c o m m a n d s , they m a k e visible t h a t which t h e practical rule expresses

m o r e generally, but they can never authorize us to set aside the t r u e

original which lies in reason, and to g u i d e ourselves by examples.

If then t h e r e is no g e n u i n e s u p r e m e principle of morality but what

m u s t rest simply on p u r e reason, i n d e p e n d e n t on all experience, I

think it is not necessary even to p u t the question, whether it is good

206 • Irmnanuel Kant

to exhibit these concepts in their generality (in abstracto) as they are

established a priori along with the principles b e l o n g i n g to them, if

o u r knowledge is to be distinguished f r o m t h e vulgar, and to be called

philosophical. Tn our times i n d e e d this m i g h t p e r h a p s be necessary;

for if we collected votes, w h e t h e r p u r e rational k n o w l e d g e separated

f r o m e v e r y t h i n g empirical, that is to say, m e t a p h y s i c of morals, or

w h e t h e r p o p u l a r practical p h i l o s o p h y is to be p r e f e r r e d , it is
easy to

guess which side would p r e p o n d e r a t e .

T h i s d e s c e n d i n g to p o p u l a r notions is certainly very c o m m e n d -

able, if t h e ascent to the principles of p u r e reason has first taken place

and been satisfactorily accomplished. T h i s implies t h a t we first found

Ethics on Metaphysics, and then, when it is firmly established, p r o -

c u r e a hearing f o r it by giving it a p o p u l a r character. But it is quite

absurd to t r y to be p o p u l a r in t h e first inquiry, on which t h e s o u n d -

ness of t h e principles d e p e n d s . It is not only t h a t this p r o c e e d i n g

can

never lay claim to t h e very rare merit of a t r u e philosophicalpopularity,

since t h e r e is no art in b e i n g intelligible if one r e n o u n c e s all t h o r -

o u g h n e s s of insight; b u t also it p r o d u c e s a disgusting medley of c o m -

piled observations and h a l f - r e a s o n e d principles. Shallow pates enjoy

this b e c a u s e it can be used f o r every-day that, but the sagacious find

in it only confusion, and being unsatisfied and unable to help t h e m -

selves, they turn away t h e i r eyes, while philosophers, who see quite

well t h r o u g h this delusion, are little listened to when they call

m e n off f o r a time f r o m this p r e t e n d e d popularity, in o r d e r that

they m i g h t be rightfully p o p u l a r after they have attained a definite

insight.

We n e e d only look at t h e attempts of moralists in that favorite

fashion, and we shall find at one time the special constitution of

h u m a n n a t u r e (including, however, t h e idea of a rational n a t u r e gen-

erally), at one rime p e r f e c t i o n , at a n o t h e r happiness, h e r e moral

sense, t h e r e fear of G o d , a little of this, and a little of that, in m a r -

velous m i x t u r e w i t h o u t its o c c u r r i n g to t h e m to ask w h e t h e r t h

e

principles of morality are to be sought in t h e k n o w l e d g e of h u m a n

n a t u r e at all (wh ich we can have only f r o m experience); and, if this is

not so, if these principles are to be f o u n d altogether a priori free f r o m

e v e r y t h i n g empirical, in p u r e rational c o n c e p t s only, and n o w h e r

e

else, not even in the smallest degree; t h e n rather to adopt t h e m e t h o d

of m a k i n g this a separate inquiry, as p u r e practical philosophy, or (if

Fundamental. Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals 207

o n e may use a n a m e so decried) as m e t a p h y s i c of morals,* to bring it

by itself to completeness, and to require the public, which wishes for

p o p u l a r treatment, to await the issue of this undertaking.

Such a metaphysic of morals, completely isolated, not mixed with

any anthropology, theology, physics, or hyperphysics, and still less

with occult qualities (which we might call hypophysical), is not only an

indispensable substratum of all sound theoretical knowledge of duties,

but is at the same time a desideratum of the highest i m p o r t a n c e to the

actual fulfillment of their precepts. For the p u r e conception of duty,

unmixed with any foreign addition of empirical attractions, and, in a

word, the conception of the moral law, exercises on the h u m a n heart,

by way of reason alone (which first becomes aware wirh this that it can

of itself be practical), an influence so much m o r e powerful than all

other springs' which may be derived from the field of experience, that

in the consciousness of its worth, it despises the latter, and can by

degrees become their master; whereas a mixed ethics, c o m p o u n d e d

partly of motives drawn f r o m feelings and inclinations, and partly also

of conceptions of reason, must make the mind waver between motives

which cannot be brought u n d e r any principle, which lead to good only

by m e r e accident, and very often also to evil.

"Just as pure mathematics are distinguished from applied, pure logic from
applied, so

if we choose we may also distinguish pure philosophy of morals (metaphysic)

from

applied (viz applied to hu man nature). By this designation we are also at once

reminded that moral principles are not based on properties of human nature, but
must

subsist a priori of themselves, whi]e from such principles practical rules must be
capable

of being deduced for every rational nature, and accordingly for that of man.

1 1 have a letter from the late excellent Sulzer, in which he asks me what can be
the rea-

son that moral instruction, although containing much that is convincing for the
reason,

yet accomplishes so little? My answer was postponed in order that I might make
it com-

plete. But it is simply this, that the teachers themselves have not got their own
notions

clear, and when they endeavor to make up for this by raking up motives of moral
good-

ness from every quarter, trying to make their physic right strong, they spoil it.
For the

commonest understanding shows that if we imagine, on the one hand, an act of

honesty

done with steadfast mind, apart from every view to advantage of any kind in this
world

or another, and even under the greatest temptations of necessity or allurement,

and, on

the other hand, a similar act which was affected, in however low a degree, by a
foreign

motive, the former leaves far behind and eclipses the second; it elevates the soul,
and
inspires the wish to be able to act in like manner oneself. Even moderately
young chil-

dren feel this impression, and one should never represent duties to them in any
other

light.

2 OH Immanuel Kant

F r o m what has b e e n said, it is clear that all moral c o n c e p t i o n s

h a v e t h e i r seat and origin c o m p l e t e l y a priori in t h e reason, and

that, m o r e o v e r , in t h e c o m m o n e s t reason just as truly as in that

which is in the h i g h e s t d e g r e e speculative; that t h e y c a n n o t be

o b t a i n e d by abstraction f r o m any empirical, and t h e r e f o r e m e r e l y

c o n t i n g e n t knowledge; that it is just this p u r i t y of t h e i r origin t h a t

makes t h e m w o r t h y to s e r v e as o u r s u p r e m e practical principle, and

t h a t just in p r o p o r t i o n as we add a n y t h i n g empirical, we d e t r a c t

f r o m t h e i r g e n u i n e i n f l u e n c e , and f r o m t h e absolute v a l u e of

actions; t h a t it is n o t only of t h e greatest necessity, in a p u r e l y spec-

ulative p o i n t of view, b u t is also of the g r e a t e s t practical i m p o r -

t a n c e to derive t h e s e n o t i o n s and laws f r o m p u r e reason, to p r e s e

n t

them p u r e and u n m i x e d , and even to d e t e r m i n e t h e c o m p a s s of

this

p r a c t i c a l or p u r e rational k n o w l e d g e , i.e. to d e t e r m i n e t h e w h
o l e
f a c u l t y of p u r e practical reason; and, in d o i n g so, we m u s t n o t m a k e

its p r i n c i p l e s d e p e n d e n t on t h e p a r t i c u l a r n a t u r e of h u m a n
reason,

t h o u g h in speculative p h i l o s o p h y this may be p e r m i t t e d , or may

even at times be necessary; b u t since m o r a l laws o u g h t to hold

good f o r ever)7 rational c r e a t u r e , we m u s t derive t h e m f r o m t h e

general c o n c e p t of a rational being. In this way, although f o r its

application to man m o r a l i t y has n e e d of a n t h r o p o l o g y , yet, in the

first instance, we m u s t t r e a t it i n d e p e n d e n t l y as p u r e philosophy,

i.e. as m e t a p h y s i c , c o m p l e t e in itself (a t h i n g w h i c h in such

distinct

b r a n c h e s of science is easily done); k n o w i n g well that u n l e s s we are

in possession of this, it would, not only be vain to d e t e r m i n e t h e

moral e l e m e n t of d u t y in right actions for p u r p o s e s of speculative

criticism, b u t it would be i m p o s s i b l e to base morals on their g e n -

u i n e principles, even f o r c o m m o n practical p u r p o s e s , especia lly of

moral i n s t r u c t i o n , so as to p r o d u c e p u r e m o r a l dispositions, and to

e n g r a f t them on men's m i n d s to t h e p r o m o t i o n of the g r e a t e s t p

o s -

sible good in the world.

But in order that iii this study we may n o t merely advance by t h e

n a t u r a l steps from t h e c o m m o n moral j u d g m e n t (in this case very

w o r t h y of respect) ro t h e philosophical, as has b e e n already done, b u t

also from a p o p u l a r philosophy, which goes no f u r t h e r than it can

reach by g r o p i n g with the h e l p of examples, to metaphysic (which

does n o t allow itself to be checked by a n y t h i n g empirical, and as it

m u s t m e a s u r e the whole e x t e n t of this kind of rational knowledge,

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • \V.V

goes as far as ideal conceptions, w h e r e even examples fail us), we

m u s t follow and clearly describe the practical faculty of reason, f r o m

t h e general rules of its d e t e r m i n a t i o n to t h e point where the notion

of d u t y springs f r o m it.

E v e r y t h i n g in n a t u r e works according to laws. Rational beings

alone have the faculty of acting according to the conception of laws,

that is according to principles, i.e. have a will. Since the d e d u c t i o n

of actions from principles requires reason, t h e will is n o t h i n g but

practical reason. If reason infallibly d e t e r m i n e s the will, then

t h e actions of such a being which are recognized as objectively n e c -

essary are subjectively necessary also, i.e. t h e will is a faculty to

choose that only which reason i n d e p e n d e n t on inclination recognizes

as practically necessary, i.e. as good. But if reason of itself does not

sufficiently d e t e r m i n e t h e will, if t h e latter is subject also to subjec-

tive conditions (particular impulses) which do not always coincide

with the objective conditions; in a word, if t h e will does not in

itself'completely accord with reason (which is actually t h e case with

m e n ) then t h e actions which objectively are recognized as necessary

are subjectively contingent, and t h e d e t e r m i n a t i o n of such a will

a c c o r d i n g to objective laws is obligation, t h a t is to say, the relation of

t h e objective laws to a will that is not t h o r o u g h l y good is conceived

as the d e t e r m i n a t i o n of the will of a rational being by principles

of reason, but which the will f r o m its n a t u r e does not of necessity

follow.

T h e conception of an objective principle, insofar as it is obligatory

for a will, is called a c o m m a n d (of reason), and the formula of the

c o m m a n d is called an Imperative.

All imperatives are expressed by the word ought [or shall], and

t h e r e b y indicate the relation of an objective law of reason to a will,

which f r o m its subjective constitution is not necessarily d e t e r m i n e d

by it (an obligation). T h e y say that s o m e t h i n g would be good to do or

to forbear, but they say it to a will which does not always do a t h i n g

b e c a u s e it is conceived to be good to do it. T h a t is practically good,

however, which d e t e r m i n e s the will by m e a n s of t h e conceptions of

reason, and c o n s e q u e n t l y not f r o m subjective causes, but objectively,

t h a t is on principles which are valid for every rational being as such.

It is distinguished f r o m the pleasant, as that which influences t h e will

only by m e a n s of sensation from merely subjective causes, valid only

210 • Irmnanuel Kant

for t h e sense of this or that one, and n o t as a p r i n c i p l e of reason,

which holds for every one.*

A perfectly good will would therefore be equally subject to objec-

tive laws (viz. laws of good), b u t could not be conceived as obliged

t h e r e b y to act lawfully, because of itself from its subjective constitu-

tion it can only be d e t e r m i n e d by t h e conception of good. T h e r e f o r e

no imperatives hold for the Divine will, or in general for a holy will;

ought is h e r e out of place, b e c a u s e the volition is already of itself nec-

essarily in unison with the law. T h e r e f o r e imperatives are only for-

mula: to express the relation of objective laws of all volition to t h e

subjective imperfection of t h e will of this or that rational being, e.g.

the h u m a n will.

N o w all imperatives c o m m a n d either hypothetical^ or categorically.

T h e f o r m e r r e p r e s e n t t h e practical necessity of a possible action as

m e a n s to s o m e t h i n g else that is willed (or at least which one m i g h t

possibly will). T h e categorical imperative would be t h a t which r e p -

r e s e n t e d an action as necessary of itself w i t h o u t r e f e r e n c e to a n o t

h e r
end, i.e. as objectively necessary.

Since e v e r y practical law r e p r e s e n t s a possible action as good, and

on this account, for a subject who is practically d e t e r m i n a b l e by r e a -

son, necessary, all imperatives are formulas d e t e r m i n i n g an action

which is necessary according to the principle of a will good in s o m e

respects. If now the action is good only as a m e a n s to something else,

then t h e imperative is hypothetical; if it is conceived as good in itself

and c o n s e q u e n t l y as being necessarily the principle of a will which of

itself c o n f o r m s to reason, then it is categorical.

' T h e dependence of the desires on sensations is called inclination, and this

accordingly

always indicates a •want The dependence of a contingently determinable wtll on

prin-

ciples of reason is called an interest. This therefore is found only in the case of a
depen-

dent will, which does not always of itself conform to reason; in the Divine will
we cannot

conceive any interest. But the human will can also take an interest in a thing
without

therefore actingj From interest. The former signifies the practical interest in the
action, the

latter the pathological in the object of the action. The former indicates only
dependence

of the will on principles of reason in themselves; the second, dependence on

principles
of reason for the sake of inclination, reason supplying only the practical rules
how the

requirement of the inclination may be satisfied. In the first case the action
interests me;

in the second the object of the action (because it is pleasant to me). We have seen
in

the first section that in an action done from duty we must look not to the interest
in the

object, but only to that in the action itself, and ill its rational principle (viz. the
law).

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • \V.V

T h u s the imperative declares what action possible by me would be

good, and presents the practical rule in relation to a will which does

not forthwith p e r f o r m an action simply b e c a u s e it is good, w h e t h e r

because the subject does n o t always know t h a t it is good, or because,

even if it know this, yet its maxims might be opposed to t h e objective

principles of practical reason.

Accordingly the hypothetical imperative only says that the action

is good for some purpose, possible or actual. In the first case it is a

Problematical, in t h e second an Assertorial practical principle. T h e

categorical imperative which declares an action to be objectively

necessary in itself w i t h o u t reference to any purpose, i.e. w i t h o u t any

o t h e r end, is valid as an Apodictic (practical) principle.

W h a t e v e r is possible only by the power of some rational being

may also be conceived as a possible p u r p o s e of some will; and t h e r e -

fore t h e principles of action as regards t h e m e a n s necessary to attain

s o m e possible p u r p o s e are in fact infinitely numerous. All sciences

have a practical part, consisting of problems expressing that some

end is possible for us, and of imperatives directing how it may be

attained. T h e s e may, therefore, be called in general imperatives of

Skill H e r e t h e r e is no question w h e t h e r the end is rational and good,

but only what o n e m u s t do in o r d e r to attain it. T h e precepts for the

physician to make his patient t h o r o u g h l y healthy, and for a poisoner

to e n s u r e certain death, are of equal value in this respect, that each

serves to effect its p u r p o s e perfectly. Since in early youth it cannot be

known what ends are likely to occur to us in the course of life, p a r -

ents seek to have their children t a u g h t a great many things, and provide

for their skill in t h e use of means for all sorts of arbitrary ends, of

n o n e of which can they d e t e r m i n e w h e t h e r it may not perhaps h e r e -

after be an object to their pupil, but which it is at all events possible

that he might aim at; and this anxiety is so great that they commonly

neglect to form and correct their j u d g m e n t on the value of the things

which may be chosen as ends.

T h e r e is one end, however, which may be assumed to be actually

such to all rational beings (so far as imperatives apply to them, viz. as

d e p e n d e n t beings), and therefore, o n e p u r p o s e which they not

m e r e l y may have, but which we may with certainty assume that they

all actually have by a natural necessity, and this is happiness. T h e

hypothetical imperative which expresses the practical necessity of an

212 • Irmnanuel Kant

action as means to the a d v a n c e m e n t of h a p p i n e s s is Assertorial. We

are not to p r e s e n t it as necessary for an u n c e r t a i n and merely p o s -

sible purpose, but for a p u r p o s e which we may p r e s u p p o s e with cer-

tainty and a priori in every m a n , because it belongs to his being. N o w

skill in t h e choice of m e a n s to his own greatest well-being may be

called prudence* in the narrowest sense. And thus the imperative

which refers to the choice of means to one's own happiness, i.e. the

p r e c e p t of p r u d e n c e , is still always hypothetical; the action is n o t c o m

-

m a n d e d absolutely, b u t only as m e a n s to a n o t h e r purpose.

Finally, t h e r e is an imperative which c o m m a n d s a certain c o n d u c t

immediately, w i t h o u t having as its condition any other p u r p o s e to be

attained by it. T h i s i m p e r a t i v e is Categorical. It concerns not the

m a t t e r of the action, or its i n t e n d e d result, b u t its form and the p r i n -

ciple of which it is itself a result; and what is essentially good in it

consists in t h e mental disposition, let the c o n s e q u e n c e be what it

may. T h i s imperative may be called that of Morality.

T h e r e is a marked distinction also between the volitions on t h e s e

t h r e e sorts of principles in the dissimilarity of the obligation of the

will. In o r d e r to mark this d i f f e r e n c e m o r e clearly, I think they would

be most suitably n a m e d in t h e i r o r d e r if we said they are either rules

of skill, or counsels of p r u d e n c e , or commands (laws) of morality. For it

is law only t h a t involves t h e conception of an unconditional and objec-

tive necessity, which is consequently universally valid; and c o m -

m a n d s are laws which m u s t be obeyed, that is, m u s t be followed; even

in opposition to inclination. Counsels, indeed, involve necessity, b u t

o n e which can only hold u n d e r a contingent subjective condition, viz.

t h e y d e p e n d on w h e t h e r this or that man reckons this or that as part

of his happiness; the categorical imperative, on the contrary, is n o t

limited by any condition, and as being absolutely, although p r a c t i -

cally, necessary, may be quite p r o p e r l y called a c o m m a n d . We m i g h t

also call t h e first kind of imperatives technical (belonging to art), the

' I'he word prudence s taken in two senses: in the one it may bear the name of
knowl-

edge of the world, in the other that of private prudence. T h e former is a man's
ability

to influence others so as to use them for his own purposes. T h e latter is the
sagacity to

combine all these purposes for his own lasting benefit This latter is properly that
to

which the value even of the former is reduced, and when a man is prudent in the
for-

mer sense, but not in the latter, we might better say of him that he is clever and
cun-

ning, hut, on the whole, imprudent.

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • \V.V

second pragmatic* (to welfare), the third moral (belonging to f r e e c o n -

d u c t generally, that is, to morals).

N o w arises the question, how are all these imperatives possible?

T h i s question does n o t seek to know how we can conceive the

a c c o m p l i s h m e n t of the action which t h e imperative ordains, b u t

merely how we can conceive the obligation of the will which the

imperative expresses. No special explanation is n e e d e d to show how

an imperative of skill is possible. W h o e v e r wills the end, wills also (so

far as reason decides his conduct) the m e a n s in his power which are

indispensably necessary thereto. T h i s proposition is, as regards the

volition, analytical; for, in willing an object as my effect, t h e r e is

already t h o u g h t the causality of myself as an a c d n g cause, that is to

say, the use of the means; and the imperative educes f r o m the c o n -
ception of volition of an end the c o n c e p t i o n of actions necessary to

this end. Synthetical propositions m u s t no d o u b t be e m p l o y e d in

defining the m e a n s to a proposed end; but they do not c o n c e r n the

principle, the act of the will, but the object and its realization. Ex. gr.,

that in order to bisect a line on an u n e r r i n g principle I m u s t draw

f r o m its extremities two intersecting arcs; this no doubt is t a u g h t by

m a t h e m a t i c s only in synthetical propositions; but if I know that it is

only by this process that the intended operation can be p e r f o r m e d ,

then to say that if I fully will the operation, I also will the action

required for it, is an analytical proposition; for it is one and the same

t h i n g to conceive s o m e t h i n g as an effect which I can p r o d u c e in a

certain way, and to conceive myself as acting in this way.

If it were only equally easy to give a definite conception of h a p p i -

ness, the imperatives of p r u d e n c e would correspond exactly with

those of skill, and would likewise be analytical. For in this case as in

that, it could be said, whoever wills the end, wills also (according to

the dictate of reason necessarily) the indispensable means t h e r e t o

which are in his power. But, unfortunately, t h e notion of happiness is

so indefinite that although every man wishes to attain it, yet he never

"It seems to me that the p r o p e r signification of t h e word pragmatic may he

most accu-
rately defined in this way. For sanctions are called pragmatic which flow
properly not

f r o m the law of the states as necessary enactments, b u t f r o m precaution for

the general

welfare. A history is composed pragmatically when it teaches prudence, i.e.

instructs the

world how it can provide for its interests better, or at least as well, as the men of
f o r m e r

time.

214 • Irmnanuel Kant

can say definitely and consistently what it is t h a t he really wishes and

wills. T h e reason of this is that all the e l e m e n t s which belong to the

notion of happiness are altogether empirical, i.e. they m u s t be b o r -

rowed from experience, and nevertheless the idea of happiness

r e q u i r e s an absolute whole, a m a x i m u m of welfare in my p r e s e n t and

all f u t u r e circumstances. N o w it is impossible that the most clear-

sighted, and at the same t i m e most p o w e r f u l being (supposed finite)

should f r a m e to himself a definite conception of what he really wills

in th,s. Does he will riches, how m u c h anxiety, e n v y and snares

m i g h t he n o t thereby draw u p o n his shoulders? D o e s he will knowl-

edge and discernment, p e r h a p s it m i g h t prove to be only an eye so

m u c h the s h a r p e r to show him so m u c h the m o r e fearfully the evils

t h a t are now concealed f r o m him, and t h a t cannot be avoided or to

i m p o s e m o r e wants on his desires, which already give him c o n c e r n

enough. Would he have l o n g life, who guarantees to him that it

would n o t be a long misery? would he at least have health? how often

has uneasiness of the body restrained f r o m excesses into which p e r -

fect health would have allowed one to fall? and so on. In short he is

unable, on any principle, to d e t e r m i n e with certainty what would

make him t r u l y happy; because to do so he would need to be o m n i -

scient. We cannot t h e r e f o r e act on any definite principles to secure

happiness, but only on empirical counsels, ex. gr. of regimen f r u g a l -

ity, courtesy, reserve, &c„ which experience teaches do, on t h e aver-

age, m o s t p r o m o t e well-being. H e n c e it follows that the imperatives

of p r u d e n c e do not, strictly speaking, c o m m a n d at all, that is, t h e y

c a n n o t p r e s e n t actions objectively as practically necessary, that they

are r a t h e r to be regarded as counsels (consilta) than p r e c e p t s (prce-

cepta) of reason, that the p r o b l e m to d e t e r m i n e certainly and univer-

sally w h a t action would p r o m o t e the happiness of a rational being is

c o m p l e t e l y insoluble, and c o n s e q u e n t l y no imperative respectino- it

is possible which should, i n - t h e strict sense, c o m m a n d to do what

makes happy; because happiness is not an ideal of reason b u t of

imagination, resting solely on empirical grounds, and it is vain to

expect that these should define an'action by which one could attain
t h e totality of a series of c o n s e q u e n c e s which is really endless T h i s

i m p e r a t i v e of p r u d e n c e would however be an analytical proposition

if we assume that the m e a n s to happiness could be certainly assigned'

for it is distinguished f r o m the i m p e r a t i v e of skill only by this, t h a t in

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic! of Morals • 215

the latter the end is merely possible, in the f o r m e r it is given; as h o w -

ever both only ordain t h e means to that which we suppose to be

willed as an end, it follows that the imperative which ordains t h e

willing of the means to him who wills the end is in both cases analyt-

ical. T h u s t h e r e is no difficulty in regard to the possibility of an

imperative of this kind either.

On the other hand the question, how the imperative of morality is

possible, is u n d o u b t e d l y one, the only one, d e m a n d i n g a solution, as

this is not at all hypothetical, and the objective necessity which it p r e -

sents cannot rest on any hypothesis, as is the case with the

hypothetical imperatives. Only here we m u s t never leave out of con-

sideration that we cannot make out by any example, in other words

empirically, whether t h e r e is such an imperative at all; but it is rather

to be feared that all those which seem to be categorical may yet be at

bottom hypothetical. For instance, when the p r e c e p t is: T h o u shalt

not promise deceitfully; and it is assumed that t h e necessity of this is

not a m e r e counsel to avoid some other evil, so that it should mean:

thou shalt not make a lying promise, lest if it become known t h o u

shouldst destroy thy credit, but that an action of this kind must be

regarded as evil in itself, so that the imperative of the prohibition is

categorical; then we cannot show with certainty in any example that

the will was d e t e r m i n e d merely by the law, without any other spring

of action, although it may appear to be so. For it is always possible that

fear of disgrace, perhaps also obscure dread of other dangers, may

have a secret influence on the will. W h o can prove by experience the

non-existence of a cause when all that e x p e r i e n c e tells us is that we do

not perceive it? Rut in such a case the so-called moral imperative,

which as such appears to he categorical and unconditional, would in

reality be only a pragmatic precept, drawing our attention to our own

interests, and merely teaching us to take these into consideration.

We shall therefore have to investigate a priori t h e possibility of a cat-

egorical imperative, as we have not in this case the advantage of its

reality being given in experience, so that [the elucidation o f ] its pos-

sibility should be requisite only for its explanation, not for its estab-

lishment. In the m e a n t i m e it may be discerned beforehand that the

categorical imperative alone has the p u r p o r t of a practical law: all the

rest may indeed be called principles of the will but not laws, since what-
ever is only necessary for the attainment of some arbitrary p u r p o s e

216 • Irmnanuel Kant

may be considered as in itself contingent, and we can at any time be

f r e e f r o m the precept if we give up the purpose: on the contrary, the

unconditional c o m m a n d leaves the will no liberty to choose the o p p o -

site; consequently it alone carries with it that necessity which we

require in a law.

Secondly, in the case of this categorical imperative or law of

morality, the difficulty (of discerning its possibility) is a very p r o -

f o u n d one. It is an a priori synthetical practical p r o p o s i t i o n * and as

t h e r e is so m u c h difficulty in discerning t h e possibility of speculative

propositions of this kind, it m a y readily be s u p p o s e d that the diffi-

culty will be no less with the practical.

In this p r o b l e m we will first inquire w h e t h e r the m e r e c o n c e p t i o n

of a categorical imperative may not p e r h a p s s u p p l y us also with the

formula of it, containing the proposition which alone can be a cate-

gorical imperative; for even if we know the t e n o r of such an absolute

c o m m a n d , yet how it is possible will r e q u i r e f u r t h e r special and

labo-

rious study, which we p o s t p o n e to the last section.

W h e n I conceive a hypothetical imperative in general 1 do n o t

know b e f o r e h a n d w h a t it will contain until I am given the condition.

But w h e n I conceive a categorical imperative I know at once what it

contains. For as the i m p e r a t i v e contains besides the law only the

necessity that the m a x i m s ' shall c o n f o r m to this law, while the law

contains no conditions restricting it, there r e m a i n s n o t h i n g b u t the

general s t a t e m e n t that the m a x i m of the action should c o n f o r m to a

universal law, and it is this c o n f o r m i t y alone that t h e imperative

p r o p e r l y r e p r e s e n t s as necessary.

*I connect the act with the will withouc presupposing any condition resulting
from any

inclination, but a prion, and therefore necessarily (though only objectively, i.e.
assuming

the idea of a reason possessing full p o w e r over all subjective motives). T h i s

is accord-

ingly a practical proposition which does r o t d e d u c e the willing of an action

by mere

analysis from another already presupposed (for we have not such a perfect will),
but

connects it immediately with the conception of the will of a rational being, as

some-

thing not contained in it.

'A MAXIM is a subjective principle of action, and must be distinguished from t

h e objec-

tive principle, namely, practical law. T h e f o r m e r contains t h e practical rule

set by reason
according to the conditions of the subject (often its ignorance or its inclinations),
so

that it is the principle on which t h e subject acts-, but the law is the objective
principle

valid for every rational being, and is t h e principle on which it ought to act that
is an

imperative.

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • \V.V

T h e r e is t h e r e f o r e b u t one categorical imperative, namely this: Act

only on that maxim -whereby thou canst at the same time will that it should

become a universal law.

N o w if all imperatives of d u t y can be d e d u c e d f r o m this o n e

imperative as f r o m t h e i r principle, then, although it should r e m a i n

u n d e c i d e d w h e t h e r what is called d u t y is not m e r e l y a vain notion,

yet at least we shall be able to show w h a t we u n d e r s t a n d by it and

what this notion means.

Since the universality of t h e law a c c o r d i n g to which effects are

p r o d u c e d constitutes what is p r o p e r l y called nature in t h e most gen-

eral sense (as to form), that is the existence of things so far as it is

d e t e r m i n e d by general laws, the imperative of d u t y may be expressed

thus: Act as if the maxim of thy action were to become by thy will a Universal

Law of Nature.
We will now e n u m e r a t e a few duties, adopting t h e usual division

of t h e m into d u t i e s to ourselves and to others, and into perfect and

i m p e r f e c t duties.*

1. A man r e d u c e d to despair by a series of misfortunes feels wea-

ried of life, but is still so far in possession of his reason t h a t he

can ask himself w h e t h e r it would not be c o n t r a r y to his d u t y to

himself to take his own life. N o w he inquires w h e t h e r the

m a x i m of his action could b e c o m e a universal law of nature. H i s

maxim is: F r o m self-love I adopt it as a principle to s h o r t e n my

life when its longer duration is likely to bring m o r e evil than sat-

isfaction. It is asked then simply w h e t h e r this principle f o u n d e d

on self-love can b e c o m e a universal law of nature. N o w we see

at once t h a t a system of nature of which it should be a law to

destroy life by m e a n s of the very feeling whose special n a t u r e ic

is to impel to the i m p r o v e m e n t of life would contradict itself,

and t h e r e f o r e could not exist as a system of nature; h e n c e that

"It must be noted here that T reserve t h e division of duties for a f u t u r e

metaphysic of

morals; so that T give it here only as an arbitrary one (in o r d e r to arrange my

examples).

For the rest, I understand by a perfect duty one that admits no exception in favor
of
inclination, and then I have not merely external, b u t also internal perfect duties.
T h i s

is contrary to the use of t h e word adopted in the schools; b u t 1 do not intend to

justify

it here, as it is all one for my p u r p o s e whether it is admitted or not.

218 • Irmnanuel Kant

m a x i m cannot possibly exist as a universal law of n a t u r e , and

c o n s e q u e n t l y would be wholly inconsistent with the s u p r e m e

principle of all duty.

2. A n o t h e r finds h i m s e l f forced by necessity to b o r r o w money. He

knows that he will n o r be able to r e p a y it, h u t sees also that

n o t h i n g will be lent to him, unless he p r o m i s e s stoutly to r e p a y

it in a definite time. He desires to make this promise, but he has

still so m u c h conscience as to ask himself: Is it not u n l a w f u l and

inconsistent with d u t y to get out of a difficulty in this way? S u p -

pose h o w e v e r that he resolves to do so, then the m a x i m of his

action would be expressed thus: W h e n I think myself in want of

money, I will borrow m o n e y and promise to r e p a y it, although I

know that I never can do so. N o w this p r i n c i p l e of self-love or of

one's own advantage m a y perhaps be consistent with my whole

f u t u r e welfare; but the question now is, Is it right? I change then

t h e suggestion of self-love into a universal law, and s t a t e t h e

question thus- H o w w o u l d it be if my m a x i m were a universal

law? T h e n I see at once that it could n e v e r hold as a universal

law of nature, but would necessarily contradict itself. For s u p -

posing it to be a universal law t h a t e v e r y o n e when he thinks

himself in a difficulty should be able to p r o m i s e whatever he

pleases, with the p u r p o s e of not keeping his promise, the p r o m -

ise itself would b e c o m e impossible, as well as the end t h a t o n e

, m i g h t have in view in it, since no o n e would consider t h a t any-

t h i n g was promised to him, b u t would ridicule all such state-

m e n t s as vain pretences.

. A third finds in himself a talent which with t h e help of s o m e cul-

ture might make him a u s e f u l man in m a n y respects. But he finds

himself in c o m f o r t a b l e circumstances, and p r e f e r s to indulge in

pleasure r a t h e r than to take pains in e n l a r g i n g and i m p r o v i n g

his h a p p y natural capacities. He asks, however, w h e t h e r his

m a x i m of neglect of his natural gifts, besides agreeing with his

inclination to indulgence, agrees also with what is called duty.

He sees then that a system of n a t u r e could indeed subsist with

such a universal law although men (like the South Sea islanders)

should let their talents rust, and resolve to devote their lives

m e r e l y to idleness, a m u s e m e n t , and propagation of their

species—in a word, to enjoyment; but he c a n n o t possibly will

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • 219

that this should be a universal law of nature, or be i m p l a n t e d in

us as such by a n a t u r a l instinct. For, as a rational being, he nec-

essarily wills that his faculties be developed, since they serve

him, and have been given him, for all sorts of possible purposes.

4. A fourth, who is in prosperity, while he sees t h a t others have to

contend with great w r e t c h e d n e s s and t h a t he could help t h e m ,

thinks: W h a t c o n c e r n is it of mine? Let everyone be as h a p p y as

heaven pleases, or as he can make himself; I will take n o t h i n g

f r o m him nor even envy him, only I do not wish to c o n t r i b u t e

anything to his welfare or to his assistance in distress! N o w no

doubt if such a m o d e of t h i n k i n g were a universal law, the

h u m a n race m i g h t very well subsist, and doubtless even better

than in a state in which everyone talks of s y m p a t h y and good-

will, or even takes care occasionally to p u t it into practice, b u t

on the other side, also cheats when he can, betrays the rights of

men, or o t h e r w i s e violates them. But although it is possible t h a t

a universal law of n a t u r e m i g h t exist in accordance with that

maxim, it is impossible to will that such a principle should have

the universal validity of a law of nature. For a will which

resolved this would contradict itself, inasmuch as m a n y cases

might occur in which one would have need of the love and s y m -

pathy of others, and in which, by such a law of nature, s p r u n g

f r o m his own will, he would deprive himself of all h o p e of t h e

aid he desires.

T h e s e are a few of the m a n y actual duties, or at least what we

regard as such, which obviously fall into two classes on the o n e p r i n -

ciple that we have laid down. We m u s t be able to will that a m a x i m of

o u r action should be a universal law. This is the canon of the moral

appreciation of the action generally. S o m e actions are of such a c h a r -

acter t h a t their maxim c a n n o t w i t h o u t contradiction be even con-

ceived as a universal law of nature, far f r o m it being possible t h a t we

should ™7/that it shouldht so. In o t h e r s this intrinsic impossibility is

not f o u n d , but still it is impossible to will that their maxim should be

raised to the universality of a law of nature, since such a will would

contradict itself It is easily seen that the f o r m e r violate strict or rig-

orous (inflexible) duty; the latter only laxer (meritorious) duty. T h u s

it has been c o m p l e t e l y shown by these examples how all duties

220 • Irmnanuel Kant

d e p e n d as regards the n a t u r e of the obligation (not the object of the

action) on the same principle.

If n o w we attend to ourselves on occasion of any transgression of

duty, we shall find that we in fact do not will that o u r maxim should

be a universal law, for that is impossible for us; on t h e contrary we

will t h a t the opposite should remain a universal law, only we assume

the liberty of making an exception in o u r own favor or (just for this

t i m e only) in favor of o u r inclination. C o n s e q u e n t l y if we considered

all cases f r o m o n e and the s a m e point of view, namely, that of reason,

we should find a contradiction in o u r own will, namely, that a certain

principle should be objectively necessary as a universal law, and yet

subjectively should not be universal, but a d m i t of exceptions. As

however we at one m o m e n t regard o u r action f r o m t h e point of view

of a will wholly c o n f o r m e d to reason, and then again look at the s a m e

action f r o m the p o i n t of view of a will affected by inclination, t h e r e

is not really any contradiction, b u t an antagonism of inclination to

the p r e c e p t of reason, w h e r e b y the universality of the principle is

changed into a m e r e generality, so that the practical principle of rea-

son shall m e e t t h e m a x i m half war. Now, although this c a n n o t be jus-

tified in o u r own impartial j u d g m e n t , yet it proves that we do really

recognize the validity of t h e categorical imperative and (with all

respect f o r it) only allow ourselves a few exceptions, which we think

u n i m p o r t a n t and forced f r o m us.

We h ave thus established at least this m u c h , that if d u t y is a c o n -

ception which is to have any i m p o r t and real legislative authority for

our actions, it can only be expressed in categorical, and not at all in

hypothetical imperatives. We have also, which is of great i m p o r t a n c e ,

exhibited clearly and definitely for every practical application t h e

c o n t e n t of t h e categorical imperative, which must contain the p r i n -

ciple of all d u t y if t h e r e is such a thing at all. We have not yet, h o w -

ever, advanced so far as to p r o v e a priori that t h e r e actually is such an

imperative, that t h e r e is a practical law which c o m m a n d s absolutely

of itself, and w i t h o u t any o t h e r impulse, and t h a t t h e following of this

law is duty.

W i t h the view of attaining to this it is of e x t r e m e i m p o r t a n c e to

r e m e m b e r that we m u s t not allow ourselves to think of d e d u c i n g the

reality of this principle f r o m t h e particular attributes of human nature.

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • \V.V

For d u t y is to be a practical, u n c o n d i t i o n a l necessity of action; it

m u s t t h e r e f o r e hold f o r all rational beings (to w h o m an imperative

can apply at all) and for this reason only be also a law for all h u m a n

wills. On the contrary, whatever is d e d u c e d f r o m t h e particular nat-

u r a l characteristics of humanity, f r o m certain feelings and p r o p e n -

sions, nay even, if possible, f r o m any particular t e n d e n c y p r o p e r to

h u m a n reason, and which need not necessarily hold for the will of

every rational being; this may indeed supply us with a maxim, but

not with a law; with a subjective principle on which we may have a

propension and inclination to act, but not with an objective principle

on which we should be enjoined to act, even though all o u r p r o p e n -

sions, inclinations, and natural dispositions were opposed to it. In fact

the sublimity and intrinsic dignity of che c o m m a n d in d u t y are so

m u c h the m o r e evident, t h e less t h e subjective impulses favor it and

the m o r e they oppose it, w i t h o u t being able in the slightest d e g r e e to

weaken the obligation of the law or to diminish its validity.

H e r e then we see p h i l o s o p h y b r o u g h t to a critical position, since

it has to be firmly fixed, notwithstanding that it has n o t h i n g to sup-

p o r t it either in heaven or earth. H e r e it m u s t show its p u r i t y as

absolute dictator of its own laws, not the herald of those which are

whispered to it by an i m p l a n t e d sense or who knows what t u t e l a r y

nature. Although these may be b e t t e r than nothing, yet they can

never afford principles dictated by reason, which must have t h e i r

source wholly a priori, and thence their c o m m a n d i n g authority,

e x p e c t i n g e v e r y t h i n g f r o m the s u p r e m a c y of the law and the d

u e

r e s p e c t for it, n o t h i n g f r o m inclination, or else c o n d e m n i n g the m

a n
to s e l f - c o n t e m p t and inward abhorrence.

T h u s every empirical e l e m e n t is not only quite incapable of b e i n g

an aid to the principle of morality, b u t is even highly prejudicial to

the purity of morals, for the p r o p e r and inestimable w o r t h of an

absolutely good will consists just in this, t h a t the principle of action

is free f r o m all influence of contingent grounds, which alone experi-

e n c e can furnish. We c a n n o t too m u c h or too often repeat our w a r n -

ing against this lax and even mean habit of t h o u g h t which seeks for

its principle amongst empirical motives and laws; for h u m a n reason

in its weariness is glad to rest on this pillow, and in a dream of sweet

illusions (in which, instead o f j u n o , it e m b r a c e s a cloud) it substitutes

222 • Irmnanuel Kant

f o r m o r a l i t y a bastard p a t c h e d up from limbs of various derivation,

which looks like a n y t h i n g o n e chooses to see in it, only not like virtue

to o n e who has o n c e beheld h e r in h e r t r u e form *

T h e question then is this: "Is it a necessary law for all rational

beings t h a t they should always judge of their actions by maxims of

which they can themselves will t h a t they should serve as universal

laws?" If it is so, then it m u s t be c o n n e c t e d (altogether a priori) with

the very conception of the will of a rational being generally But in

o r d e r to discover this connexion we must, however reluctantly, take a

step into metaphysic, although into a d o m a i n of it which is distinct

from speculative philosophy, namely, the m e t a p h y s i c of morals. In a

practical philosophy, w h e r e it is not the reasons of what h a p p e n s that

we have to ascertain, b u t the laws of what o u g h t to happen, even

although it never does, i.e., objective practical laws, t h e r e it is not

necessary to i n q u i r e into the reasons why a n y t h i n g pleases or dis-

pleases, how the p l e a s u r e of m e r e sensation differs f r o m taste, and

w h e t h e r the latter is distinct f r o m a general satisfaction of reason; on

what the feeling of p l e a s u r e or pain rests, and how f r o m it desires and

inclinations arise, and f r o m these again m a x i m s by the c o - o p e r a t i o n

of reason: f o r all this belongs to an empirical psychology, which

would constitute the second p a r t of physics, if we regard physics as

the p h i l o s o p h y of n a t u r e , so far as it is based on empirical laws. But

h e r e we are c o n c e r n e d with objective practical laws and, c o n s e -

quently, with t h e relation of t h e will to itself so far as it is d e t e r m i n e d

by reason alone, in which case whatever has r e f e r e n c e to a n y t h i n g

empirical is necessarily excluded; since if reason of itself alone

d e t e r m i n e s the c o n d u c t (and it is the possibility of this that we are

now investigating), it m u s t necessarily do so a priori.

T h e will is conceived as a faculty of d e t e r m i n i n g oneself to action

in a c c o r d a n c e with the c o n c e p t i o n of certain laws. And such a fac-

u l t y can be f o u n d only in rational beings. N o w t h a t which serves the

will as t h e objective g r o u n d of its s e l f - d e t e r m i n a t i o n is t h e end,

and,

if this is assigned by reason alone, it must hold for all rational beings.

' T o behold virtue in her p r o p e r form is n o t h i n g else but to contemplate

morality-

stripped of all admixture of sensible things and'of every spurious o r n a m e n t

of reward

or self-love. H o w m u c h she then eclipses everything else that appears c h a r

m i n g to the

affections, every one may readily perceive with the least exertion of his reason,
if it be

n o t wholly spoiled for abstraction.

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals • \V.V

On the other hand, that which merely contains the g r o u n d of pos-

sibility of the action of which the effect is t h e end, this is called the

means. T h e subjective g r o u n d of the desire is the spring, t h e objec-

tive ground of t h e volition is the motive; h e n c e the distinction

between subjective ends which rest on springs, and objective ends

which d e p e n d on motives valid f o r every rational being. Practical

principles are formal when they abstract f r o m all subjective ends;

they are material w h e n they assume these, and t h e r e f o r e p a r t i c u l a r

springs of action. T h e ends which a rational being proposes to h i m -

self at pleasure as effects of his actions (material ends) are all only

relative, for it is only their relation to t h e particular desires of the

subject that gives t h e m their worth, which t h e r e f o r e cannot furnish

principles universal and necessary for all rational beings and for

every volition, that is to say practical laws. H e n c e all these relative

ends can give rise only to hypothetical imperatives.

Supposing, however, that there were something wThose existence has

in itself an absolute worth, something which, being an end in itself,

could be a source of definite laws; then in this and this alone would lie

the source of a possible categorical imperative, i.e., a practical law.

N o w I say: man and generally any rational being exists as an end

in himself, not m e r e l y as a means to be arbitrarily used by this or that

will, but in all his actions, w h e t h e r they concern himself or o t h e r

rational beings, m u s t be always regarded at the same time as an end.

All objects of t h e inclinations have only a conditional worth, for if

t h e inclinations and t h e wants f o u n d e d on t h e m did not exist, then

their object would be w i t h o u t value. But the inclinations, t h e m s e l v e s

b e i n g sources of want, are so far f r o m having an absolute w o r t h for

which they should be desired that on the c o n t r a r y it must be t h e u n i -

versal wish of every rational being to be wholly free f r o m them. T h u s

the worth of any object which is to be acquired by our action is

always conditional. Beings whose existence d e p e n d s not on o u r will

b u t on nature's, have nevertheless, if they are irrational beings, only

a relative value as means, and are t h e r e f o r e called things, rational

beings, on the contrary, are called persons, because their very n a t u r e

points them out as ends in themselves, that is as s o m e t h i n g which

m u s t not be used m e r e l y as means, and so far therefore restricts free-

d o m of action (and is an object of respect). These, therefore, arc not

merely subjective ends whose existence has a worth for us as an effect

224 • Irmnanuel Kant

of o u r action, but objective ends, that is things whose existence is an end in

itself: an end moreover for which no other can be substituted which

they should subserve merely as means, for o t h e r w i s e n o t h i n g w h a t e v

e r

would possess absolute worth; but if all w o r t h were conditioned and

t h e r e f o r e contingent, then t h e r e would be no s u p r e m e practical p r i n

-

ciple of reason whatever.

If t h e n there is a s u p r e m e practical p r i n c i p l e or, in respect of the

h u m a n will, a categorical imperative, it m u s t be one which being

d r a w n from the c o n c e p t i o n of that which is necessarily an e n d for

e v e r y o n e because it is an end in itself, constitutes an objective p r i n c i p l e

of will, and can t h e r e f o r e serve as a universal practical law. T h e f o u n -

dation of this principle is: rational nature exists as an end in itself. M a n

necessarily conceives his own existence as b e i n g so: so far then this is

a subjective principle of h u m a n actions. But every o t h e r rational b e i n g

regards its existence similarly, just on the s a m e rational principle that

holds for me: so that it is at the s a m e t i m e an objective principle

f r o m which as a s u p r e m e practical law all laws of t h e will m u s t be

capable of b e m g d e d u c e d . Accordingly t h e practical imperative will

be as follows: So act as to treat humanity, whether in thine own person or in

that of any other, in every case as an end withal, never as means only.

' T h i s proposition is here stated as a postulate. T h e g r o u n d s of it will he

found in the

concluding section.

CHAPTER 9

J O H N STUART M I L L

W h e n faced with a moral problem it is common to respond by think-

ing, What -will make everyone happiest? This is precisely the point of

view crystallized in the ethical theory known as Utilitarianism. With

everyone, pauper and king, counting equally, Utilitarianism instructs

that we ought to do that which promotes the greatest good for the

greatest number of people.

This reformist theory was first articulated by the English jurist

Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832). Bentham wrote when the grinding

machine of the Industrial Revolution was just beginning to whine. At

the time, droves of rustics were moving into the city to find employ-

ment in factories. Workers were at the mercy of those who owned the

means of production. T h e r e were terrible poverty and egregious labor

abuses, abuses that were not prevented by the highbrow moral theories

espoused by pastors and academicians. This widespread exploitation

prodded the muse of Marx, Dickens, and Utilitarians such as Jeremy

Bentham, James Mill, and James Mill's son, John Stuart Mill.

John Smart Mill was born in the Penronville area of London in

1806. With the advice of Bentham and others, James Mill rigorously

educated his son at home. T h e intent was to mold a thinker who

could carry the banner of Utilitarianism into the future.

As a boy, Mill was never permitted to play with children his own

age. He was learning Greek by age three and reading Plato before he

226 • John Stuart Mill

was ten. At twelve he studied Aristotelian and scholastic logic. By his

early teens he was a b s o r b i n g the works of A d a m S m i t h and David

Ricardo. W h e n he t u r n e d f o u r t e e n , Mill w e n t to live in France with

J e r e m y Bentham's brother, Sir Samuel Bentham. T h e r e Mill who

was fluent m F r e n c h , studied chemistry, zoology, and advanced m a t h -

ematics.

Because of the c o n n e c t i o n between t h e C h u r c h and h i g h e r aca-

d e m e , t h e atheist Mill avorded the u n i v e r s i t y Instead, he signed on

with his f a t h e r and worked as a clerk in the British E a s t India C o m -

pany. However, Mill was crippled by a p r o f o u n d depression in his

early twenties. Clearly, the y o u n g man's spirit had been h o b b l e d by

the o n e r o u s weight of expectations and studies that his father had

saddled him with. T h e sluices of Mill's feelings began to reopen with

the r e a d i n g of R o m a n t i c p o e t r y and t h e b e g i n n i n g of an i n t i
m a t e

f r i e n d s h i p with the highly e d u c a t e d but m a r r i e d H a r r i e t Taylor.

Mill

and T a y l o r talked over books and politics and exchanged essays

In 1851, two years after the death of Mrs. Taylor's husband Mill

and T a y l o r married. She died in 1858. Mill, w h o was devastated

acknowledged that his wife and dearest friend had an e n o r m o u s

i m p a c t on his writings, even going so far as to n o t e t h a t his most

f a m o u s work, On Liberty, was best u n d e r s t o o d as a collaborative

effort.

Mill retired from the E a s t India C o m p a n y in 1857 and won a seat

in P a r l i a m e n t , which he held f r o m 1865 to 1868. An a r d e n t s u p p o r

t e r
of w o m e n ' s rights, he was the first to p r o p o s e legislation g r a n t i n g
suf-

frage to w o m e n . A f t e r his failure to achieve reelection, Mill began to

spend most of his days in France with his wife's daughter, Harriet. He

s u c c u m b e d to a fever and died suddenly in Avignon in 1873.

T h o u g h he was prolific and w r o t e on a w i d e range of issues, Mill's

m o s t e n d u r i n g works w e r e On Liberty (1859), Utilitarianism (1861)

The Subjection of Women (1869), and his Autobiography (1873). A fierce

advocate of h u m a n f r e e d o m , Mill gave a voice to the "no harm p r i n -

ciple," which states t h a t we o u g h t to be free to do a n y t h i n g that d o e s

n o t i n t e r f e r e with the f r e e d o m of others.

Mill diverged in one i m p o r t a n t respect from the original Utilitarian

creed. Bentham believed that the aim of ethics was happiness and that

happiness equaled pleasure. For Bentham, all pleasures were on the

same footing. However, unlike Bentham, Mill distinguished between

Ethics: The Essential Writings • 227

higher pleasures, which engage our minds, and the lower pleasures of

the senses and body. Leaving himself open to the charge of elitism,

Mill maintained, "It is quite compatible with the principle of utility to

recognize the fact that some kinds of pleasure are m o r e desirable and

m o r e valuable than others." Or as he p u t it in m o r e famous and con-

troversial terms, "It is better to be a h u m a n being dissatisfied than a fool

satisfied." Mill blamed shabby environments and lack of education for

the fact that many w e r e unable to enjoy the likes of Shakespeare and

Plato. He tirelessly pressed for economic reforms and universal access

to education.

U T I L I T A R I A N I S M

C H A P T E R I I

WHAT UTILITARIANISM IS

A passing remark is all that needs be given to the ignorant blunder of

supposing that those who stand up for utility as the test of right and

wrong, use t h e term in that restricted and merely colloquial sense in

which utility is opposed to pleasure. An apology is due to the philo-

sophical opponents of utilitarianism, for even the m o m e n t a r y

appearance of confounding t h e m with any one capable of so absurd

a misconception; which is the m o r e extraordinary, inasmuch as the

contrary accusation, of referring everything to pleasure, and that too

in its grossest form, is another of the common charges against utili-

tarianism: and, as has been pointedly remarked by an able writer, the

same sort of persons, and often the very same persons, d e n o u n c e

the theory "as impracticably dry when the word utility precedes the

word pleasure, and as too practicably voluptuous when the word

pleasure precedes the word utility." T h o s e who know anything about

the m a t t e r are aware that every writer, from Epicurus to Bentham,

who maintained the theory of utility, meant by it, not something to

be contradistinguished from pleasure, but pleasure itself, together

Utilitarianism • 229

with exemption f r o m pain; and instead of o p p o s i n g the u s e f u l to the

agreeable or t h e o r n a m e n t a l , have always declared that the u s e f u l

means these, a m o n g o t h e r things. Yet t h e c o m m o n herd, i n c l u d i n g

the herd of writers, n o t only in n e w s p a p e r s and periodicals, but in

books of weight and pretension, are p e r p e t u a l l y falling into this shal-

low mistake. H a v i n g caught up the word utilitarian, while k n o w i n g

n o t h i n g whatever about it but its sound, they habitually express by it

t h e rejection, or the neglect, of pleasure in s o m e of its forms; of

beauty, of o r n a m e n t , or of a m u s e m e n t . N o r is the t e r m thus igno-

rantly misapplied solely in disparagement, but occasionally in c o m -

pliment; as though it implied s u p e r i o r i t y to frivolity and the m e r e

pleasures of the m o m e n t . And this p e r v e r t e d use is the only one in

which t h e word is p o p u l a r l y known, and t h e o n e f r o m which t h e n e

w

generation are acquiring their sole notion of its meaning. T h o s e who

i n t r o d u c e d the word, h u t who had for m a n y years discontinued it as

a distinctive appellation, may well feel themselves called u p o n to

r e s u m e it, if by doing so they can hope to c o n t r i b u t e anything toward

rescuing it from this u t t e r degradation.*

T h e creed which accepts as the foundation of morals, Utility, or

the Greatest H a p p i n e s s Principle, holds that actions are right in pro-

portion as they tend to p r o m o t e happiness, w r o n g as they tend to p r o -

d u c e the reverse of happiness. By happiness is intended pleasure, and

the absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain, and the privation of plea-

sure. To give a clear view of the moral standard set up by the theory,

m u c h m o r e requires to be said; in particular, what things it includes in

the ideas of pain and pleasure; and to what extent this is left an open

question. But these s u p p l e m e n t a r y explanations do not affect the the-

ory of life on which this theory of morality is g r o u n d e d — n a m e l y , t h a

t

pleasure, and f r e e d o m f r o m pain, are the only things desirable as ends;

and that all desirable things (which are as n u m e r o u s in the utilitarian

"The author of this essay has reason for believing himself to be the first person
who

brought the word utilitarian into use. He did not invent it, but adopted it from a
pass-

ing expression in Mr. Gait's Annals of the Parish. After using it as a designation
for sev-

eral years, he and others abandoned it from a growing dislike to anything

resembling a

badge or watchword of sectarian distinction But as a n a m e for one single

opinion, not

a set of opinions—to d e n o t e the recognition of utility as a standard, not any

particular

way of applying i t — t h e term supplies a want in the language, and offers, in

many cases,

a convenient m o d e of avoiding tiresome circumlocution.

230 • John Stuart Mill

as in any other scheme) are desirable either for t h e pleasure i n h e r e n t

in themselves, or as means to the p r o m o t i o n of pleasure and the p r e -

vention of pain.

Now, such a t h e o r y of life excites in m a n y minds, and a m o n g t h e m

m s o m e of the m o s t estimable in feeling and p u r p o s e , inveterate dis-

like. To s u p p o s e that life has (as they express it) no higher end than

p l e a s u r e — n o better and n o b l e r object of desire and p u r s u i t — t h e

y

designate as u t t e r l y m e a n and groveling; as a d o c t r i n e worthy only of

swine, to w h o m the followers of E p i c u r u s were, at a very early

period, c o n t e m p t u o u s l y likened; and m o d e r n h o l d e r s of the d o c t

r i n e

are occasionally m a d e the subject of equally polite comparisons by

its G e r m a n , French, and English assailants.

W h e n thus attacked, the E p i c u r e a n s h a v e always answered, that it

is not they, b u t t h e i r accusers, who r e p r e s e n t h u m a n n a t u r e in a

d e g r a d i n g light; since the accusation supposes h u m a n bemgs to be

c a p a b l e of no pleasures e x c e p t those of which s w i n e are capable. If

this .supposition were t r u e , the charge could not be gainsaid, but

would then be no longer an imputation; f o r if the sources of p l e a s u r e

were precisely the same to h u m a n beings and to swine, t h e r u l e of

life which is good e n o u g h for t h e o n e would be good enough for t h e

other. T h e comparison of the E p i c u r e a n life to t h a t of beasts is felt as

degrading, precisely b e c a u s e a beast's pleasures do n o t satisfy a

h u m a n being's c o n c e p t i o n s of happiness. H u m a n beings have f a c u l

-

ties m o r e elevated than t h e animal appetites, and w h e n once m a d e

conscious of them, do n o t regard a n y t h i n g as h a p p i n e s s which does

not i n c l u d e their gratification. I do not, i n d e e d , consider t h e E p i -

c u r e a n s to have been by any m e a n s faultless in drawing o u t t h e i r

s c h e m e of c o n s e q u e n c e s f r o m t h e utilitarian principle. To do this in

any sufficient manner, m a n y Stoic, as well as Christian e l e m e n t s

require to be included. But there is no known E p i c u r e a n t h e o r y

of life which does not assign to t h e pleasures of t h e intellect, of the

feelings and imagination, and of the moral sentiments, a m u c h ' b i g h e r

value as pleasures than to those of m e r e sensation. It m u s t be a d m i t -

ted, however, that utilitarian writers in general have placed the

s u p e r i o r i t y of mental over bodily pleasures chiefly in the greater

p e r m a n e n c y , safety, uncostliness, & c , of t h e former—that is, in t h e i r

circumstantial advantages r a t h e r than in their intrinsic nature. And

on all t h e s e points utilitarians have fully proved t h e i r case; but they

Utilitarianism • 231

might have taken t h e other, and, as it may he called, higher g r o u n d ,

with entire consistency. It is quite c o m p a t i b l e with the principle of

utility to recognize the fact, that s o m e kinds of pleasure are m o r e

desirable and m o r e valuable than others. It would be absurd that

while, in estimating all o t h e r things, quality is considered as well as

quantity, the estimation of pleasures should be supposed to d e p e n d

on quantity alone.

If 1 am asked, what 1 m e a n by d i f f e r e n c e of quality in pleasures, or

what makes one pleasure m o r e valuable than another, merely as a

pleasure, except its being greater in a m o u n t , t h e r e is but one possible

answer. Of two pleasures, if there be one to which all or almost all

who have e x p e r i e n c e of both give a d e c i d e d preference, irrespective

of any feeling of moral obligation to p r e f e r it, t h a t is the m o r e desir-

able pleasure. If o n e of the two is, by those w h o are c o m p e t e n t l y

acquainted with both, placed so far above t h e other that they p r e f e r

it, even though k n o w i n g it to be a t t e n d e d with a greater a m o u n t of

discontent, and would n o t resign it for any quantity of the other plea-

sure which their n a t u r e is capable of, we are justified in ascribing to

t h e p r e f e r r e d e n j o y m e n t a superiority in quality, so far o u t w e i g h i

n g

q u a n t i t y as to r e n d e r it, in comparison, of small account.

N o w it is an u n q u e s t i o n a b l e fact that those who are equally

acquainted with, and equally capable of a p p r e c i a t i n g and enjoying,

both, do give a most marked p r e f e r e n c e to t h e m a n n e r of existence

which employs their higher faculties. Few h u m a n creatures would

c o n s e n t to be changed into any of the lower animals, for a p r o m i s e of

t h e fullest allowance of a beast's pleasures; no intelligent h u m a n

being would consent to be a fool, no i n s t r u c t e d person would be an

ignoramus, no person of feeling and conscience would be selfish and

base, even t h o u g h they should he p e r s u a d e d that the fool, the dunce,

or the rascal is h e t t e r satisfied with his lot than they are with theirs.

T h e y would not resign what they possess m o r e than he, f o r the m o s t

c o m p l e t e satisfaction of all the desires which they have in c o m m o n

with him. If they ever fancy they would, it is only in cases of u n h a p -

piness so extreme, that to escape from it they would exchange their

lot for almost any other, however u n d e s i r a h l e in their own eyes. A

being of higher faculties requires m o r e to make him happy, is capable

prohably of m o r e acute suffering, and is certainly accessible to it at

m o r e points, than o n e of an inferior type; h u t in spite of these liabil-

232 • John Stuart Mill

ities, he can never really wish to sink into what he feels to be a lower

g r a d e of existence. We may give what explanation we please of this

unwillingness; we m a y attribute it to pride, a n a m e which is given

indiscriminately to s o m e of the most and to s o m e of the least

estimable feelings of which m a n k i n d are capable; we may refer it to

the love of liberty and personal i n d e p e n d e n c e , an appeal to which

was with the Stoics o n e of t h e most effective means for t h e inculca-

tion of it; to t h e love of power, or to the love of excitement, both of

which do really enter into and c o n t r i b u t e to it: but its most a p p r o p r i -

ate appellation is a sense of dignity, which all h u m a n beings possess

in o n e form or other, and in some, though by no m e a n s in exact, p r o -

portion to their higher faculties, and which is so essential a p a r t of

the happiness of those in whom it is strong, that n o t h i n g which c o n -

flicts with it could be, o t h e r w i s e than momentarily, an object of

desire to them. W h o e v e r supposes that this p r e f e r e n c e takes place at

a sacrifice of h a p p i n e s s — t h a t the superior being, in a n y t h i n g like

equal circumstances, is not h a p p i e r than the i n f e r i o r — c o n f o u n d s
the

two very d i f f e r e n t ideas, of happiness, and content. It is i n d i s p u t a b l e

that t h e being whose capacities of e n j o y m e n t are low, has the g r e a t -

est c h a n c e of having t h e m fully satisfied; and a h i g h l y - e n d o w e d

b e i n g will always feel t h a t any happiness which he can look for, as the

world is constituted, is i m p e r f e c t But he can learn to bear its i m p e r -

fections, if they are at all bearable; and they will n o t make him envy

t h e b e i n g who is indeed u n c o n s c i o u s of the imperfections, b u t only

because he feels not at all t h e good which t h o s e i m p e r f e c t i o n s qual-

ify. It is better to be a h u m a n being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied;

b e t t e r to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool,'

or t h e pig, is of a d i f f e r e n t opinion, it is hecause they only know t h e i r

own side of the question. T h e o t h e r p a r t y to the comparison knows

both sides.

It m a y be objected, that m a n y who are capable of t h e higher plea-

sures, occasionally, u n d e r the influence of t e m p t a t i o n , p o s t p o n e

t h e m to the lower. But this is q u i t e c o m p a t i b l e with a full apprecia-

tion of t h e intrinsic s u p e r i o r i t y of the higher. M e n often, f r o m infir-

mity of character, make their election for the n e a r e r good, though

they k n o w it to be the less valuable; and this no less when the choice
is b e t w e e n two bodily pleasures, than when it is between bodily and

mental. T h e y p u r s u e sensual indulgences to t h e i n j u r y of health,

Utilitarianism • 233

though perfectly aware t h a t health is the g r e a t e r good. It may be f u r -

ther objected, that m a n y who begin with y o u t h f u l enthusiasm for

everything noble, as they advance in years sink into i n d o l e n c e and

selfishness. But I do not believe that those who u n d e r g o this very

c o m m o n change, voluntarily choose t h e lower description of plea-

sures in p r e f e r e n c e to t h e higher. I believe that b e f o r e they devote

themselves exclusively to the one, they have already b e c o m e inca-

pable of the other. C a p a c i t y for the n o b l e r feelings is in most n a t u r e s

a very t e n d e r plant, easily killed, not only by hostile influences, but

by m e r e want of sustenance; and in the majority of young persons it

speedily dies away if the occupations to which their position in life

has devoted them, and the society into which it has thrown them, are

n o t favorable to k e e p i n g that higher capacity in exercise. M e n lose

their high aspirations as they lose t h e i r intellectual tastes, because

they have not t i m e or o p p o r t u n i t y for i n d u l g i n g them; and they

addict themselves to inferior pleasures, not because they deliberately

p r e f e r them, but because they are either t h e only ones to which they

have access, or t h e only ones which they are any longer capable of
enjoying. It may be questioned w h e t h e r any o n e who has r e m a i n e d

equally susceptible to both classes of pleasures, ever knowingly and

calmly p r e f e r r e d the lower; t h o u g h many, in all ages, have broken

down in an ineffectual a t t e m p t to c o m b i n e both.

From this verdict of t h e only c o m p e t e n t judges, I a p p r e h e n d t h e r e

can be no appeal. On a question which is the best worth having of two

pleasures, or which of two m o d e s of existence is the most grateful to

t h e feelings, a p a r t f r o m its moral attributes and from its conse-

quences, the j u d g m e n t of those who are qualified by k n o w l e d g e of

both, or, if they differ, that of the majority a m o n g them, m u s t be

admitted as final. And there n e e d s be the less hesitation to accept this

j u d g m e n t respecting t h e quality of pleasures, since there is no other

tribunal to be r e f e r r e d to even on t h e question of quantity. W h a t

m e a n s are t h e r e of d e t e r m i n i n g which is t h e acutest of two pains, or

t h e intensest of two pleasurable sensations, except the general suf-

frage of those who are familiar with both? N e i t h e r pains nor plea-

sures are h o m o g e n e o u s , and pain is not always h e t e r o g e n e o u s

with

pleasure. W h a t is t h e r e to decide w h e t h e r a particular pleasure is

w o r t h purchasing at t h e cost of a particular pain, except the feelings

and j u d g m e n t of the experienced? W h e n , therefore, t h o s e feelings

234 • John Stuart Mill

and j u d g m e n t declare the pleasures derived f r o m the higher faculties

to be p r e f e r a b l e in kind, apart from the question of intensity, to t h o s e

of which the animal n a t u r e , disjoined f r o m the higher faculties, is

susceptible, they are entitled on this subject to t h e same regard.

I have dwelt on this point, as being a necessary part of a p e r f e c t l y

just c o n c e p t i o n of Utility or Happiness, considered as the directive

r u l e of h u m a n conduct. But it is by no means an indispensable c o n -

dition to the acceptance of t h e utilitarian standard; for t h a t standard

is n o t the agent's own greatest happiness, b u t the greatest a m o u n t of

happiness altogether; and if it may possibly be d o u b t e d w h e t h e r a

noble c h a r a c t e r is always t h e h a p p i e r for its nobleness, t h e r e can be

no d o u b t that it makes o t h e r p e o p l e happier, and that the world in

general is i m m e n s e l y a gainer by it. Utilitarianism, therefore, could

only attain its end by t h e general cultivation of nobleness of charac-

ter, even if each individual w e r e only benefited by the nobleness of

others, and his own, so far as happiness is c o n c e r n e d , w e r e a sheer

d e d u c t i o n f r o m the benefit. Buc t h e bare enunciation of such an

absurdity as this last, r e n d e r s r e f u t a t i o n superfluous.

According to the Greatest Happiness Principle, as above explained,

the rdtimate end, with reference to and for the sake of which all o t h e r
things are desirable (whether we are considering o u r own good or that

of other people), is an existence exempt as far as possible from pain,

and as rich as possible in enjoyments, both in point of quantity and

quality; t h e test of quality, and the rule for measuring it against q u a n -

tity, being the preference felt by those who, in their opportunities of

experience, to which must be added their habits of self-consciousness

and self-observation, are best furnished with the means of comparison.

This, being, according to the utilitarian opinion, t h e end of h u m a n

action, is necessarily also the standard of morality; which may accord-

ingly be defined, the rules and precepts for h u m a n conduct, by the

observance of which an existence such as has been described might be,

to the greatest extent possible, secured to all mankind; and not to t h e m

only, but, so far as the n a t u r e of things admits, to the whole sentient

creation.

Against this doctrine, however, arises a n o t h e r class of objectors,

w h o say that happiness, in any form, c a n n o t be the rational p u r p o s e

of h u m a n life and action; because, in the first place, it is unattainable:

and t h e y c o n t e m p t u o u s l y ask, W h a t right hast t h o u to be happy? a

Utilitarianism • 235

question which Mr. C a r l y l e clenches by the addition, W h a t right, a

short time ago, hadst t h o u even to be? Next, they say, that m e n can do
without happiness; t h a t all noble h u m a n beings have felt this, and

could not have b e c o m e noble but by learning the lesson of Entsagen,

or renunciation; which lesson, t h o r o u g h l y learnt and s u b m i t t e d to,

they affirm to be t h e b e g i n n i n g and necessary condition of all virtue.

T h e first of these objections would go to the root of the m a t t e r

w e r e it well f o u n d e d ; for if no happiness is to be had at all by h u m a n

beings, the a t t a i n m e n t of it cannot be the end of morality, or of any

rational conduct. T h o u g h , even in that case, s o m e t h i n g might still be

said for the utilitarian theory; since utility includes not solely the

p u r s u i t of happiness, b u t t h e prevention or mitigation of u n h a p p i -

ness; and if the f o r m e r aim be chimerical, t h e r e will be all the greater

scope and m o r e imperative need f o r the latter, so long at least as

m a n k i n d think fit to live, and do not take r e f u g e in the s i m u l t a n e o u

s

act of suicide r e c o m m e n d e d u n d e r certain conditions by Novalis.

W h e n , however, it is thus positively asserted to be impossible that

h u m a n life should be happy, the assertion, if not s o m e t h i n g like a

verbal quibble, is at least an exaggeration. If by happiness be m e a n t a

c o n t i n u i t y of highly pleasurable e x c i t e m e n t , it is evident e n o u g h

that this is impossible. A state of exalted p l e a s u r e lasts only m o m e n t s ,

or in some cases, and with some intermissions, h o u r s or days, and is

the occasional brilliant flash of e n j o y m e n t , not its p e r m a n e n t and

Steady flame. Of this the philosophers who have taught that h a p p i -

ness is the end of life w e r e as fully aware as those who t a u n t t h e m .

T h e happiness which they m e a n t was n o t a life of rapture; but

m o m e n t s of such,1 in an existence m a d e up of few and transitory

pains, m a n y and various pleasures, with a decided p r e d o m i n a n c e of

the active over the passive, and having as t h e f o u n d a t i o n of t h e whole,

not to e x p e c t m o r e f r o m life than it is capable of bestowing. A life

thus c o m p o s e d , to t h o s e who have been f o r t u n a t e e n o u g h to

obtain

it, has always appeared w o r t h y of the n a m e of happiness. And such an

existence is even now t h e lot of many, d u r i n g some considerable p o r -

tion of their lives. T h e present wretched education, and w r e t c h e d

social arrangements, are the only real h i n d r a n c e to its being attain-

able by almost all.

T h e objectors p e r h a p s may doubt w h e t h e r h u m a n beings, if

taught to consider happiness as the end of life, would be satisfied

236 • John Stuart Mill

with such a m o d e r a t e share of it. But great n u m b e r s of m a n k i n d have

been satisfied with m u c h less. T h e main constituents of a satisfied life

a p p e a r to be two, either of which by itself is often f o u n d sufficient for

the p u r p o s e : tranquillity, and excitement. W i t h much tranquillity,

m a n y find that they can be c o n t e n t with very little pleasure: wTith

m u c h excitement, m a n y can reconcile themselves to a considerable

q u a n t i t y of pain. T h e r e is assuredly no i n h e r e n t impossibility in

e n a b l i n g even the mass of m a n k i n d to u n i t e both; since the two are so

far f r o m being i n c o m p a t i b l e that they are in natural alliance, the p r o -

longation of e i t h e r being a p r e p a r a t i o n for, and exciting a wish for,

the other. It is only those in w h o m i n d o l e n c e a m o u n t s to a vice, that

do n o t desire excitement after an interval of repose; it is only those in

w h o m t h e need of e x c i t e m e n t is a disease, that feel t h e tranquillity

which follows e x c i t e m e n t dull and insipid, instead of pleasurable in

direct p r o p o r t i o n to t h e e x c i t e m e n t which p r e c e d e d it. W h e n p

e o p l e

who are tolerably f o r t u n a t e in their outward lot do not find in life

sufficient e n j o y m e n t to make it valuable to t h e m , the cause generally

is, caring for nobody b u t themselves. To those who have n e i t h e r p u b -

lic nor private affections, the excitements of life are m u c h curtailed,

and in any case dwindle in value as t h e t i m e approaches when all

selfish interests m u s t be t e r m i n a t e d by death: while those who leave

after t h e m objects of p e r s o n a l affection, and especially those who

have also cultivated a fellow-feeling with the collective interests of

m a n k i n d , retain as lively an interest in life on the eve of death as in

the vigor of y o u t h and health. N e x t to selfishness, t h e principal cause

which makes life unsatisfactory, is want of m e n t a l cultivation. A cul-

tivated m i n d — I do not m e a n that of a philosopher, but any m i n d to

which the f o u n t a i n s of knowledge have been o p e n e d , and which has

been taught, in any tolerable degree, to exercise its faculties—finds

sources of inexhaustible interest in all that s u r r o u n d s it, in the objects

of n a t u r e , the achievements of art, the imaginations of poetry, the

incidents of history, the ways of m a n k i n d past and present, and their

prospects in the f u t u r e . It is possible, i n d e e d , to b e c o m e i n d i f f e r e

n t to

all this, and that too w i t h o u t having exhausted a t h o u s a n d t h p a r t of

.it, b u t only w h e n o n e has had f r o m the b e g i n n i n g no moral or h u m

a n

interest in t h e s e things, and has sought in t h e m only the gratification

of curiosity.

N o w t h e r e is absolutely no reason in the n a t u r e of things why an

Utilitarianism • 237

a m o u n t of m e n t a l c u l t u r e sufficient to give an intelligent interest in

these objects of c o n t e m p l a t i o n , should not be t h e i n h e r i t a n c e of

every one born in a civilized country. As little is t h e r e an i n h e r e n t

necessity t h a t any h u m a n being should be a selfish egotist, devoid of

every feeling or care b u t those which center in his own miserable

individuality. S o m e t h i n g far superior to this is sufficiently c o m m o n

even now, to give a m p l e earnest of w h a t t h e h u m a n species may be

made. G e n u i n e private affections, and a sincere interest in the public

good, are possible, t h o u g h in u n e q u a l degrees, to every rightly

b r o u g h t up h u m a n being. Tn a world in which t h e r e is so m u c h to

interest, so m u c h to enjoy, and so m u c h also to correct and improve,

every one who has this m o d e r a t e a m o u n t of moral and intellectual

requisites is capable of an existence which may be called enviable;

and unless such a person, t h r o u g h bad laws, or subjection to the will

of others, is denied the liberty to use the sources of happiness within

his reach, he will not fail to find this enviable existence, if he escape

the positive evils of life, the great sources of physical and mental suf-

f e r i n g — s u c h as indigence, disease, and the unkindness, worthless-

ness, or p r e m a t u r e loss of objects of affection. T h e main stress of t h e

problem lies, t h e r e f o r e , in the contest with these calamities, f r o m

which it is a rare good f o r t u n e entirely to escape; which, as things

now are, cannot be obviated, and often c a n n o t be in any material

d e g r e e mitigated. Yet no o n e whose opinion deserves a m o m e n t ' s

consideration can d o u b t that most of t h e great positive evils of the

world are in themselves removable, and will, if h u m a n affairs con-

t i n u e to improve, be in the end r e d u c e d within narrow limits.

Poverty, in any sense implying suffering, may be completely extin-

guished by the w i s d o m of society, c o m b i n e d with the good sense and

p r o v i d e n c e of individuals. Even that most intractable of enemies,

disease, may be indefinitely r e d u c e d in dimensions by good physical

and moral education, and p r o p e r control of noxious influences; while

t h e progress of science holds out a p r o m i s e for the f u t u r e of still

m o r e direct conquests over this detestable foe. And every advance in

that direction relieves us f r o m some, not only of the chances which

c u t short o u r own lives, but, what c o n c e r n s us still more, which

deprives us of t h o s e in w h o m our happiness is wrapt up. As for vicis-

situdes of fortune, and o t h e r d i s a p p o i n t m e n t s connected with

worldly circumstances, t h e s e are principally t h e effect either of gross

23H • John Stuart Mill

i m p r u d e n c e , of ill-regulated desires, or of bad or i m p e r f e c t social

institutions. All t h e grand sources, in short, of h u m a n suffering are in

a great degree, m a n y of t h e m almost entirely, c o n q u e r a b l e by h u m a n

care and effort; and though t h e i r removal is grievously s l o w — t h o u g h

a long succession of generations will perish in t h e breach before the

c o n q u e s t is completed, and this world b e c o m e s all that if will and

k n o w l e d g e w e r e not wanting, it might easily be m a d e — y e t every

mind sufficiently intelligent and generous to bear a part, however

small and unconspicuous, in the endeavor, will draw a noble enjoy-

m e n t f r o m the contest itself, which he would n o t for any bribe in t h e

f o r m of selfish i n d u l g e n c e c o n s e n t to be without.

And this leads to t h e t r u e estimation of what is said by the objec-

tors c o n c e r n i n g the possibility, and the obligation, of learning to do

w i t h o u t happiness. U n q u e s t i o n a b l y it is possible to do w i t h o u t
hap-

piness; it is d o n e involuntarily by n i n e t e e n - t w e n t i e t h s of m a n k i n
d ,

even in those parts of our p r e s e n t world which are least d e e p in bar-

barism; and it often has to be d o n e voluntarily by the hero or t h e

martyr, for t h e sake of s o m e t h i n g which he prizes m o r e than his i n d i -

vidual happiness. But this something, what is it, unless t h e happiness

of others, or some of t h e requisites of happiness? It is noble to be

capable of resigning entirely one's own p o r t i o n of happiness, or

chances of it: but, after all, this self-sacrifice m u s t be for s o m e end; it

is not its own end; and if we are told that its end is not happiness, b u t

virtue, which is better than happiness, I ask, would the sacrifice be

m a d e if t h e hero or m a r t y r did not believe that it would earn for

o t h e r s i m m u n i t y f r o m similar sacrifices? Would it be made, if he

t h o u g h t that his r e n u n c i a t i o n of happiness for himself would p r o -

d u c e no f r u i t for any of his fellow creatures, but to make their lot like

his, and place t h e m also in the condition of persons who have

r e n o u n c e d happiness? All h o n o r to those who can abnegate for t h e m -

selves t h e personal e n j o y m e n t of life, when by such renunciation

they c o n t r i b u t e worthily to increase the a m o u n t of happiness in the

world; b u t he who does it, or professes to do it, for any o t h e r purpose,

is no m o r e d e s e r v i n g of a d m i r a t i o n than t h e ascetic m o u n t e d on
his

pillar. He may be an inspiriting proof of what men can do, b u t

assuredly n o t an e x a m p l e of what they should.

T h o u g h it is only in a very i m p e r f e c t state of the world's a r r a n g e -

m e n t s that any one can best serve t h e happiness of others by t h e

Utilitarianism • 2 239

absolute sacrifice of his own, yet so long as t h e world is in that i m p e r -

fect state, I fully acknowledge that the readiness to make such a sac-

rifice is the highest virtue which can be f o u n d in man. I will add, that

in this condition of the world, paradoxical as the assertion may be,

the conscious ability to do w i t h o u t happiness gives the best p r o s p e c t

of realizing such happiness as is attainable. For n o t h i n g except that

consciousness can raise a person above t h e chances of life, by m a k i n g

him feel that, let fate and f o r t u n e do their worst, they have not p o w e r
to s u b d u e him: which, once felt, frees him from excess of anxiety

c o n c e r n i n g t h e evils of life, and enables him, like m a n y a Stoic in the

worst times of the R o m a n Empire, to cultivate in tranquillity t h e

sources of satisfaction accessible to him, w i t h o u t c o n c e r n i n g himself

about the u n c e r t a i n t y of their duration, any m o r e than about their

inevitable end.

Meanwhile, let utilitarians never cease to claim the morality of

self-devotion as a possession which belongs by as good a right to

t h e m , as either to the Stoic or to t h e Transcendentalist. T h e utilitar-

ian morality does recognize in h u m a n beings t h e power of sacrificing

their own greatest good for the good of others. It only refuses to

admit that the sacrifice is itself a good. A sacrifice which does not

increase, or tend to increase, the sum total of happiness, it considers

as wasted. T h e only self-renunciation which it applauds, is devotion

to the happiness, or to s o m e of the m e a n s of happiness, of others;

e i t h e r of m a n k i n d collectively, or of individuals within t h e limits

imposed by the collective interests of m a n k i n d .

I m u s t again repeat, what the assailants of utilitarianism seldom

have the justice to acknowledge, that t h e happiness which forms the

utilitarian standard of what is right in conduct, is not the agent's own

happiness, b u t that of all concerned. As between his own happiness

and that of others, utilitarianism requires him to be as strictly i m p a r -

tial as a disinterested and benevolent spectator. In the golden r u l e of

J e s u s of N a z a r e t h , we read the c o m p l e t e spirit of the ethics of utility.

To do as one would be d o n e by, and to love one's neighbor as oneself,

constitute the ideal perfection of utilitarian morality. As the m e a n s

of m a k i n g the nearest approach to this ideal, utility would enjoin,

first, that laws and social arrangements should place the happiness, or

(as speaking practically it may he called) t h e interest, of every indi-

vidual, as nearly as possible in h a r m o n y with t h e interest of t h e

240 • John Stuart M ill

whole; and secondly, that e d u c a t i o n and opinion, which have so vast

a p o w e r over h u m a n character, should so use that power as to estab-

lish in t h e mind of every individual an indissoluble association

b e t w e e n his own h a p p i n e s s and t h e good of the whole; especially

b e t w e e n his own happiness and the practice of such m o d e s of c o n -

duct, negative and positive, as regard for the universal happiness p r e -

scribes: so that not only he may be u n a b l e to conceive t h e possibility

of happiness to himself, consistently with c o n d u c t opposed to t h e

general good, but also that a direct impulse to p r o m o t e the general

good may be in every individual one of the habitual motives of

action, and t h e s e n t i m e n t s c o n n e c t e d therewith m a y fill a large and

p r o m i n e n t place in every h u m a n being's sentient existence. If t h e

i m p u g n e r s of the utilitarian m o r a l i t y r e p r e s e n t e d it to their own

m i n d s in this its t r u e character, 1 know not w h a t r e c o m m e n d a t i o n

possessed by any o t h e r m o r a l i t y they could possibly affirm to be

wanting to it: what m o r e beautiful or m o r e exalted d e v e l o p m e n t s of

h u m a n n a t u r e any o t h e r ethical system can be supposed to foster, or

w h a t springs of action, not accessible to t h e utilitarian, such systems

rely on for giving effect to their mandates.

T h e objectors to utilitarianism cannot always be charged with r e p -

resenting it in a discreditable light. On the contrary, those a m o n g

t h e m w h o entertain anything like a just idea of its disinterested char-

acter, s o m e t i m e s find fault with its standard as being too high for

humanity. T h e y say it is exacting too m u c h to r e q u i r e that p e o p l e

shall always act from t h e i n d u c e m e n t of p r o m o t i n g the general inter-

ests of society. But this is to mistake the very m e a n i n g of a standard of

morals, and to confound t h e r u l e of action with the motive of it. It is

the business of ethics to tell us what are o u r duties, or by what test we

may know them; but no system of ethics requires that the sole motive

of all we do shall be a feeling of duty; on the contrary, n i n e t y - n i n e

h u n d r e d t h s of all o u r actions are d o n e from other motives, and rightly

so done, if the rule of d u t y does not c o n d e m n them. It is the m o r e

u n j u s t to utilitarianism t h a t this particular misapprehension should be

m a d e a ground of objection to it, inasmuch as utilitarian moralists

have gone beyond almost all others in affirming that the motive has

nothing to do with t h e morality of t h e action, though m u c h with the

worth of the agent, He who saves a fellow c r e a t u r e from d r o w n i n g

does what is morally right, w h e t h e r his motive be duty, or the hope of

Utilitarianism • 2 241

being paid for his trouble: he who betrays the friend that trusts him, is

guilty of a crime, even if his object be to serve another friend to w h o m

he is u n d e r greater obligations* But to speak only of actions done

from the motive of duty, and in direct obedience to principle: it is a

misapprehension of t h e utilitarian m o d e of thought, to conceive it as

implying that p e o p l e should fix their m i n d s u p o n so wide a generality

as the world, or society at large. T h e great majority of good actions

are intended, not for t h e benefit of t h e world, but for that of individu-

als, of which the good of t h e world is m a d e up; and the thoughts of the

most virtuous man need not on these occasions travel beyond t h e par-

ticular persons concerned, except so far as is necessary to assure him-

self that in benefiting t h e m he is not violating the rights—that is, the

legitimate and authorized expectations—of any one else. T h e multi-

plication of happiness is, according to t h e utilitarian ethics, the object

*An opponent, whose intellectual and moral fairness it is a pleasure to
acknowledge

(the Rev.J. I.lewellyn Davies), has objected to this passage, saying, "Surely the
tightness

or wrongness of saving a man from drowning does depend very mvich u p o n

the motive

with which it is done. Suppose that a tyrant, when his e n e m y jumped into the
sea to

escape from him, saved him from drowning simply in o r d e r that he might
inflict u p o n

him more exquisite tortures, would it tend to clearness to speak of that rescue as
'a

morally right action?' Or suppose again, according to one of the stock

illustrations of

ethical inquiries, that a man betrayed a trust received from a friend, because t h e
dis-

charge of it would fatally injure that friend himself or some one belonging to
him,

would utilitarianism compel o n e to call the betrayal 'a crime' as much as if it

had been

d o n e from the meanest motive?"

I submit, that he who saves another from, drowning in o r d e r to kill him by

torture

afterward, does not differ only in motive f r o m him who does the same thing
from duty

or benevolence; the act itself is different. T h e rescue of the man is, in the case
supposed,
only the necessary first step of an act far more atrocious than leaving him to
drown

would have been. Had Mr. Davies said, " T h e tightness or wrongness of saving
a man

from drowning does d e p e n d very m u c h " — n o t upon the motive, b u t —

" u p o n the inten-

tion" no utilitarian would have differed from him. Mr Davies, by an oversight

too c o m -

mon not to be quite venial, has in this case confounded the very different ideas
of

Motive and Intention. T h e r e is no point which utilitarian thinkers (and

Bentham p r e -

eminently) have taken m o r e pains to illustrate than this. T h e morality of the

action

d e p e n d s entirely u p o n the i n t e n t i o n — t h a t is, upon what the agent

wills to do. But the

motive, that is, the feeling which makes him will so to do, when it makes no
difference

in the act, makes none in the morality: though it makes a great difference in o u r
moral

estimation of the agent, especially if it indicates a good or a bad habitual

disposition—

a bent of character from which useful, or f r o m which hurtful actions are likely
to arise.

242 • John Stuart M ill

of virtue: t h e occasions on which any person (except one in a t h o u -

sand) has it in his power to do this on an extended scale, in other

words, to be a public benefactor, are but exceptional; and on these

occasions alone is he called on to consider public utility; in every

o t h e r case, private utility, t h e interest or happiness of some few p e r -

sons, is all he has to attend to. T h o s e alone t h e influence of whose

actions extends to society in general, need concern themselves habit-

ually about so large an object. In the case of abstinences i n d e e d — o f

things which p e o p l e forbear to do, f r o m moral considerations, t h o u g h

the consequences in the particular case m i g h t be beneficial—it would

be u n w o r t h y of an intelligent agent not to be consciously aware that

t h e action is of a class which, if practiced generally, would be g e n e r -

ally injurious, and that this is the ground of the obligation to abstain

from it. T h e a m o u n t of regard for the public interest implied in this

recognition, is no greater than is d e m a n d e d by every system of

morals; for they all enjoin to abstain from whatever is manifestly p e r -

nicious to society.

T h e same considerations dispose of a n o t h e r r e p r o a c h against

the d o c t r i n e of utility, f o u n d e d on a still grosser m i s c o n c e p t i o n of

the

p u r p o s e of a standard of morality, and of the very m e a n i n g of t h e

words right and wrong. It is often affirmed t h a t utilitarianism r e n d e r s

m e n cold and u n s y m p a t h i z i n g ; that it chills t h e i r moral feelings

toward individuals; that it m a t e s them regard only t h e dry and hard

consideration of t h e consequences of actions, not taking into t h e i r

moral estimate the qualities f r o m which t h o s e actions emanate. If the

assertion m e a n s that they do not allow t h e i r j u d g m e n t respecting t h e

rightness or wrongness of an action to be influenced by their o p i n i o n

of the qualities of the p e r s o n who does it, this is a c o m p l a i n t not

against utilitarianism, but against having any standard of m o r a l i t y at

all; for certainly no known ethical standard decides an action to be

good or bad because it is d o n e by a good or a bad man, still less

because d o n e by an amiable, a brave, or a b e n e v o l e n t man, or t h e

contrary. T h e s e considerations are relevant, n o t to t h e estimation of

actions, but of persons; and t h e r e is n o t h i n g in t h e utilitarian t h e o r y

inconsistent with t h e fact t h a t t h e r e are other things which interest

us in p e r s o n s besides the rightness and w r o n g n e s s of their actions.

T h e Stoics, indeed, with t h e paradoxical misuse of language which

was p a r t of their system, and by which they strove to raise themselves

Utilitarianism • 2 243

above all concern about anything b u t virtue, w e r e fond of saying t h a t

he who has that has everything; that he, and only he, is rich, is b e a u -

tiful, is a king. But no claim of this description is m a d e for the v i r t u -

ous man by the utilitarian doctrine. Utilitarians are quite aware that

t h e r e are other desirable possessions and qualities besides virtue, and

are perfectly willing to allow to all of t h e m their full worth. T h e y are

also aware that a right action does not necessarily indicate a v i r t u o u s

character, and that actions which are b l a m e a b l e often p r o c e e d f r o m

qualities entitled to praise. W h e n this is a p p a r e n t in any particular

case, it modifies their estimation, not certainly of the act, but of t h e

agent. I grant that they are, notwithstanding, of opinion, that in the

long r u n the best proof of a good character is good actions; and res-

olutely refuse to consider any mental disposition as good, of which

t h e p r e d o m i n a n t t e n d e n c y is to p r o d u c e bad conduct. T h i s
makes

t h e m u n p o p u l a r with m a n y people; but it is an u n p o p u l a r i t y

which

they must share with every o n e who regards the distinction b e t w e e n

right and w r o n g in a serious light; and t h e r e p r o a c h is not o r e which

a conscientious utilitarian n e e d be anxious to repel.

If no m o r e be m e a n t by the objection than that many utilitarians

look on the morality of actions, as m e a s u r e d by the utilitarian stan-

dard, with too exclusive a regard, and do n o t lay sufficient stress u p o n

t h e o t h e r beauties of character which go toward m a k i n g a h u m a n

being loveable or admirable, this may be admitted. Utilitarians who

have cultivated their moral feelings, b u t not their sympathies n o r

their artistic perceptions, do fall into this mistake; and so do all o t h e r

moralists u n d e r the s a m e conditions. W h a t can be said in excuse for

other moralists is equally available for them, namely, that if t h e r e is

to be any error, it is b e t t e r that it should be on that side. As a m a t t e r

of fact, we may affirm t h a t among utilitarians as a m o n g a d h e r e n t s of

other systems, t h e r e is every imaginable d e g r e e of rigidity and of

laxity in the application of their standard: s o m e are even p u r i t a n i -

cally rigorous, while others are as i n d u l g e n t as can possibly be

desired by sinner or by sentimentalist. But on the whole, a d o c t r i n e

which brings p r o m i n e n t l y forward the interest that mankind have in

the repression and prevention of c o n d u c t which violates t h e moral

law, is likely to be inferior to no o t h e r in t u r n i n g the sanctions of

opinion against such violations. It is true, the question, W h a t does

violate the moral law? is one on which those who recognize d i f f e r e n t

244 • John Stuart M ill

standards of morality are likely now and then to differ. But d i f f e r e n c e

of o p i n i o n on moral questions was not first i n t r o d u c e d into the world

by utilitarianism, while t h a t doctrine does supply, if not always an

easy, at all events a tangible and intelligible m o d e of deciding such

differences.
It may not be superfluous to notice a few m o r e of the c o m m o n mis-

apprehensions of utilitarian ethics, even those which are so obvious

and gross that it might appear impossible for any person of c a n d o r

and intelligence to fall into them: since persons, even of considerable

mental endowments, often give themselves so little trouble to u n d e r -

stand t h e bearings of any opinion against which they entertain a prej-

udice, and men are in general so little conscious of this voluntary

ignorance as a defecc, that the vulgarest misunderstandings of ethical

doctrines are continually m e t with in the deliberate writings of p e r -

sons of t h e greatest pretensions both to high principle and to philos-

ophy. We not u n c o m m o n l y h e a r the doctrine of utility inveighed

against as a godless doctrine. If it he necessary to say .anything at all

against so m e r e an assumption, we may say that t h e question d e p e n d s

u p o n what idea we have f o r m e d of the moral character of the Deity. If

it be a t r u e belief that G o d desires, above all things, the happiness of

his creatures, and that this was his p u r p o s e in their creation, utility is

not only not a godless doctrine, but m o r e p r o f o u n d l y religious than

any other. If it be m e a n t that utilitarianism does not recognize the

revealed will of G o d as t h e s u p r e m e law of morals, I answer, chat an

utilitarian who believes in the p e r f e c t goodness and wisdom of G o d ,

necessarily believes that whatever G o d has thought fit to reveal on the

subject of morals, m u s t fulfill the r e q u i r e m e n t s of utility in a s u p r e m
e

degree. But others besides utilitarians have been of opinion that the

Christian revelation was intended, and is fitted, to inform the hearts

and m i n d s of mankind with a spirit which should enable t h e m to find

for themselves what is right, and incline t h e m to do it when found,

rather than to tell them, except in a very general way, what it is: and

that we need a doctrine of ethics, carefully followed out, to interpretxa

us t h e will of God. W h e t h e r this opinion is c o r r e c t or not, it is s u p e r -

fluous h e r e to discuss; since whatever aid religion, either natural or

revealed, can afford to ethical investigation, is as open to the utilitar-

ian moralist as to any other. He can use it as the testimony of G o d to

Utilitarianism • 2 45

the usefulness or hurtfulness of any given course of action, by as good

a right as others can use it for the indication of a transcendental law,

having no connexion with usefulness or with happiness.

Again, Utility is often summarily stigmatized as an i m m o r a l doc-

trine by giving it t h e n a m e of Expediency, and taking advantage of

t h e popular use of t h a t term to contrast it with Principle. But t h e

E x p e d i e n t , in t h e sense in which it is o p p o s e d to the Right, generally

means that which is e x p e d i e n t for the particular interest of t h e agent

himself; as w h e n a minister sacrifices t h e interest of his c o u n t r y to

keep himself in place. W h e n it m e a n s a n y t h i n g b e t t e r than this, it

m e a n s that which is e x p e d i e n t for some i m m e d i a t e object, s o m e t

e m -

porary purpose, but which violates a r u l e whose observance is expe-

dient in a m u c h h i g h e r degree. T h e E x p e d i e n t , in this sense, instead

of being the same thing with the useful, is a branch of the h u r t f u l .

T h u s , it would o f t e n be expedient, for the p u r p o s e of getting over

s o m e m o m e n t a r y embarrassment, o r attaining s o m e object i m m e d i -

ately useful to ourselves or others, to tell a lie. But inasmuch as the

cultivation in ourselves of a sensitive feeling on the subject of verac-

ity, is o n e of the most useful, and the e n f e e b l e m e n t of that feeling

o n e of the most h u r t f u l , things to which o u r c o n d u c t can be i n s t r u -

mental; and i n a s m u c h as any, even u n i n t e n t i o n a l , deviation f r o m

tTuth, does that m u c h toward w e a k e n i n g the trustworthiness of

h u m a n assertion, which is not only the principal s u p p o r t of all pres-

e n t social well-being, b u t the insufficiency of which does m o r e than

any o n e thing that can be n a m e d to keep back civilization, virtue,

e v e r y t h i n g on which h u m a n happiness on t h e largest scale d e p e n d s

;

we feel that the violation, for a p r e s e n t advantage, of a r u l e of such

t r a n s c e n d a n t expediency, is not expedient, and that he who, f o r the

sake of a convenience to himself or to s o m e o t h e r individual, does

what d e p e n d s on him to deprive m a n k i n d of the good, and inflict

u p o n t h e m the evil, involved in t h e g r e a t e r or less reliance which

they can place in each other's word, acts t h e p a r t of one of their worst

enemies. Yet that even this rule, sacred as it is, admits of possible

exceptions, is acknowledged by all moralists; the chief of which is

w h e n the w i t h h o l d i n g of s o m e fact (as of information from a male-

factor, or of bad news f r o m a person dangerously ill) would preserve

s o m e o n e (especially a person other than o n e s e l f ) from great and

u n m e r i t e d evil, and when the w i t h h o l d i n g can only be e f f e c t e d

hy

246 • John Stuart M ill

denial. But in order that the exception m a y not extend itself beyond

the need, and may have t h e least possible effect in w e a k e n i n g

reliance on veracity, it o u g h t to be recognized, and, if possible, its

limits defined; and if the p r i n c i p l e of utility is good f o r anything, it

m u s t be good for w e i g h i n g these conflicting utilities against o n e

another, and m a r k i n g o u t t h e region within which o n e or t h e o t h e r

p r e p o n d e r a t e s .

Again, d e f e n d e r s of utility often find t h e m s e l v e s called u p o n to

reply to such objections as t h i s — t h a t t h e r e is not time, previous to

action, for calculating and w e i g h i n g t h e effects of any line of c o n d u c t

on the general happiness. T h i s is exactly as if any one were to say

t h a t it is impossible to g u i d e o u r c o n d u c t by Christianity, because

t h e r e is not time, on every occasion on which a n y t h i n g has to be

done, to read t h r o u g h the Old and N e w T e s t a m e n t s . T h e answer to

t h e objection is, that t h e r e has been ample time, namely, the whole

past d u r a t i o n of the h u m a n species. D u r i n g all t h a t t i m e m a n k i n

d

have been learning by e x p e r i e n c e the t e n d e n c i e s of actions; on which

e x p e r i e n c e all the p r u d e n c e , as well as all t h e morality of life, .is

d e p e n d e n t . P e o p l e talk as if the c o m m e n c e m e n t of this course of

e x p e r i e n c e had h i t h e r t o been p u t off, and as if, at the m o m e n t

when

s o m e m a n feels t e m p t e d to m e d d l e with t h e p r o p e r t y or life of

another, he had to begin considering for t h e first t i m e w h e t h e r m u r -

d e r and t h e f t are injurious to h u m a n happiness. E v e n t h e n I do not

think t h a t he would find the question very puzzling; but, at all events,

t h e m a t t e r is now d o n e to his hand. It is t r u l y a whimsical supposition

that if mankind w e r e agreed in considering utility to be the test of

morality, they would remain w i t h o u t any a g r e e m e n t as to what is

useful, and would take no m e a s u r e s for having their notions on the

subject taught to the young, and enforced by law and opinion. T h e r e

is no difficulty in proving any ethical standard whatever to work ill,

if we s u p p o s e universal idiocy to be conjoined with it; but on any

h y p o t h e s i s short of that, m a n k i n d must by this t i m e have acquired

positive beliefs as to the effects of s o m e actions on their happiness;

and t h e beliefs which have thus c o m e down are t h e rules of morality

for t h e m u l t i t u d e , and for t h e philosopher until he has succeeded in

finding better. T h a t p h i l o s o p h e r s might easily do this, even now, on

m a n y subjects; that the received code of ethics is by no m e a n s of

divine right; and that m a n k i n d have still m u c h to learn as to t h e

Utilitarianism • 2 247

effects of actions on the general happiness, I admit, or rather,

earnestly maintain. T h e corollaries f r o m the principle of utility, like

the precepts of every practical art, admit of indefinite i m p r o v e m e n t ,

and, in a progressive state of t h e h u m a n mind, their i m p r o v e m e n t is

p e r p e t u a l l y going on. But to consider the rules of morality as

improvable, is o n e thing; to pass over t h e i n t e r m e d i a t e generaliza-

tions entirely, and endeavor to test each individual action directly by

t h e first principle, is another. It is a strange notion that the acknowl-

e d g m e n t of a first principle is inconsistent with t h e admission of sec-

o n d a r y ones. To i n f o r m a traveler respecting t h e place of his u l t i m a t e

destination, is not to forbid the use of l a n d m a r k s and direction-posts

on the way. T h e proposition t h a t happiness is the end and aim of

morality, does not m e a n that no road o u g h t to be laid down to that

goal, or that persons going thither should not be advised to take o n e

direction rather t h a n another. M e n really o u g h t to leave off talking a

kind of nonsense on this subject, which they would neither talk nor

listen to on other m a t t e r s of practical c o n c e r n m e n t . N o b o d y argues

that t h e art of navigation is not f o u n d e d on astronomy, because

sailors cannot wait to calculate t h e N a u t i c a l Almanack. Being

rational creatures, they go to sea with it ready calculated; and all

rational creatures go out u p o n the sea of life with their m i n d s m a d e

up on the c o m m o n questions of right and wrong, as well as on m a n y

of the far m o r e difficult questions of wise and foolish. And this, as

long as foresight is a h u m a n quality, it is to be p r e s u m e d they will

c o n t i n u e to do. W h a t e v e r we adopt as the f u n d a m e n t a l principle

of

morality, we require subordinate principles to apply it by: t h e impos-

sibility of doing w i t h o u t them, being c o m m o n to all systems, can

afford no a r g u m e n t against any o n e in particular: but gravely to

a r g u e as if no such secondary principles could be had, and as it

m a n k i n d had remained till now, and always must remain, w i t h o u t

d r a w i n g any general conclusions from t h e e x p e r i e n c e of h u m a n

life,
is as high a pitch, I think, as absurdity has ever reached in p h i l o s o p h -

ical controversy.

T h e r e m a i n d e r of t h e stock a r g u m e n t s against utilitarianism

mostly consist in laying to its charge the c o m m o n infirmities of

h u m a n nature, and the general difficulties which embarrass consci-

entious persons in shaping their course through life. We are told t h a t

an utilitarian will be apt to make his own particular case an exception

248 • John Stuart M ill

to m o r a l rules, and, when u n d e r t e m p t a t i o n , will see an utility in the

breach of a rule, greater than he will see in its observance. But is util-

ity t h e only creed which is able to furnish us with excuses for evil

doing, and means of c h e a t i n g o u r own conscience? T h e y are afforded

in a b u n d a n c e by all doctrines which recognize as a fact in morals the

existence of conflicting considerations; which all doctrines do, that

have been believed by sane persons. It is n o t the fault of any creed,

h u t of t h e complicated n a t u r e of h u m a n affairs, that rules of c o n d u c t

c a n n o t be so framed as to r e q u i r e no exceptions, and that hardly any

kind of action can safely be laid down as either always obligatory or

always c o n d e m n a b l e . T h e r e is no ethical creed which does not t e m -

per the rigidity of its laws, by giving a certain latitude, u n d e r t h e

m o r a l responsibility of t h e agent, for a c c o m m o d a t i o n to peculiarities

of circumstances; and u n d e r every creed, at t h e o p e n i n g thus made,

s e l f - d e c e p t i o n and dishonest casuistry get in. T h e r e exists no moral

system u n d e r which t h e r e do n o t arise unequivocal cases of conflict-

ing obligation. T h e s e are t h e real difficulties, the knotty points hoth

in t h e t h e o r y of ethics, and in the conscientious g u i d a n c e of personal

c o n d u c t . T h e y are overcome practically with g r e a t e r or with less

success a c c o r d i n g to the intellect and v i r t u e of the individual; hut it

can hardly he p r e t e n d e d t h a t any o n e will be the less qualified for

dealing with them, f r o m possessing an u l t i m a t e standard to which

conflicting rights and duties can be referred. If utility is the u l t i m a t e

s o u r c e of moral obligations, utility may be invoked to decide

b e t w e e n them when their d e m a n d s are incompatible. T h o u g h t h e

application of the standard may be difficult, it is b e t t e r than n o n e at

all: while in o t h e r systems, t h e moral laws all claiming i n d e p e n d e n t

authority, there is no c o m m o n u m p i r e entitled to interfere b e t w e e n

them; their claims to p r e c e d e n c e one over a n o t h e r rest on little bet-

ter than sophistry, and unless d e t e r m i n e d , as they generally are, by

t h e u n a c k n o w l e d g e d influence of considerations of utility, afford a

f r e e scope for t h e action of personal desires and partialities. We m u s t

r e m e m b e r that only in t h e s e cases of conflict b e t w e e n s e c o n d a r y

principles is it requisite that first principles should be appealed to.

T h e r e is no case of moral obligation in w h i c h s o m e secondary p r i n -

ciple is not involved; and if only one, there can seldom be any real

d o u b t which o n e it is, in t h e mind of any person hy whom the p r i n -

ciple itself is recognized.

Utilitarianism • 2 249

C H A P T E R I V

OF WHAT SORT OF PROOF T H E PRINCIPLE

OF UTILITY IS SUSCEPTIBLE

It has already been r e m a r k e d , that questions of u l t i m a t e ends do not

admit of proof, in t h e o r d i n a r y acceptation of t h e term. To be inca-

pable of proof by reasoning is c o m m o n to all first principles; to t h e

first premises of o u r knowledge, as well as to those of o u r conduct.

But t h e former, being matters of fact, may be the subject of a direct

appeal to the faculties which judge of f a c t — n a m e l y , o u r senses, and

o u r internal consciousness. Can an appeal he m a d e to the s a m e fac-

ulties on questions of practical ends? Or by what other faculty is cog-

nizance taken of them?

Questions about ends are, in other words, questions what things

are desirable. T h e utilitarian d o c t r i n e is, t h a t happiness is desirable,

and t h e only thing desirable, as an end; all o t h e r things b e i n g only

desirable as means to that end. What o u g h t to be required of this

d o c t r i n e — w h a t conditions is it requisite t h a t t h e d o c t r i n e should

fulfill—to make good its claim to be believed?

T h e only p r o o f capable of being given t h a t an object is visible, is

t h a t p e o p l e actually see it. T h e only p r o o f that a sound is audible, is

t h a t p e o p l e hear it: and so of the o t h e r sources of o u r experience. In

like manner, I a p p r e h e n d , t h e sole e v i d e n c e it is possible to p r o d u c

e

that anything is desirable, is that p e o p l e do actually desire it. If the

end which the utilitarian d o c t r i n e proposes to itself w e r e not, in t h e -

ory and in practice, acknowledged to be an end, n o t h i n g could ever

convince any person that it was so. No reason can be given why t h e

general happiness is desirable, except t h a t each person, so far as he

believes it to be attainable, desires his own happiness. This, however,

being a fact, we have n o t only all t h e p r o o f which the case admits of,

b u t all which it is possible to require, that happiness is a good: that

each person's happiness is a good to that person, and the general hap-

piness, therefore, a good to t h e aggregate of all persons. H a p p i n e s s

has m a d e out its title as one of the ends of conduct, and c o n s e q u e n t l y

o n e of the criteria of morality.

But it has nor, by this alone, proved itself to be t h e sole criterion.

250 • John Stuart M ill

To do that, ft would seem, by the same rule, necessary to show, n o t

only that p e o p l e desire happiness, but that they never desire a n y -

thing else. N o w it is palpable that they do desire things which, in

c o m m o n language, are decidedly distinguished f r o m happiness.

T h e y desire, for example, virtue, and the absence of vice, no less

really than pleasure and the absence of pain. T h e desire of v i r t u e is

not as universal, b u t it is as a u t h e n t i c a fact, as the desire of happiness.

And h e n c e the o p p o n e n t s of the utilitarian standard d e e m that they

have a right to infer that t h e r e are o t h e r e n d s of h u m a n action

besides happiness, and that happiness is n o t the standard of a p p r o b a -

tion and disapprobation.

But does the utilitarian d o c t r i n e d e n y t h a t p e o p l e desire virtue, or

maintain that v i r t u e is not a thing to be desired? T h e very reverse. It

m a i n t a i n s n o t only that v i r t u e is to be desired, b u t that it is to be

desired disinterestedly, for itself. W h a t e v e r m a y be the opinion of

utilitarian moralists as to the original conditions by which virtue is

made virtue; however they may believe (as they do) that actions and

dispositions are only v i r t u o u s because they p r o m o t e a n o t h e r end

than virtue; yet this being granted, and it having been decided, f r o m

considerations of this description, what is virtuous, they not only

place v i r t u e at the very head of the things which are good as means
to t h e u l t i m a t e end, but they also recognize as a psychological fact

the possibility of its being, to the individual, a good in itself, w i t h o u t

looking to any end beyond it; and hold, that the mind is not in a right

state, n o t in a state c o n f o r m a b l e to Utility, n o t in the state m o s t con-

ducive to t h e general happiness, unless it does love virtue in this

m a n n e r — a s a thing desirable in itself, even although, in the individ-

ual instance, it should n o t p r o d u c e those o t h e r desirable conse-

q u e n c e s which it tends to p r o d u c e , and on account of which it is held

to be virtue. T h i s opinion is not, in the smallest degree, a d e p a r t u r e

f r o m the H a p p i n e s s principle. T h e ingredients of happiness are very

various, and each of t h e m is desirable in itself, and not merely w h e n

considered as swelling an aggregate. T h e p r i n c i p l e of utility d o e s not

mean that any given pleasure, as music, for instance, or any given

e x e m p t i o n f r o m pain, as f o r e x a m p l e health, are to be looked u p o n

as m e a n s to a collective s o m e t h i n g t e r m e d happiness, and to be

desired on that account. T h e y are desired and desirable in and for

themselves; besides b e i n g means, they are a p a r t of the end. Virtue,

Utilitarianism • 2 251

according to t h e utilitarian doctrine, is not naturally and originally

part of t h e end, hut it is capable of b e c o m i n g so; and in t h o s e who

love it disinterestedly it has b e c o m e so, and is desired and cherished,

n o t as a means to happiness, but as a part of their happiness.

To illustrate this farther, we may r e m e m b e r that v i r t u e is not the

only thing, originally a means, and which if it were not a m e a n s to

anything else, would be and remain indifferent, but which by associ-

ation with what it is a m e a n s to, comes to be desired for itself, and

that too with t h e u t m o s t intensity. W h a t , for example, shall we say of

the love of money? T h e r e is n o t h i n g originally m o r e desirable about

m o n e y than about any h e a p of glittering pebbles. Its w o r t h is solely

that of the things which it will buy; t h e desires f o r other things than

itself, which it is a m e a n s of gratifying. Yet the love of m o n e y is not

only one of the strongest moving forces of h u m a n life, b u t m o n e y is,

in many cases, desired in and for itself, t h e desire to possess it is often

stronger than the desire to use it, and goes on increasing when all the

desires which point to ends beyond it, to be compassed by it, are

falling off. It may be t h e n said truly, that m o n e y is desired not f o r t h e

sake of an end, but as part of the end. From being a means to h a p p i -

ness, it has c o m e to be itself a principal i n g r e d i e n t of the individual's

c o n c e p t i o n of happiness. T h e same m a y b e said of the majority of the

great objects of h u m a n life—power, for example, or fame; except that

to each of these t h e r e is a certain a m o u n t of i m m e d i a t e pleasure

annexed, which has at least the s e m b l a n c e of being naturally i n h e r -

ent in them; a thing which cannot be said of money. Still, however,

the strongest natural attraction, both of p o w e r and of fame, is the

i m m e n s e aid they give to the a t t a i n m e n t of o u r other wishes; and it is

the strong association thus generated b e t w e e n them and all o u r

objects of desire, which gives to t h e direct desire of t h e m the inten-

sity it often assumes, so as in some characters to surpass in strength

all o t h e r desires. In t h e s e cases t h e means have b e c o m e a part of t h e

end, and a m o r e i m p o r t a n t part of it than any of the things which

they are m e a n s to. W h a t was once desired as an i n s t r u m e n t for the

attainment of happiness, has c o m e to be desired for its own sake. In

being desired f o r its own sake it is, however, desired as part of h a p p i -

ness. T h e person is made, or thinks he would be made, happy by its

m e r e possession; and is m a d e u n h a p p y by failure to obtain it. T h e

desire of it is not a d i f f e r e n t thing f r o m the desire of happiness, any

252 • John Stuart M ill

m o r e than t h e love of music, or the desire of health. T h e y are

i n c l u d e d in happiness. T h e y are s o m e of t h e e l e m e n t s of which t h

e

desire of happiness is m a d e up H a p p i n e s s is n o t an abstract idea, b u t

a c o n c r e t e whole; and these are s o m e of its parts. And the utilitarian

standard sanctions and approves their being so. Life would be a p o o r

thing, v e r y ill provided with sources of happiness, if t h e r e w e r e n o t

this provision of nature, by which things originally indifferent, but

conducive to, or o t h e r w i s e associated with, the satisfaction of o u r

primitive desires, b e c o m e in themselves sources of pleasure m o r e

valuable than the primitive pleasures, both in permanency, in t h e

space of h u m a n existence t h a t t h e y are capable of covering, and even

in intensity.

Virtue, according to t h e utilitarian conception, is a good of this

description. T h e r e was no original desire of it, or motive to it, save its

conduciveness to pleasure, and especially to protection f r o m pain.

But t h r o u g h t h e association thus f o r m e d , it may be felt a good in

itself, and desired as such with as great intensity as any o t h e r good;

and with this d i f f e r e n c e b e t w e e n it and t h e love of money, of power|

or of fame, that all of t h e s e may, and often do, r e n d e r the individual

noxious to the other m e m b e r s of the society to which he belongs,

w h e r e a s t h e r e is n o t h i n g which makes him so m u c h a blessing to

t h e m as t h e cultivation of t h e disinterested love of virtue. And c o n -

sequently, t h e utilitarian standard, while it tolerates and approves

those o t h e r acquired desires, up to the p o i n t beyond which they

would be m o r e injurious to t h e general happiness than p r o m o t i v e of

it, e n j o i n s and requires the cultivation of the love of v i r t u e up to the

greatest s t r e n g t h possible, as being above all things i m p o r t a n t to t h e

general happiness.

It results f r o m the p r e c e d i n g considerations, that t h e r e is in real-

ity n o t h i n g desired except happiness. W h a t e v e r is desired o t h e r w i s e

than as a m e a n s to s o m e end beyond itself, and u l t i m a t e l y to h a p p i -

ness, is desired as itself a p a r t of happiness, and is not desired for

itself until it has b e c o m e so. T h o s e who desire v i r t u e for its own sake,

desire it either because t h e consciousness of it is a pleasure, or

b e c a u s e t h e consciousness of being w i t h o u t it is a pain, or for both

reasons u n i t e d ; as in truth t h e pleasure and pain seldom exist sepa-

rately, b u t almost always together, the same person feeling pleasure

in t h e d e g r e e of v i r t u e attained, and pain in n o t having attained

Utilitarianism • 2 253

more. If one of these gave him no pleasure, and the o t h e r no pain, he

would not love or desire virtue, or would desire it only for the other

benefits which it m i g h t p r o d u c e to himself or to persons w h o m he

cared for.

We have now, then, an answer to the question, of what sort of

p r o o f t h e principle of utility is susceptible. If the opinion which I

have now stated is psychologically t r u e — i f h u m a n n a t u r e is so con-

stituted as to desire n o t h i n g which is not either a part of h a p p i n e s s or

a means of happiness, we can have no o t h e r proof, and we r e q u i r e no

other, that these are the only things desirable. If so, happiness is the

sole end of h u m a n action, and the p r o m o t i o n of it the test by which

to judge of all h u m a n conduct; from w h e n c e it necessarily follows

that it must be the criterion of morality, since a p a r t is included in the

whole.

And now to d e c i d e w h e t h e r this is really so; w h e t h e r m a n k i n d do

desire nothing for itself but that which is a pleasure to them, or of

which the absence is a pain; we have evidently arrived at a question

of fact and experience, d e p e n d e n t , like all similar questions, u p o n

evidence. It can only be d e t e r m i n e d by practiced self-consciousness

and self-observation, assisted by observation of others. I believe t h a t

these sources of evidence, impartially consulted, will declare that

desiring a thing and finding it pleasant, aversion to it and t h i n k i n g of

it as painful, are p h e n o m e n a entirely inseparable, or r a t h e r two parts

of the same p h e n o m e n o n ; in strictness of language, two d i f f e r e n t

modes of n a m i n g t h e same psychological fact: that to think of an

object as desirable (unless for the sake of its consequences), and to

think of it as pleasant, are one and the same thing; and that to desire

anything, except in p r o p o r t i o n as the idea of it is pleasant, is a phys-

ical and metaphysical impossibility.

So obvious does this appear to me, t h a t I expect it will hardly be

disputed: and t h e objection m a d e will be, not that desire can possibly

be directed to a n y t h i n g ultimately except pleasure and exemption

f r o m pain, but that t h e will is a d i f f e r e n t t h i n g f r o m desire; that a

per-

son of confirmed virtue, or any o t h e r person whose p u r p o s e s are

fixed, carries o u t his p u r p o s e s w i t h o u t any t h o u g h t of the p l e a s u

r e he

has in c o n t e m p l a t i n g them, or expects to derive f r o m their fulfill-

ment; and persists in acting on them, even though these pleasures are

much diminished, by changes in his c h a r a c t e r or decay of his passive

254 • John Stuart M ill

sensibilities, or are o u t w e i g h e d by the pains which the p u r s u i t of t h e

p u r p o s e s may bring u p o n him. All this I fully admit, and have stated

it elsewhere, as positively and emphatically as any one. Will, t h e

active p h e n o m e n o n , is a d i f f e r e n t thing f r o m desire, t h e state of

pas-

sive sensibility, and t h o u g h originally an offshoot f r o m it, may in t i m e

take r o o t and detach itself f r o m the p a r e n t stock; so m u c h so, that in

t h e case of an habitual purpose, instead of willing the thing because

we desire it, we often desire it only because we will it. This, however,

is but an instance of that familiar facc, t h e power of habit, and is

nowise confined to the case of v i r t u o u s actions. M a n y i n d i f f e r e n t

things, which men originally did f r o m a motive of some sort, they

c o n t i n u e to do from habit. S o m e t i m e s this is d o n e unconsciously, t h

e

consciousness c o m i n g only a f t e r t h e action: at o t h e r times with con-

scious volition, but volition which has b e c o m e habitual, and is p u t

into o p e r a t i o n by the force of habit, in opposition p e r h a p s to t h e

deliberate preference, as o f t e n h a p p e n s with those who have c o n -

tracted habits of vicious or h u r t f u l indulgence. T h i r d and last c o m e s

the case in which t h e habitual act of will in the individual instance is

not in contradiction to the general intention prevailing at o t h e r

rimes, but in fulfillment of it; as in the case of the person of confirmed

virtue, and of all who p u r s u e deliberately and consistently any d e t e r -

m i n a t e end. T h e distinction between will and desire thus u n d e r -

stood, is an authentic and highly i m p o r t a n t psychological fact; b u t

the fact consists solely in t h i s — t h a t will, like all o t h e r parts of o u r

constitution, is amenable to habit, and t h a t we may will f r o m habit

what we no longer desire for itself, or desire only because we will it.

It is not the less t r u e that will, in t h e beginning, is entirely p r o d u c e d

by desire; i n c l u d i n g in t h a t term the repelling i n f l u e n c e of pain as

well as t h e attractive one of pleasure. L e t us take into consideration,

no longer the person w h o has a confirmed will to do right, but him in

whom t h a t v i r t u o u s will is still feeble, c o n q u e r a b l e by t e m p t a t i

o n ,

and n o t to be fully relied on; by what m e a n s can it be strengthened?

H o w can the will to be virtuous, w h e r e it does not exist in sufficient

force, be i m p l a n t e d or awakened? Only by m a k i n g the person desire

v i r t u e — b y m a k i n g him think of it in a pleasurable light, or of its

absence in a painful one. Tt is by associating the d o i n g right with

pleasure, or the doing w r o n g with pain, or by eliciting and i m p r e s s -

i n g and bringing h o m e to the person's e x p e r i e n c e the pleasure n a t u -

Utilitarianism • 2 255

rally involved in the one or the pain in t h e other, that it is possible to

call forth that will to be virtuous, which, w h e n confirmed, acts w i t h -

out any t h o u g h t of either pleasure or pain. Will is the child of desire,

and passes out of the d o m i n i o n of its p a r e n t only to c o m e u n d e r that

of habit. T h a t which is the result of habit affords no p r e s u m p t i o n of

being intrinsically good; and there would be no reason for wishing

that the p u r p o s e of v i r t u e should b e c o m e i n d e p e n d e n t of

pleasure

and pain, were it n o t that the influence of t h e pleasurable and painful

associations which p r o m p t to v i r t u e is not sufficiently to be

d e p e n d e d on for u n e r r i n g constancy of action until it has acquired

t h e s u p p o r t of habit. Both in feeling and in c o n d u c t , habit is the only

t h i n g which imparts certainty; and it is because of the i m p o r t a n c e to

others of being able to rely absolutely on one's feelings and c o n d u c t ,

and to oneself of being able to rely on one's own, that the will to do

right o u g h t to be cultivated into this habitual i n d e p e n d e n c e . In o t h e r

words, this state of the will is a m e a n s to good, not intrinsically a

good; and does not contradict the d o c t r i n e t h a t n o t h i n g is a good to

h u m a n beings but insofar as it is either itself pleasurable, or a m e a n s

of attaining pleasure or averting pain.

But if this d o c t r i n e be true, the principle of utility .is proved.

W h e t h e r it is so or not, m u s t now be left to the consideration of the

t h o u g h t f u l reader.

CHAPTER 10

A R T H U R S C H O P E N H A U E R

A student of philosophy is bound to encounter readings from Plato

Aristotle, and Kant. However, Schopenhauer seldom appears in a

syllabus. This omission does not bespeak a lack of importance T h e

impress of his thought is plain in Nietzsche, Freud, Mann, and many

others. But Schopenhauer is a rara avis who does not fit neatly into

any particular school of thought or course outline.

T h e son of a very successful Dutch businessman, Arthur Schopen-

hauer was born in Danzig, Germany, in 1788. Soon thereafter the

family moved to Hamburg. As a young student, Schopenhauer

demonstrated much talent and a passion for both literature and

travel. However, his father was a practical man who insisted that his

son become a businessman. He was apprenticed to merchants in

Danzig in 1804 with the intent that he would one day take over t h e

family operation. However, a year later, his father took his own life.

Since Schopenhauer detested the entrepreneurial world, he

quickly tossed it over for a university education. In 1809 Schopen-

h a u e r entered the University of Gottingen as a medical student but

he soon switched to the study of philosophy. He enrolled in the Uni-

versity of Berlin in 1811. T h e r e he attended lectures by both

P n e d n c h Schleiermacher and J o h a n n Gottlieb Fichte.

D u e to the threat of war in a nationalizing Prussia, Schopenhauer

moved f r o m Berlin to a small town outside of j e n a in 1813 Very

Ethics: The Essential Writings • 251

wealthy and ahle to live comfortably off his inheritance, t h e t w e n t y -

five-year-old settled down in a local inn and w r o t e his dissertation,

The Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason. T h e thesis was suc-

cessfully s u b m i t t e d to the University of J e n a and it f o r m e d the

bedrock for the work for which S c h o p e n h a u e r is most r e m e m b e r e d ,

The World as Will and Representation ( published in 1819).

After taking his doctorate, S c h o p e n h a u e r traveled for a }'ear in

Italy and then assumed a post as a l e c t u r e r at the University of

Berlin. T h e idealist G . W F . Hegel was also on t h e faculty. At the time,

Hegel, who provided a catalyst for both existentialism and M a r x i s m ,

was the most f a m o u s philosopher on the planet. S c h o p e n h a u e r , h o w

-

ever, judged him to be a blowhard and arranged his lecture t i m e s to

c o m p e t e with Hegel's. T h e r e was no competition. Hegel's l e c t u r e s

attracted h o r d e s of students but only a few came to listen to

Schopenhauer. A f t e r two years, S c h o p e n h a u e r gave up t h e l e c t u r e

-

ship.

C o n t e n t i o u s relationships were a t h e m e in S c h o p e n h a u e r ' s life.

D u r i n g his t e n u r e in Berlin, he fell into a shoving m a t c h with a local

seamstress and was taken to court for p u s h i n g h e r to the ground.

S c h o p e n h a u e r lost t h e lawsuit and was forced to pay damages for the

rest of the woman's life. S c h o p e n h a u e r ' s own mother, J o h a n n a H e n

-

riette T r o s i e n e r S c h o p e n h a u e r , b e c a m e a well-known w r i t e r in
h e r

forties. She established an intellectual salon in W e i m a r and devel-

oped a friendship with G o e t h e , Schlegl, the b r o t h e r s G r i m m , and

other luminaries. M o t h e r and son q u a r r e l e d frequently and finally

had a c o m p l e t e break in their relationship.

Between his father's suicide, u n h a p p y love affairs, the rift with his

mother, and o t h e r frays, t h e r e was no shortage of anguish in

S c h o p e n h a u e r ' s personal life. I n d e e d , the c u r m u d g e o n ' s most

c o n -

stant and beloved c o m p a n i o n s s e e m e d to have been two toy poodles.

T h e r e can be no d o u b t that S c h o p e n h a u e r was subject to n u m b i n

g

bouts of depression. But then, it m u s t be r e m e m b e r e d that these

events and his m e l a n c h o l y i n f o r m e d his genius, a genius that in no

small p a r t consisted of his ability to study and trace the u n d e r b e l l y of

existence. As early as 1811 he stated, "Life is a sorry affair and I

intend to spend my life reflecting on it."

T h e last t w e n t y - e i g h t years of his life he lived in F r a n k f u r t am

Alain. To judge f r o m his many reflections on the topic, S c h o p e n -

258 • Arthur Schopenhauer

h a u e r had a p o w e r f u l craving for fame. A Freudian might suggest that

he was in s o m e kind of c o m p e t i t i o n with his mother, for when

G o e t h e told J o h a n n a S c h o p e n h a u e r that h e r son was destined for

great things, she replied that t h e r e was n o t r o o m for two geniuses in

t h e family.
O v e r t h e years, S c h o p e n h a u e r a u t h o r e d m a n y philosophical

tracts, but m u c h to his p r o f o u n d chagrin none of t h e m caused a stir

However, in 1851, he published Parerga and Paralipomena, a c o m p i l a -

tion of accessible philosophical essays t h a t finally b r o u g h t him p u b -

lic acclaim. S c h o p e n h a u e r died in 1860.

As f o r his philosophical forebearers, there w e r e but two Western

p h i l o s o p h e r s to w h o m S c h o p e n h a u e r bowed: P l a t o and Kant.

H o w -

ever, Kant and, to a lesser extent, Plato w e r e both optimistic t h a t

reason could hold sway over desire. On this point S c h o p e n h a u e r

v e h e m e n t l y disagreed. As o u r r e a d i n g will shout, S c h o p e n h a u e

r saw

h u m a n life as the expression of a blind and u n q u e n c h a b l e will to

power.

T h e French p h i l o s o p h e r Pascal observed that death, t h e fifth act

of life, is always bloody. S c h o p e n h a u e r insists t h a t m u c h of w h a t h a

p -

p e n s until the curtain c o m e s down will also be hloody and ugly and

t h e w o r s t part of it will be the pain that we needlessly inflict u p o n

one another.

T h e first G e r m a n p h i l o s o p h e r to be influenced by Buddhist and

H i n d u texts, S c h o p e n h a u e r cast this world as a m i x t u r e of abattoir

and m a d h o u s e . T h e best t h a t we can do is to have compassion for one

a n o t h e r as fellow inmates. T h o u g h he scoffed at t h e idea of a p e r -

sonal savior and r e d e m p t i o n , S c h o p e n h a u e r ' s ethic is, in the end, n

o t

far r e m o v e d f r o m t h a t of J e s u s of N a z a r e t h .

P A R E R G A A N D P A R A L I P O M E N A

C H A P T E R X I I

A D D I T I O N A L R E M A R K S O N T H E D O C T R I N E

O F T H E S U F F E R I N G O F T H E W O R L D

148. If suffering is not the first and immediate object of our life, then

our existence is the most inexpedient and inappropriate thing in

the world. For it is absurd to assume that the infinite pain, which

everywhere abounds in the world and springs from the want and

misery essential to life, could be purposeless and purely acci-

dental. O u r susceptibility to pain is wellnigh infinite; but that to

pleasure has narrow limits. It is t r u e that each separate piece of

misfortune seems to be an exception, but misfortune in general

is the rule.

149. Just as a brook forms no eddy so long as it meets with no

obstructions, so h u m a n nature, as well as animal, is such that we

do not really notice and perceive all that goes on in accordance

with our will. If we were to notice it, then the reason for this

would inevitably be that it did not go according to our will, but

must have met with some obstacle. On the other hand, every-

thing that obstructs, crosses, or opposes our will, and thus every-

thing unpleasant and painful, is felt by us immediately, at once,

260 • Arthur Schopenhauer

and very plainly. J u s t as we do not feel the health of our whole

body, but only the small spot w h e r e the shoe pinches, so we do

n o t think of all o u r affairs that are going on perfectly well, but

o n l y of some insignificant trifle t h a t annoys us. On this rests the

negative n a t u r e of well-being and happiness, as opposed to t h e

positive n a t u r e of pain, a point that I have often stressed.

Accordingly, I know of no g r e a t e r absurdity than that of m o s t

metaphysical systems which declare evil to be s o m e t h i n g nega-

tive;* whereas it is precisely that which is positive and makes

itself felt. On the o t h e r hand, that which is good, in other words,

all happiness and satisfaction, is negative, that is, the m e r e elim-

ination of a desire and the e n d i n g of a pain.

In a g r e e m e n t with this is the fact that, as a rule, we find p l e a -

sures far below, b u t pains far beyond, o u r expectation.

W h o e v e r wants s u m m a r i l y to test the assertion that the p l e a -

sure in t h e world outweighs the pain, or at any rate that che two

balance each other, should c o m p a r e the feelings of an animal

that is d e v o u r i n g a n o t h e r with those of that other.

150. T h e most effective consolation in any m i s f o r t u n e or suffering is

to look at others w h o are even m o r e u n f o r t u n a t e than we; and

this everyone can do. But what then is the result for the whole of

h u m a n i t y ?

We are like lambs playing in the field, while the b u t c h e r eyes

t h e m and selects first o n e and then a n o t h e r ; for in o u r good days

we do not know what calamity fate at this very m o m e n t has in

s t o r e for us, sickness, persecution, i m p o v e r i s h m e n t , mutilation,

loss of sight, madness, death, and so on.

H i s t o r y shows us the life of nations and can find n o t h i n g to

relate except wars and insurrections; t h e years of p e a c e a p p e a r

h e r e and t h e r e only as short pauses, as intervals between t h e

acts. And in the same way, t h e life of the individual is a p e r p e t -

ual struggle, not merely metaphorically with want and b o r e d o m

b u t actually with others. E v e r y w h e r e he finds an o p p o n e n t , lives

in constant conflict, and dies weapon in hand.

151. N o t a little is c o n t r i b u t e d to the t o r m e n t of o u r existence by the

"Leibniz is particularly strong on this poinr and endeavors ( Theadicle. , $153) to

strengthen his ease by a palpable and pitiable sophism.

Parerga and Paralipomena • 261

fact that time is always pressing on us, never lets us draw breath,

and is behind e v e r y o n e of us like a taskmaster with a whip. O n l y

those who have been h a n d e d over to b o r e d o m are not pressed

and plagued by time.

1 52. However, just as o u r body would inevitably burst if the pressure

of the a t m o s p h e r e were removed f r o m it, so if the p r e s s u r e of

want, hardship, disappointment, and t h e frustration of effort

were removed f r o m the lives of m e n , their arrogance would rise,

though not to bursting-point, yet to manifestations of the most

unbridled folly and even madness. At all times, everyone indeed

needs a certain a m o u n t of care, anxiety, pain, or trouble, just as

a ship requires ballast in o r d e r to p r o c e e d on a straight and

steady course.

Work, worry, toil, and trouble are certainly the lot of almost all

t h r o u g h o u t their lives. But if all desires w e r e fulfilled as soon as

they arose, how then would p e o p l e occupy their lives and spend

their time? S u p p o s e the h u m a n race were removed to Utopia

w h e r e e v e r y t h i n g grew automatically and pigeons flew about

ready roasted; w h e r e everyone at o n c e f o u n d his sweetheart and

had no difficulty in keeping her; then p e o p l e would die of b o r e -

dom or hang themselves; or else they would fight, throttle, and

m u r d e r one a n o t h e r and so cause t h e m s e l v e s m o r e s u f f e r i n g

than is n o w laid u p o n t h e m by nature. T h u s for such a race, no

o t h e r scene, no o t h e r existence, is suitable.

153. On account of the negative n a t u r e of well-being and pleasure as

distinct f r o m the positive n a t u r e of pain, a fact to which I just

now drew t h e reader's attention, the happiness of any given life

is to be m e a s u r e d not by its joys and pleasures, b u t by t h e

absence of sorrow and suffering, of that which is positive. But

then the lot of animals appears to be m o r e bearable than that of

man. We will consider the two s o m e w h a t m o r e closely.

H o w e v e r varied the forms in which man's happiness and

u n h a p p i n e s s a p p e a r and impel h i m to p u r s u i t or escape, the

material basis of all this is nevertheless physical pleasure or

pain. This basis is very restricted, n a m e l y health, n o u r i s h m e n t ,

protection f r o m wet and cold, and sexual satisfaction, or else t h e

want of these things. Consequently, in real physical pleasure

man has no m o r e than the animal, except insofar as his m o r e

262 • Arthur Schopenhauer

highly developed n e r v o u s system e n h a n c e s the susceptibility to

e v e r y pleasure but also to every pain as well. But h o w very

much stronger are the emotions stirred in him than those

aroused in the animal! H o w incomparably m o r e deeply and pow-

erfully are his feelings excited! and ultimately only to arrive at the

same result, n a m e l y health, n o u r i s h m e n t , clothing, and so on

T h i s arises primarily f r o m the fact that, with him, everything

is powerfully e n h a n c e d by his thinking of the absent and the

f u t u r e , whereby anxiety, fear, and h o p e really c o m e into exis-

tence for the first time. But then these press m u c h m o r e heavily

on him than can t h e present reality of pleasures or pains, to

which the animal is confined. T h u s the animal lacks reflection,

that c o n d e n s e r of pleasures and pains which, therefore, cannot be

accumulated, as h a p p e n s in the case of man by means of his

m e m o r y and foresight. On t h e contrary, with the animal, the s u f -

f e r i n g of the present m o m e n t always remains, even w h e n this

again recurs i n n u m e r a b l e times, merely the suffering of t h e p r e s -

ent m o m e n t as on the first occasion, and cannot be accumulated.

H e n c e the enviable tranquillity and placidity of animals. On the

o t h e r hand, by means of reflection and everything c o n n e c t e d

therewith, there is developed in man from those same e l e m e n t s

of pleasure and pain which he has in c o m m o n with the animal, an

e n h a n c e m e n t of susceptibility to happiness and u n h a p p i n e s s

which is capable of leading to momentary, and sometimes even

fatal, ecstasy or else to the depths of despair and suicide. M o r e

closely considered, things seem to take the following course. In

o r d e r to heighten his pleasure, man deliberately increases his

n e e d s that were originally only a little m o r e difficult to satisfy

than those of the animal; hence luxury, delicacies, tobacco,

o p i u m , alcoholic liquors, pomp, display, and all that goes with

this. T h e n in addition, in consequence of reflection, there is o p e n

to man alone a source of pleasure, and of pain as well, a source

that gives him an excessive a m o u n t of trouble, in fact almost

m o r e than is given by all the others. I r e f e r to ambition and t h e

feeling of h o n o r and shame, in plain words, what he thinks of

o t h e r people's opinion of him. N o w in a thousand different and

often strange forms this becomes the goal of almost all his efforts

that go beyond physical pleasure or pain. It is t r u e that he cer

Parerga and Parahpomena • 2 63

tainly has over the animal the advantage of really intellectual

pleasures which admit of m a n y degrees f r o m the most i n g e n u o u s

trifling or conversation up to the highest achievements of t h e

mind. But as a counterweight to this on the side of suffering,

b o r e d o m appears in man which is u n k n o w n to the animal, at any

rate in the natural state, but which slightly attacks the most intel-

ligent only if they are domesticated, whereas with man it becomes

a real scourge. We see it in that host of miserable w r e t c h e s who

have always been concerned over filling their purses but never

their heads, and for whom their very wealth now b e c o m e s a p u n -

ishment by delivering t h e m into t h e h a n d s of t o r m e n t i n g b o r e -

dom. To escape f r o m this, they now rush about in all directions

and travel here, there, and everywhere. No sooner do they arrive

at a place, than they anxiously inquire about its amusements and

clubs; just as does a p o o r man about its sources of assistance-, for, of

course, want and b o r e d o m are the two poles of h u m a n life.

Finally, I have to m e n t i o n that, in the case of man, t h e r e is asso-

ciated with sexual satisfaction an obstinate selection, peculiar to

him alone, which rises sometimes to a m o r e or less passionate

love and to which 1 have devoted a lengthy chapter in the second

volume of my chief work. In this way, it becomes for him a source

of m u c h suffering and little pleasure.

Meanwhile, it is r e m a r k a b l e how, t h r o u g h the addition of

t h o u g h t which t h e animal lacks, so lofty and vast a s t r u c t u r e of

h u m a n happiness and u n h a p p i n e s s is raised on the s a m e n a r r o w

basis of joys and sorrows which the animal also has. With refer-

ence to this, his feelings are exposed to such violent emotions,

passions, and shocks, that their s t a m p can be read in t h e p e r m a -

nent lines on his face; and yet in the end and in reality, it is only

a question of the same things which even the animal obtains, and

indeed with i n c o m p a r a b l y less e x p e n d i t u r e of e m o t i o n and dis-

tress. Buc t h r o u g h all this, the m e a s u r e of pain increases in man

m u c h m o r e than that of pleasure and is now in a special way

very greatly e n h a n c e d by the fact that death is actually known to

him. On t h e o t h e r hand, the animal r u n s away from death

merely instinctively, w i t h o u t really k n o w i n g it and thus w i t h o u t

ever actually c o m i n g face to face with it, as does man who

always has before him this prospect. And so although o n l y a few

264 • Arthur Schopenhauer

animals die a natural death, most of them get only just e n o u g h

t i m e to propagate their species and then, if n o t earlier, b e c o m e

t h e p r e y of s o m e o t h e r animal. On t h e o t h e r hand, man a l o n e in

his species has m a n a g e d to make the so-called natural death the

r u l e to which there are, however, i m p o r t a n t exceptions. Yet in

spite of all this, the animals still have t h e advantage, for t h e r e a -

son 1 have given. Moreover, man reaches his really natural term
of life just as rarely as do t h e animals, b e c a u s e his u n n a t u r a l way

of living, his struggles and passions, and t h e d e g e n e r a t i o n of t h e

race resulting t h e r e f r o m rarely enable him to succeed in this.

Animals are m u c h m o r e satisfied than we by m e r e existence;

t h e plant is wholly satisfied, man a c c o r d i n g to the degree of his

dullness. Consequently, the animal's life contains less suffering,

but also less pleasure, than man's. T h i s is due primarily to the

fact that it r e m a i n s f r e e from care and anxiety t o g e t h e r with their

t o r m e n t , on the o n e hand, but is also w i t h o u t real hope, on t h e

other. And so it does not participate in t h a t anticipation of a joy-

ful f u t u r e through ideas t o g e t h e r with t h e delightful p h a n t a s -

magoria, that source of m o s t of o u r joys and pleasures, which

a c c o m p a n i e s those ideas and is given in addition by the imagi-

nation; c o n s e q u e n t l y in this sense it is w i t h o u t hope. It is both

t h e s e hecause its consciousness is restricted to what is i n t u -

itively perceived and so to t h e p r e s e n t m o m e n t . T h u s only in

r e f e r e n c e to objects that already exist at this m o m e n t in intuitive

p e r c e p t i o n , does the animal have an e x t r e m e l y short f e a r and

h o p e ; whereas man's consciousness has an intellectual horizon

t h a t e m b r a c e s t h e whole of life and even goes beyond this. But in

c o n s e q u e n c e of this, animals, when c o m p a r e d with us, seem to

be really wise in one respect, namely in their calm and u n d i s -

t u r b e d e n j o y m e n t of the present m o m e n t . T h e animal is the

e m b o d i m e n t of t h e present; the obvious p e a c e of mind which it

t h u s shares f r e q u e n t l y puts us to shame with o u r often restless

and dissatisfied state t h a t comes from t h o u g h t s and cares. And

even those pleasures of h o p e and anticipation we have just been

discussing are not to be had for nothing. T h u s w h a t a man enjoys

in advance, t h r o u g h h o p i n g and e x p e c t i n g a satisfaction, a f t e r -

ward detracts from t h e actual e n j o y m e n t of this, since the t h i n g

itself then satisfies him by so m u c h t h e less. T h e animal, on t h e

Parerga and Parahpomena • 265

o t h e r hand, remains f r e e f r o m such pleasure in advance as well

as from that d e d u c t i o n of pleasure, and t h e r e f o r e enjoys t h e real

and present t h i n g itself, whole and u n d i m i n i s h e d . In t h e s a m e

way, evils press on the animal merely with their own actual

weight, whereas for us they are o f t e n increased tenfold by fear

and foresight,77 KpooSoKia RA)v KOLKCOV*

It is just this complete absorption in the present moment, peculiar to

animals, which contributes so m u c h to the pleasure we derive

from our domestic pets. T h e y are the p r e s e n t m o m e n t personi-

fied and, to a certain extent, make us feel the value of every

u n b u r d e n e d and u n c l o u d e d hour, whereas with our thoughts we

usually pass it over and leave it u n h e e d e d . But the above-

m e n t i o n e d capacity of animals to be m o r e satisfied than we by

m e r e existence is abused by egotistic and heartless man, and is

often exploited to such an extent that he allows them absolutely

nothing but bare existence. For example, the bird that is orga-

nized to roam through half the world, is confined to a cubic foot

of space where it slowly pines to death and cries; for

I'uccello nella gabbia

Canta non di piacre, ma di rabbia}

and t h e highly intelligent dog, man's truest and most faithful

friend, is p u t on a chain by him! N e v e r do I see such a dog w i t h -

out feelings of the deepest s y m p a t h y for him and of p r o f o u n d

indignation against his master. I think with satisfaction of a case,

r e p o r t e d s o m e years ago in The Times, w h e r e Lord — kept a

large d o g on a chain. O n e day as he was walking t h r o u g h the

yard, he took it into his head to go and pat the dog, w h e r e u p o n

the animal tore his arm open from top to bottom, and quite right

too! W h a t he m e a n t by this was: "You are not my master, b u t my

devil who makes a hell of my brief existence!" M a y this h a p p e n

to all who chain up dogs.

154. If the result of t h e foregoing r e m a r k s is that the e n h a n c e d power

of k n o w l e d g e r e n d e r s t h e life of man m o r e w o e - b e g o n e than

"'The dread of evil."

'["Til is the humor of the bird in a cage, He sings not for pleasure, but only from
rage "]

266 • Arthur Schopenhauer

that of the animal, we can r e d u c e this to a universal law and

t h e r e b y obtain a m u c h wider view.

In itself, knowledge is always painless. Pain concerns the will

alone and consists in checking, hindering, or thwarting this; yet

an additional r e q u i r e m e n t is t h a t this checking be accompanied

by knowledge. T h u s just as light illuminates space only when

objects exist to reflect it; just as a t o n e requires resonance and

sound generally becomes audible at a distance only t h r o u g h

waves of the vibrating air that break on hard bodies so that its

effect is strikingly feeble on isolated mountain tops and a song in

t h e o p e n produces little effect; so also in t h e same way m u s t t h e

checking of the will, in order to be felt as pain, be accompanied

by knowledge which in itself, however, is a stranger to all pain.

T h u s physical pain is already conditioned by nerves and their

c o n n e c t i o n with t h e brain; and so an i n j u r y to a limb is not felt if

its nerves leading to t h e brain are severed, or when the brain •

itself loses its powers t h r o u g h chloroform. For the very same

reason, we consider that, as soon as consciousness is extin-

guished when a person is dying, all s u b s e q u e n t convulsions are

painless. It follows as a m a t t e r of course that mental pain is c o n -

ditioned by knowledge; and that it increases with the d e g r e e of

k n o w l e d g e can easily be seen, and m o r e o v e r in the above

r e m a r k s as also in my chief work, v o l u m e i, §56. We can, t h e r e -

fore, figuratively express the whole relationship by saying that

t h e will is t h e string, its thwarting or c h e c k i n g the vibration

thereof, knowledge the s o u n d i n g - b o a r d , and pain t h e tone.

N o w according to this, only that which is inorganic and also

t h e plant are i n c a p a b l e of feeling pain, however often t h e will

may be checked in both. On the o t h e r hand, every animal, even

an infusorian, feels pain because knowledge, however i m p e r f e c t ,

is t h e t r u e characteristic of animal existence. As knowledge rises

on the animal scale, so too does susceptibility to pain. It is,

therefore, still e x t r e m e l y small in the case of the lowest animals;

thus, for example, insects still go on eating when the back part of

the body is nearly torn off and hangs by a m e r e thread of gut.

But even in the highest animals, because of an absence of c o n -

cepts and thought, pain is n o t h i n g like t h a t which is suffered by

man. Even t h e susceptibility to pain could reach its highest

Parerga and Parahpomena • 267

point only when, by v i r t u e of o u r faculty of reason and its

reflectiveness, t h e r e exists also t h e possibility of d e n y i n g the

will. For w i t h o u t t h a t possibility, such susceptibility would have

been purposeless cruelty.

155. In early youth we sit before the i m p e n d i n g course of our life like

children at the t h e a t e r before the curtain is raised, who sit there

in happy and excited expectation of the things that are to come.

It is a blessing that we do not know what will actually come. For

to the man who knows, t h e children may at times appear to be

like innocenc delinquents who are c o n d e m n e d not to death it is

true, but to life and have not yet grasped the p u r p o r t of their sen-

tence. N e v e r t h e l e s s everyone wants to reach old age and thus to

a state of life, whereof it may be said: "It is today and every day it

will get worse, until the worst of all happens."

156. If we picture to ourselves roughly as far as we can t h e sum total

of misery, pain, and suffering of every kind on which the sun

shines in its course, we shall admit that it would have been m u c h

better if it had been just as impossible for t h e sun to p r o d u c e t h e

p h e n o m e n o n of life on earth as on the m o o n , and t h e surface of

the earth, like that of the moon, had still been in a crystalline state.

We can also regard our life as a uselessly disturbing e p i s o d e

in t h e blissful repose of nothingness. At all events even t h e m a n

who has fared tolerably well, b e c o m e s m o r e clearly aware, t h e

longer he lives, that life on the whole is a disappointment, nay a

cheat* in o t h e r words, bears t h e character of a great mystifica-

tion or even a fraud. W h e n two m e n who were friends in their

youth m e e t again after the separation of a lifetime, t h e feel-

ing u p p e r m o s t in their m i n d s when they see each other, in that

it recalls old times, is one of c o m p l e t e disappointmmt with the

whole of life. In f o r m e r years u n d e r the rosy sunrise of their

youth, life seemed to t h e m so fair in prospect; it m a d e so m a n y

promises and has kept so few. So definitely u p p e r m o s t is this

feeling when they m e e t that they do not even deem it necessary

to express it in words, but both tacitly assume it and p r o c e e d to

talk on that basis.

W h o e v e r lives two or three generations, feels like t h e s p e c t a t o r

'[Schopenhauer's own words.]

IftH - Arthur Sdpipeiihittter

who, d u r i n g the fair, sees the p e r f o r m a n c e s of all kinds of

jugglers and, if he r e m a i n s seated in the booth, sees t h e m

r e p e a t e d two or t h r e e times. As t h e tricks w e r e m e a n t only for

one p e r f o r m a n c e , they no longer make any impression after the

illusion and novelty have vanished.

We should be driven crazy if we c o n t e m p l a t e d t h e lavish and

excessive arrangements, t h e countless flaming fixed stars in infi-

n i t e space which have n o t h i n g to do but illuminate worlds, such

being the scene of misery and desolation and, in t h e luckiest

case, yielding n o t h i n g b u t b o r e d o m — a t any rate to judge f r o m

the specimen with which we are familiar.

No o n e is to be greatly envied, b u t m a n y t h o u s a n d s are to be

greatly pitied.

L i f e is a task to be worked off; in this sense defunctus* is a fine

expression.

Let us f o r a m o m e n t imagine that the act of procreation w e r e

n o t a necessity or a c c o m p a n i e d by intense pleasure, but a mat-

ter of p u r e rational deliberation; could then the h u m a n race

really continue to exist? Would n o t e v e r y o n e r a t h e r feel so

m u c h s y m p a t h y for t h e c o m i n g generation that h e would p r e f e r

to s p a r e it the b u r d e n of existence, or at any rate would not like

to assume in cold blood the responsibility of i m p o s i n g on it such

a burden?

T h e world is just a hell and in it h u m a n beings are the tor-

tured souls on t h e o n e hand, and the devils on t h e other.

I suppose 1 shall have to be told again that my philosophy is

cheerless and comfortless simply because T tell the truth, whereas

people want to hear that the Lord has m a d e all things very well.

Go to y o u r churches and leave us philosophers in peace! At any

rate, do not d e m a n d that they should cut their doctrines accord-

ing to your pattern! T h i s is done by knaves and philosophasters

from w h o m you can order whatever doctrines you like.*

Brahma p r o d u c e s t h e world t h r o u g h a kind of original sin, b u t

himself remains in it to atone for this until he has r e d e e m e d

"["One who has finished with the business of life."]

1To put professors of philosophy our of countenance with their orthodox

optimism is

as easy as it is agreeable

Parerga and Paralipomena • 269

himself f r o m it. T h i s is quite a good idea! In Buddhism the world

comes into being in consequence of an inexplicable disturbance

(after a long period of calm) in t h e crystal clearness of the

blessed and penitentially obtained state of Nirvana and h e n c e

t h r o u g h a kind of fatality which, however, is to be u n d e r s t o o d

ultimately in a moral sense; although the matter has its exact ana-

logue and c o r r e s p o n d i n g p i c t u r e in physics, in the inexplicable

arising of a p r i m o r d i a l nebula, w h e n c e a sun is f o r m e d . A c c o r d -

ingly, in c o n s e q u e n c e of moral lapses, it also gradually b e c o m e s

physically worse and worse until it assumes its present sorry state.

An excellent idea! To the Greeks t h e world and the gods w e r e t h e

work of an u n f a t h o m a b l e necessity; this is fairly reasonable

insofar as it satisfies us for the t i m e being. Ormuzd lives in con-

flict with Ahnman; this seems not unreasonable. But that a G o d

Jehovah creates this world of misery and affliction animi causa*

and de gaiete de coeur, t and then applauds himself with TtaVTGi

KaXa Xiav} this is something intolerable. And so in this respect,

we see the religion of the Jews o c c u p y the lowest place a m o n g

the dogmas of t h e civilized world, which is wholly in k e e p i n g

with the fact t h a t it is also the only religion that has absolutely

no doctrine of immortality, n o r has it even any trace thereof.

Even if Leibniz's demonstration were correct, that of all pos-

sible worlds this is nevertheless always the best, we should still not

have a Theodicee. For the C r e a t o r has created i n d e e d n o t m e r e l y

t h e world, but also t h e possibility itself; accordingly, he should

have arranged this with a view to its a d m i t t i n g of a better world.

But generally, such a view of the world as the successful work of

an all-wise, all-benevolent, and moreover almighty Being is too

flagrantly contradicted by the misery and wretchedness that the

world on the one hand, and by the obvious imperfection and even

burlesque distortion of the most perfect of its p h e n o m e n a on the

other; I r e f e r to the h u m a n p h e n o m e n o n . H e r e is to be found a

dissonance that can never be resolved On the other hand, these

'["Because he feels inclined to."]

t["out of sheer wantonness."]

'["(And God saw) every thing (that he had made, and, behold it) was very good."
(Gen-

esis 1-31.)]

270 • Arthur Schopenhauer

very instances will agree with, and serve as a proof of, our argu-

m e n t if we look u p o n t h e world as the work of our own guilt and

consequently as s o m e t h i n g t h a t it were better never to have been.

Whereas on the first assumption h u m a n beings b e c o m e a bitter

i n d i c t m e n t against t h e C r e a t o r and provide material for sarcasm,

they appear on t h e second as a d e n u d a t i o n of our own t r u e

n a t u r e and will, which is calculated to h u m b l e us. For they lead

us to the view t h a t we, as t h e offspring of dissolute fathers, have

c o m e into t h e world already b u r d e n e d with guilt and that, only

because we have to be continually working off this debt, does our

existence prove to be so wretched and have death as its finale.

N o t h i n g is m o r e certain than that, speaking generally, it is t h e

great sin ofthe world which produces t h e m a n y and great sufferings

of the world; and h e r e I refer not to the physically empirical c o n -

nection, b u t to t h e metaphysical. According to this view, it is only

the story of the Fall of M a n that reconciles me to the Old T e s t a -

m e n t . In fact, in my eyes, it is t h e only metaphysical truth t h a t

a p p e a r s in the book, although it is clothed in allegory. For to

n o t h i n g does o u r existence bear so close a resemblance as to t h e

consequence of a false step and guilty lust. I cannot refrain f r o m

r e c o m m e n d i n g to the t h o u g h t f u l reader a popular, but exceed-

ingly profound, dissertation on this subject by Claudius which

brings to light t h e essentially pessimistic spirit of Christianity

and appears in the fourth part of the Wandsbecker Bote with t h e

title " C u r s e d be the ground for thy sake."

To have always in hand a sure compass for guiding us in life

and enabling us always to view this in the right light w i t h o u t

ever going astray, n o t h i n g is m o r e suitable than to accustom

ourselves to regard this world as a place of p e n a n c e and h e n c e a

penal colony, so to speak, an epyaotrjpiov* as it was called

even by the oldest philosophers (according to C l e m e n t of

Alexandria, Stromata, lib. ill, c. 3, p. 399). A m o n g the Christian

Fathers Origen expressed it. thus with c o m m e n d a b l e boldness.

(See Augustine, De civitate dei, lib. XI, c. 23.) T h i s view of t h e

world also finds its theoretical and objective justification not

m e r e l y in my philosophy, but in t h e wisdom of all ages, in Brah-

*f"Pcniientiary."]

Parerga and Paralipometra • 271

manism, Buddhism,* Empedocles, and Pythagoras. C i c e r o also

mentions (Fragmenta de philosophia, vol. XII, p. 316, ed. Bip.) that it

was taught by ancient sages and at t h e initiation into the M y s t e r -

ies nos ob altqua scelera suscepta in vita superiore, poenarum luen-

darum causa natos esse.1 Vanini, whom it was easier to b u r n that

to refute, gives the strongest expression to this hy s a y i n g Tottan

Usque homo repletus miserits, ut si Christianae religioni non repugnaret,

dicere auderem: si daemones dantur, ipsi, in hominum corpora transmi-

grates, sceleris poenas luunt. * (De admirandis naturae arcanis, Dial.

50, p. 353.) But even in genuine Christianity which is p r o p e r l y

understood, our existence is regarded as the consequence of a

guilt, a false step. If we have acquired t h a t habit, we shall adjust

o u r expectations from life to suit t h e occasion and accordingly

no longer regard as unexpected and abnormal its troubles, vexa-

tions, sufferings, worries, and misery, great and small. On t h e

contrary, we shall find such things to be quite in order, well

knowing that here everyone is punished for his existence and

indeed each in his own way.* For one of the evils of a p e n i t e n -

tiary is also the society we m e e t there. W h a t this is like will be

known by anyone who is worthy of a better society w i t h o u t my

telling him. A fine nature, as well as a genius, may s o m e t i m e s

feel in this world like a noble state-prisoner in the galleys a m o n g

c o m m o n criminals; and they, like him, will therefore a t t e m p t

to isolate themselves. G e n e r a l l y speaking, however, the above-

'Nothing can be more conducive to patience in life and to a placid endurance of

men and

evils than a Buddhist reminder of this ltind: "This is Samsara, the world of lust
and craving

and thus of birth, disease, old age, and death; it is a world that ought not to be.
And this is

here the population of Samsara. Therefore what better things can you cxpect?" I
would

like to prescribe that everyone repeat this four times a day, hilly conscious of
what he
is saying.

'["That, on account of definite mistakes made in a previous life, we are born to

pav the

penalty."]

'["Man is so full of many great afflictions that, if it were not repugnant to the
Christian

religion, I would venture to assert that, if there are demons, they are cast into
human

bodies and pay the penalties for their sins."]

' T h e correct standard for judging any man is to remember that he is really a
being who

should not exist at all, but who is atoning for his existence through many
different

forms of suffering and through death. What can we expect from such a being?
We atone

for our birth first by living and secondly by dying This is also allegorized by
original sin.

272 • Arthur Schopenhauer

m e n t i o n e d way of looking at things will enable us to regard w i t h -

out surprise and certainly withouc indignation the so-called

imperfections, t h a t is, t h e wretched and c o n t e m p t i b l e of most

men both morally and intellectually, which is accordingly

s t a m p e d on their faces. For we shall always r e m e m b e r where we

are and consequently look on everyone primarily as a being who

exists only as a result of his sinfulness and whose life is t h e a t o n e -

m e n t for the guilt of his birth. It is just this that Christianity calls

t h e sinful n a t u r e of man. It is, therefore, t h e basis of the beings

w h o m we m e e t in this world as his fellows. Moreover, in conse-

q u e n c e of the constitution of the world, they are almost all, m o r e

or less, in a state of suffering and dissatisfaction which is not cal-

culated to make t h e m m o r e sympathetic and amiable. Finally,

t h e r e is the fact that, in almost all cases, their intellect is barely

sufficient for the service of their will. Accordingly, we have to

regulate o u r claims on. t h e society of this world. W h o e v e r keeps

firmly to this point of view, might call t h e social impulse a p e r n i -

cious tendency.

In fact, the conviction that the world and thus also man is some-

thing that really ought not to be, is calculated to fill us with for-

bearance toward one another, for what can we expect from beings

in such a predicament? In fact from this point of view, it might

occur to us that the really proper address between one man and

another should be, instead of Sir, Monsieur, and so on, Leidensgefdhrte,

socii malorum, companion de miseres, my fellow-sufferer. However strange

this may sound, it accords with the facts, puts the other man in the

most correct light, and reminds us of that most necessary thing, tol-
erance, patience, forbearance, and love of one's neighbor, which

everyone needs and each of us, therefore, owes to another.

1 5 6 a . T h e characteristic of the things of this world and especially t h e

world of men is not exactly imperfection, as has o f t e n been said, but

r a t h e r distortion, in everything, in what is moral, intellectual, or

physical.

T h e excuse, s o m e t i m e s m a d e for m a n y a vice, n a m e l y "that it

is natural to man " is by no means adequate, but the p r o p e r rejoin-

d e r should be: "just b e c a u s e it is bad, it is natural; and just

because it is natural it is bad." To u n d e r s t a n d this aright, we m u s t

have grasped the m e a n i n g of t h e d o c t r i n e of original sin.

Parerga and Parahpomena • 213

W h e n judging a h u m a n individual, we should always keep to

the point of view that the basis of such is s o m e t h i n g that o u g h t

not to be at all, s o m e t h i n g sinful, perverse, and absurd, t h a t

which has been u n d e r s t o o d as original sin, that on a c c o u n t of

which he is d o o m e d to die. T h i s f u n d a m e n t a l l y bad n a t u r e is

indeed characterized by the fact that no o n e can bear to be

closely scrutinized. W h a t can we expect from such a being? If,

therefore, we start f r o m this fact, we shall judge him m o r e i n d u l -

gently; we shall not be surprised when the devils lurking in him

bestir themselves and p e e p out, and we shall be better able to

appreciate any good point that has nevertheless been f o u n d in

him, w h e t h e r this be a c o n s e q u e n c e of his intellect or of any-

thing else. In t h e second place, we should also be m i n d f u l of his

position and r e m e m b e r that life is essentially a condition of

want, distress, and often misery, w h e r e everyone has to fight and

struggle for his existence and t h e r e f o r e cannot always p u t on a

pleasant face. If, on t h e contrary, man w e r e that which all opti-

mistic religions and philosophies would like to make him, namely

the work or even the incarnation of a G o d , in fact a being t h a t in

every sense o u g h t to be and to be as he is, what a totally differ-

e n t effect would inevitably be p r o d u c e d by t h e first sight, t h e

closer acquaintance, and the c o n t i n u e d intercourse with every

h u m a n b e i n g f r o m t h a t which is now p r o d u c e d !

Pardon's the word to all [Cymbelme, Act v, Sc. 5). We should treat

with i n d u l g e n c e every h u m a n folly, failing, and vice, bearing in

mind that what we have before us are simply o u r own follies,

failings, and vices. For they are just t h e failings of m a n k i n d to

which we also belong; accordingly, we have in ourselves all its

failings, and so t h o s e at which we are just now indignant, m e r e l y

because they do not appear in us at this particular m o m e n t .

T h u s they are n o t on t h e surface, b u t lie d e e p down within us

and will c o m e up and show themselves on t h e first occasion, just

as we see t h e m in others; although o n e failing is conspicuous in

one man and a n o t h e r in another, and the sum total of all bad

qualities is u n d o u b t e d l y very m u c h greater in o n e man t h a n in

another. For the difference in individualities is incalculably great.

C H A P T E R 11

F R I E D R I C H N I E T Z S C H E

Nietzsche, the philosopher who announced the death of God, was

born in Saxony on October 15, 1844. Like Sartre and Camus, he lost

his father in early childhood.

After his father's death, Nietzsche moved to Naumberg, where he

lived with his mother, grandmother, sister, and two aunts. Q u i e t and

withdrawn as a child, Nietzsche was dubbed the "Little Pastor" by his

schoolmates. But the Little Pastor was a very good student. At four-

teen, Nietzsche won a scholarship to Schulpforta, the most presti-

gious private school in G e r m a n y at that time.

In 1864 Nietzsche entered the University of Bonn with plans to

study theology and philosophy, but a year later he followed his

favorite professor, Ritschl, to the University of Leipzig. T h e r e he

began the study of the G e r m a n philosopher and pessimist A r t h u r

Schopenhauer. For Schopenhauer, the aim of life was, in effect, to

overcome our will to live. Nietzsche found an intellectual soul mate

in Schopenhauer, but unlike Schopenhauer, Nietzsche was devoted

to finding a way to a m o r e sanguine conclusion.

Nietzsche began publishing scholarly essays in 1866. Soon there-

after, he was drafted into service in the Prussian army, but was even-

tually mustered out because of a chest injury. While a soldier,

Nietzsche became disenchanted with what he termed "the molelike"

lifestyle of academics. In contrast to ivory tower thinkers, Nietzsche

Ethics: The Essential Writings • 251

came to believe that all thinking o u g h t to be connected with action.

But while N i e t z s c h e was spiritually d e p a r t i n g f r o m the hallowed

halls of t h e university, he was also being p u r s u e d for his e n o r m o u s

scholarly potential. At a m e r e t w e n t y - f o u r and even b e f o r e he had

taken his doctoral exams, N i e t z s c h e was appointed professor of clas-

sical philology at the University of Basel in Switzerland.

In 1870 N i e t z s c h e volunteered f o r service as a medical o r d e r l y in

the Franco-Prussian War. After seeing action and bloodshed, he

developed d i p h t h e r i a and was again discharged. Two years later,

Nietzsche's Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music appeared. In this,

t h e first m o v e m e n t of Nietzsche's philosophy, he focuses on the

struggle between t h e two main c u r r e n t s of l i f e — t h e Dionysian or

t h e ecstatic and the Apollonian, t h e rational. N i e t z s c h e concludes

that at great cost, Western civilization has repressed its Dionysian

side. T h i s academically unconventional book received only o n e crit-

ical note, T h e reviewer prophetically r e m a r k e d , "Anyone w h o has

written a thing like that is finished as a scholar." And sure enough,

N i e t z s c h e was soon t h e r e a f t e r finished with t h e Academy. C o n -

stantly on sick leave f r o m Basel, N i e t z s c h e resigned his university

post in 1879.

For t h e next sixteen years, N i e t z s c h e led a n o m a d i c existence,

always searching for spots t h a t were conducive to his health and to

being able to write. D u r i n g these years of astounding productivity,

N i e t z s c h e w r o t e his Untimely Meditations, Thus Spake Zarathustra,

Beymid Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals, Twilight of the Idols, and

other works. In these texts, N i e t z s c h e shook the very crossbeams of

the Western psyche by pressing p r o b i n g questions about t h e origins

and ultimate value of ethics and religion.

Possibly d u e to the effects of syphilis, N i e t z s c h e began to show

signs of madness by t h e late 1880s. In 1889 in T u r i n , a man was beat-

i n g his horse. N i e t z s c h e intervened and t h r e w his arms a r o u n d t h e

animal to protect it. He was then taken to a hospital, w h e r e he con-

t i n u e d to decline. For the last decade of his life, N i e t z s c h e lived in a

childlike mental state u n d e r the care of his m o t h e r and sister. He

died on August 25, 1900.

T h e selection t h a t follows is f r o m Nietzsche's Genealogy of Morals,

o n e of Nietzsche's most closely argued texts. H e r e he p l u m b s the

origins of morality in t h e West and f o r m u l a t e s his f a m o u s notion of

27 6 • Friedrich Nietzsche

the slave revolt. M o r e than that, in what he terms a "re-evaluation of

values," the p h i l o s o p h e r with the h a m m e r presses, W h a t is the value

of value? Or put a n o t h e r way: W h a t is t h e good and evil that c o m e s

f r o m o u r notions of good and evil? For N i e t z s c h e this p r o b l e m

reduces to the question: Do o u r morals make us healthy or sick?

O N T H E G E N E A L O G Y O F M O R A L I T Y

" G O O D A N D E V I L , " " G O O D A N D B A D "

1. — T h e s e English psychologists, who have to be thanked for hav-

ing made the only attempts so far to write a history of the e m e r -

gence of morality,—provide us with a small riddle in the form of

themselves; in fact, I admit that as living riddles they have a sig-

nificant advantage over their books— they are actually interesting

These English psychologists—just what do they want? You

always find them at the same task, whether they want to or not,
pushing th e partie honteuse of our inner world to the foreground,

and looking for what is really effective, guiding and decisive for

our development where man's intellectual pride would least

wish to find it (for example, in the vis inertiae of habit, or in for-

getfulness, or in a blind and random coupling of ideas, or in

something purely passive, automatic, reflexive, molecular and

thoroughly stupid)—what is it that actually drives these psy-

chologists in precisely this direction all the time? Is it a secret,

malicious, mean instinct to belittle man, which is perhaps unac-

knowledged? Or perhaps a pessimistic suspicion, the mistrust of

disillusioned, surly idealists who have turned poisonous and

green? Or a certain subterranean animosity and rancune toward

Christianity (and Plato), which has perhaps not even passed the

278 • Friedrich Nietzsche

threshold of the consciousness? Or even a lewd taste f o r the

strange, for t h e painful paradox, for the d u b i o u s and nonsensical

in life? Or finally-—a bit of everything, a bit of meanness, a bit of

gloominess, a bit of anti-Christianity, a bit of a thrill and n e e d

f o r p e p p e r ? . . . But p e o p l e tell me that they are just old, cold,

b o r i n g frogs crawling r o u n d m e n and h o p p i n g into t h e m as if

they were in their e l e m e n t , namely a swamp. I am resistant to

h e a r i n g this and, i n d e e d , I do n o t believe it; and if it is permissi-

ble to wish w h e r e it is impossible to know, I sincerely h o p e that

the reverse is t r u e , — t h a t these analysts holding a microscope to

t h e soul are actually brave, generous and proud animals, w h o

know how to control their own pleasure and pain and have b e e n

t a u g h t to sacrifice desirability to t r u t h , every truth, even a plain,

bitter, ugly, foul, unchristian, i m m o r a l t r u t h .. . Because t h e r e

are such t r u t h s . —

2. So you have to respect the good spirits which preside in these

historians of morality! But it is u n f o r t u n a t e l y a fact that historical

spirit itself is lacking in t h e m , they have been left in the lurch by

all the good spirits of history itself! As is n o w established p h i l o -

sophical practice, they all think in a way t h a t is essentially xinhis-

torical; this can't be doubted. T h e idiocy of their moral genealogy

is revealed at the outset when it is a question of conveying t h e

d e s c e n t of the c o n c e p t and j u d g m e n t of "good." " O r i g i n a l l y "

—

t h e y d e c r e e — " u n e g o i s t i c acts were praised and called good by

t h e i r recipients, in o t h e r words, by the p e o p l e to w h o m they

w e r e useful-, later, e v e r y o n e forgot the origin of the praise and

b e c a u s e such acts had always been routinely praised as good,

p e o p l e began also to e x p e r i e n c e them as g o o d — a s if they were

s o m e t h i n g good as such" We can see at once: this first d e d u c t i o n

contains all the typical traits of idiosyncratic English psycholo-

gists,—we have "usefulness," "forgetting," " r o u t i n e " and finally

"error," all as the basis of a respect for values of which the h i g h e r

m a n has h i t h e r t o been proud, as though it were a sort of general

privilege of mankind. This p r i d e must be h u m b l e d , this valuation

devalued: has that been a c h i e v e d ? . . . N o w for me, it is obvious

that t h e real b r e e d i n g - g r o u n d for the c o n c e p t "good" has been

s o u g h t and located in t h e w r o n g place by this theory: the j u d g -

m e n t "good" does not e m a n a t e f r o m those to w h o m goodness is

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft ?

shown! Instead it has been "the good" themselves, m e a n i n g the

noble, the mighty, the high-placed and the h i g h - m i n d e d , who

saw and judged themselves and their actions as good, I m e a n

first-rate, in contrast to everything lowly, l o w - m i n d e d , c o m m o n

and plebeian. It was f r o m this pathos of distance that they first

claimed the right to create values and give these values names:

usefulness was n o n e of their concern! T h e s t a n d p o i n t of u s e f u l -

ness is as alien and i n a p p r o p r i a t e as it can be to such a h e a t e d

e r u p t i o n of the highest r a n k - o r d e r i n g and rank-defining value

judgments: this is the point w h e r e feeling reaches t h e opposite

of the low t e m p e r a t u r e s n e e d e d for any calculation of p r u d e n c e

or reckoning of usefulness,—and not just for once, for o n e

exceptional m o m e n t , b u t permanently. T h e pathos of nobility

and distance, as I said, the c o n t i n u i n g and p r e d o m i n a n t feeling

of c o m p l e t e and f u n d a m e n t a l superiority of a higher ruling kind

in relation to a lower kind, to those "below"—that is t h e origin

of the antithesis "good" and "bad." ( T h e seigneurial privilege of

giving names even allows us to conceive of the origin of lan-

guage itself as a manifestation of the p o w e r of the rulers: they

say "this is so and so," they set their seal on e v e r y t h i n g and every

o c c u r r e n c e with a sound and t h e r e b y take possession of it, as it

were.) It is because of this origin that the word "good" is not

absolutely necessarily attached to "unegoistic" actions: as the

superstition of these moral genealogists would have it. On the

contrary, it is only with a decline of aristocratic v a l u e - j u d g m e n t s

that this whole antithesis between "egoistic" and "unegoistic"

forces itself m o r e and m o r e on man's conscience,—it is, to use

my language, t h e herd instinct which, with that, finally gets its

word in (and makes words). And even then it takes long

e n o u g h f o r this instinct to b e c o m e sufficiently d o m i n a n t f o r the

valuation of moral values to b e c o m e e n m e s h e d and e m b e d d e d

in the antithesis (as is the case in c o n t e m p o r a r y E u r o p e , for

example: the p r e j u d i c e which takes "moral," "unegoistic" and

" desinteresse" as equivalent t e r m s already rules with the power of

a "fixed idea" and mental illness).

3. But secondly: quite apart f r o m the fact that that h y p o t h e s i s

about the d e s c e n t of the value j u d g m e n t "good" is historically

untenable, it also suffers from an inner psychological c o n t r a d i c -

280 • Friedrich Nietzsche

tion. T h e usefulness of unegoistic behavior is supposed to be t h e

origin of t h e esteem in which it is held, and this origin is s u p -

posed to have been forgotten. —but how was such forgetting pos-

sible? Did the usefulness of such behavior suddenly cease at

s o m e point? T h e opposite is t h e case: it is that this usefulness has

been a p e r m a n e n t part of o u r everyday experience, s o m e t h i n g

th en, which has been constantly stressed anew; consequently

instead of fading f r o m consciousness, instead of b e c o m i n g f o r -

gettable, it m u s t have impressed itself on consciousness with

ever greater clarity. H o w m u c h m o r e sensible is t h e opposite

t h e o r y (that doesn't make it any m o r e t r u e — ) , which is, held, f o r

example, by H e r b e r t Spencer: he judges the c o n c e p t "good" as

essentially t h e same as "useful," "practical," so that in their judg-

m e n t s "good" and "bad," p e o p l e sum up and sanction their unfor-

gotten, unforgettable experiences of what is useful-practical,

h a r m f u l - i m p r a c t i c a l . A c c o r d i n g to this theory, good is what has

always shown itself to be useful: so it can claim validity as "valu-

able in t h e highest degree," as "valuable as such." T h i s r o u t e

toward an explanation is wrong, as I said, but at least t h e expla-

nation in itself is rational and psychologically tenable.

4. —1 was given a p o i n t e r in t h e right direction by the question as

to w h a t the terms for "good," as used in d i f f e r e n t languages,

m e a n f r o m t h e etymological point of view: then T found that

they all led me back to the same conceptual transformation, —that

everywhere, "noble," "aristocratic" in social t e r m s is the basic

c o n c e p t f r o m which, necessarily, "good" in the sense of "spiritu-

ally noble," "aristocratic," of "spiritually h i g h m i n d e d , " "spiritu-

ally privileged" developed: a d e v e l o p m e n t which always r u n s

parallel with that o t h e r o n e which u l t i m a t e l y transfers " c o m -

m o n , " "plebeian," "low" into the c o n c e p t "bad." T h e best

e x a m p l e for t h e latter is the G e r m a n word " schlecht" (bad) itself:

which is identical with " schlicht" (plain, s i m p l e ) — c o m p a r e

"schlechtweg" (plainly), uschlechterdings'" (simply)—which origi-

nally r e f e r r e d to the simple, t h e c o m m o n man with no deroga-

t o r y implication, but simply in contrast to the nobility. Round

a b o u t the t i m e of the T h i r t y Years War, late enough, then, this

m e a n i n g shifted into its c u r r e n t u s a g e . — T o me, this seems an

essential insight into m o r a l genealogy; that it has been discovered

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft ?

so lace is d u e to t h e obstructing influence which t h e d e m o c r a t i c

bias within the m o d e r n world exercises over all questions of

descent. And this is the case in the a p p a r e n t l y most objective of

fields, natural science and physiology, which I shall just allude to

here. T h e havoc this prejudice can wreak, once it is u n b r i d l e d to

the point of hatred, particularly for m o r a l i t y and history, can be

seen in the f a m o u s case of Buckle; the plebeianism of the m o d e r n

spirit, which began in England, broke out t h e r e once again on its

native soil as violently as a volcano of m u d and with that salted,

overloud, vulgar loquacity with which all volcanoes have spoken

up till now.—

5. W i t h regard to our problem, which can justifiably be called a

quiet problem and which fastidiously addresses itself to only a

few ears, it is of no little interest to discover that, in these words

and roots which denote "good," we can often detect t h e main

nuance which m a d e the noble feel they were m e n of higher

rank. T r u e , in m o s t cases they m i g h t give themselves names

which simply show superiority of power (such as "the mighty,"

"the masters," "the c o m m a n d e r s " ) or t h e most visible sign of this

superiority, such as "the rich," "the p r o p e r t i e d " (that is the

meaning of arya, and the equivalent in Iranian and Slavic). But

t h e names also show a typical character trait'. and this is w h a t con-

cerns us here. For example, they call themselves "the truthful":

led by the G r e e k aristocracy, whose m o u t h p i e c e is the M e g a r i a n

p o e t Theognis. T h e word used specifically for this p u r p o s e ,

£O0?tdq,* means, according to its root, o n e who is, who has real-

ity, who really exists and is true; then, with a subjective transfor-

mation, it b e c o m e s the slogan and catch-phrase of t h e aristocracy

and is c o m p l e t e l y assimilated with t h e sense of "aristocratic," in

contrast to t h e deceitful c o m m o n man, as taken and shown by

T h e o g n i s , — u n t i l , finally, with t h e decline of t h e aristocracy, the

word r e m a i n s as a t e r m for spiritual noblesse, and, as it were,

ripens and sweetens. Cowardice is u n d e r l i n e d in the word

X ^ X 0 ^ 1 and in 5etA.oc;|: (the plebeian in contrast to the a y a Q o ^ ) :

' T h i s w o r d s e e m s originally to have m e a n t " g e n u i n e . Teal", it later

b e c o m e s o n e of t h e
mosc c o m m o n l y u s e d w o r d s for "noble."

' ( G r e e k ) "weak, ugly, cowardly, worthless."

' ( G r e e k ) " c o w a r d l y (and t h u s despicahle)."

282 • Friedrich Nietzsche

p e r h a p s this gives a c l u e as to w h e r e we should look for t h e e t y -

mological derivation of the ambiguous t e r m ayaGoQ." In t h e

Latin word malus^ (to which I juxtapose the c o m m o n

man could be characterized as the d a r k - s k i n n e d and especially

the dark-haired m a n (" hie niger est—as t h e pre-Aryan o c c u -

p a n t of Italian soil who could most easily be distinguished f r o m

the blond race which had b e c o m e d o m i n a n t , n a m e l y the Aryan

c o n q u e r i n g race, by its color; at any rate, I have f o u n d exactly

t h e same with G a e l i c peoples,—fin (for e x a m p l e in Fingal), the

word designating the aristocracy and finally the good, noble,

pure, was originally a blond person in contrast to the dark-

skinned, d a r k - h a i r e d native inhabitants. By the way, the Celts

w e r e a c o m p l e t e l y blond race; it is w r o n g to c o n n e c t those traces

of an essentially d a r k - h a i r e d population, which can be seen on

carefully p r e p a r e d ethnological m a p s in G e r m a n y , with any

Celtic descent and m i x i n g of blood in such a connection, as Vir-

c h o w does: it is more a case of t h e pre-Aryan p o p u l a t i o n of G e r -

m a n y e m e r g i n g at t h e s e points. ( T h e s a m e holds good for

virtually the whole of E u r o p e : to all intents and purposes the

subject race has e n d e d up by regaining t h e u p p e r hand in skin

color, shortness of f o r e h e a d and p e r h a p s even in intellectual and

social instincts: who can give any g u a r a n t e e that m o d e r n

democracy, the even m o r e m o d e r n anarchism, and indeed t h a t

predilection for the " c o m m u n e , " t h e most primitive f o r m of

social s t r u c t u r e which is c o m m o n to all E u r o p e ' s socialists, are

n o t in essence a h u g e counter-attack—and that t h e c o n q u e r i n g

master race, that of t h e Aryans, is not physiologically being

d e f e a t e d as well? . .. ) I think I can i n t e r p r e t t h e Latin bonus^ as

"the 'warrior' ": p r o v i d i n g I am correct in tracing bonus back to

an older duonus ( c o m p a r e helium<• = duellum — duen-lum, which

s e e m s to me to contain t h a t duonus). T h e r e f o r e bonus as a man of

war, of division (duo), as warrior: o n e can see w h a t m a d e up a

' ( G r e e k ) "capable, useful, good."

'"bad, evil."

' ( G r e e k ) "dark, black."

5 "Tha t ma n is a dangerou s character, " literally " H e is black " (Horace ,

Satires 1. 85).

'"good."
'•Both "bellum" and "duellum" m e a n "war" (Latin).

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft?

man's "goodness" in ancient Rome. T a k e o u r G e r m a n "gut": does

it not m e a n "the godlike man," the man "of godlike race"? And is

it not identical with the popular (originally noble), n a m e of the

Goths? T h e g r o u n d s for this supposition will not be g o n e into

h e r e . —

6. If the highest caste is at the same time the clerical caste and

therefore chooses a title for its overall description which calls its

priestly f u n c t i o n to mind, this does not yet constitute an e x c e p -

tion to the r u l e that the c o n c e p t of political superiority always

resolves itself into the c o n c e p t of psychological s u p e r i o r i t y

(although this may be the occasion giving rise to exceptions).

T h i s is an e x a m p l e of the first juxtaposition of "pure" and

" i m p u r e " as signs of different estates; and later "good" and "bad"

develop in a direction which no longer refers to social standing.

In addition, p e o p l e should be wary of taking these terms "pure"

and " i m p u r e " too seriously, too far or even symbolically: all

ancient man's concepts were originally u n d e r s t o o d — t o a

d e g r e e we can scarcely i m a g i n e — a s crude, coarse, d e t a c h e d ,

narrow, direct and in particular unsymbolic. From t h e outset the

" p u r e man" was just a man who washed, avoided certain foods

which cause skin complaints, did n o t sleep with t h e filthy

w o m e n f r o m the lower orders and had a horror of b l o o d , —

n o t h i n g more, not m u c h more! And yet the very n a t u r e of an

essentially priestly aristocracy shows how c o n t r a d i c t o r y valua-

tions could b e c o m e dangerously internalized and s h a r p e n e d ,

precisely in such an aristocracy at an early stage; and in fact

clefts w e r e finally driven between m a n and man which even an

Achilles of f r e e - t h i n k i n g would s h u d d e r to cross. From the very

beginning t h e r e has been s o m e t h i n g unhealthy a b o u t these

priestly aristocracies and in the customs d o m i n a n t there, which

are t u r n e d away f r o m action and which are partly b r o o d i n g and

partly emotionally explosive, resulting in the almost inevitable

bowel complaints and neurasthenia which have p l a g u e d the

clergy d o w n the ages; but as for t h e r e m e d y they themselves

found for their sickness,—surely o n e must say that its after-

effects have shown it to he a h u n d r e d rimes m o r e d a n g e r o u s

than the disease it was meant to cure? P e o p l e are still ill f r o m the

after-effects of these priestly quack-cures! For example, think of

284 • Friedrich Nietzsche

certain diets (avoidance of meat), of fasting, sexual abstinence,

t h e flight "into the desert" (Wier-Mitchell's bed-rest, a d m i t -

tedly w i t h o u t the s u b s e q u e n t o v e r f e e d i n g and weight-gain

which constitute t h e most effective a n t i d o t e to all hysteria

b r o u g h t on by t h e ascetic ideal): think, too, of t h e whole m e t a -

physics of the clergy, which is antagonistic toward the senses,

m a k i n g m e n lazy and refined, think, too, of their Fakir-like and

B r a h m i n - l i k e s e l f - h y p n o t i z i n g — B r a h m i n i s m as crystal
ball and

fixed i d e a — a n d the final, a l l - t o o - c o m p r e h e n s i b l e general dis-

e n c h a n t m e n t with its radical cure, nothingness (or G o d : — t h e

y e a r n i n g for a unto mystica with G o d is the Buddhist yearning for

nothingness, N i r v a n a — a n d no more!). Priests make everything

m o r e dangerous, not just m e d i c a m e n t s and healing arts b u t

pride, revenge, acumen, debauchery, love, lust for power, virtue,

sickness;—in any case, with s o m e justification o n e could add

t h a t m a n first b e c a m e an interesting animal on t h e f o u n d a t i o n of

this essentially dangerous form of h u m a n existence, the priest, and

that t h e h u m a n soul b e c a m e deep in the higher sense and t u r n e d

evil for t h e first t i m e — a n d of course, these are t h e two basic

f o r m s of man's superiority, hitherto, over o t h e r animals!. . .

7. — Y o u will have already guessed how easy it was f o r t h e priestly

m e t h o d of valuation to split off from t h e chivalric-aristocratic

m e t h o d and then to develop f u r t h e r into the opposite of the lat-

ter; this receives a special i m p e t u s when t h e priestly caste and

w a r r i o r caste c o n f r o n t o n e a n o t h e r in jealousy and cannot agree

on t h e prize of war. T h e chivalric-aristocratic v a l u e - j u d g m e n t s

are based on a p o w e r f u l physicality, a blossoming, rich, even

e f f e r v e s c e n t good health which includes t h e things n e e d e d to

maintain it, war, adventure, hunting, dancing, jousting and

e v e r y t h i n g else that contains strong, free, h a p p y action. T h e

priestly-aristocratic m e t h o d of v a l u a t i o n — a s we have s e e n —

has d i f f e r e n t criteria: woe betide it when it comes to war! As we

know, priests make the m o s t evil enemies—but why? Because they

are the most powerless. O u t of this powerlessness, their hate

swells into s o m e t h i n g h u g e and u n c a n n y to a most intellectual

and poisonous level. T h e greatest haters in world history, and

the m o s t intelligent \die geistreichsten Hasser], have always been

priests:—nobody else's intelligence [ Geist] stands a c h a n c e

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft ?

against t h e intelligence [Getst] of priestly revenge.* T h e history

of m a n k i n d would be far too stupid a thing if it had not had t h e

intellect [Geist] of the powerless injected into it:—let us take t h e

best example straight away. N o t h i n g which has been d o n e on

earth against "the noble," "the mighty," "the masters" and "the

rulers," is w o r t h m e n t i o n i n g c o m p a r e d with what the Jems have

d o n e against them: the Jews, that priestly people, which in the

last resort was able to gain satisfaction f r o m its enemies and con-

querors only t h r o u g h a radical revaluation of their values, that

is, t h r o u g h an act of t h e most d e l i b e r a t e revenge [dureh einen Akt

der geistigsten Rache}. Only this was fitting for a priestly p e o p l e

with t h e most e n t r e n c h e d priestly vengefulness. It was t h e Jews

who, rejecting t h e aristocratic value equation (good = n o b l e =

powerful = beautiful = h a p p y - blessed) v e n t u r e d , with awe-

inspiring consistency, to bring about a reversal and held it in t h e

teeth of their u n f a t h o m a b l e hatred (the hatred of t h e power-

less), saying, " O n l y those who s u f f e r are good, only t h e poor,

t h e powerless, t h e lowly are good; the suffering, the deprived,

t h e sick, t h e ugly, are the only pious people, the only ones

saved, salvation is for t h e m alone, whereas you rich, t h e noble

and powerful, you are eternally wicked, cruel, lustful, insatiate,

godless, you will also be eternally wretched, cursed and

damned!" .. . We know who b e c a m e heir to this Jewish revalua-

tion . . . With regard to the h u g e and incalculably disastrous ini-

tiative taken by t h e Jews with this most f u n d a m e n t a l of all

declarations of war, I recall t h e words 1 w r o t e on a n o t h e r occa-

sion ( Beyond Good and Evil, section 195)—namely, t h a t the slaves'

revolt in morality begins with the Jews: a revolt which has two

thousand years of history behind it and which has only been lost

sight of b e c a u s e — i t was victorious . . .

8. — B u t you d o n ' t u n d e r s t a n d that? You d o n ' t have eyes for s o m e

-

thing which n e e d e d two millennia to achieve v i c t o r y ? . . . T h e r e

is nothing surprising about that: all long things are difficult to

see, to see r o u n d . But that is what h a p p e n e d : f r o m the t r u n k of

"The G e r m a n t e r m Geist and its derivatives are generally rendered by

"spirit" and its

derivatives, but can also, as in this sentence, he translated as "intelligence" and,

as else-

where, "mind," "intellectual," etc.

286 • Friedrich Nietzsche

t h e tree of revenge and hatred, Jewish h a t r e d — t h e d e e p e s t and

m o s t sublime, indeed a hatred which created ideals and changed

values, the like of which has never been seen on e a r t h — t h e r e

grew s o m e t h i n g just as incomparable, a new love, the d e e p e s t and

m o s t sublime kind of love:—and what o t h e r t r u n k could it have

grown o u t o f ? . . . But don't make the mistake of thinking that it

had grown forth as a denial of the thirst for revenge, as the

o p p o s i t e o f j e w i s h hatred! N o , t h e reverse is true! T h i s love grew

o u t of the hatred, as its crown, as t h e t r i u m p h a n t crown e x p a n d -

i n g ever wider in the p u r e s t brightness and radiance of the sun,

t h e crown which, as it were, in the realm of light and height, was

p u r s u i n g the aims of that hatred, victory, spoils, seduction with

t h e same u r g e n c y with which t h e roots of that hatred were b u r -

r o w i n g ever m o r e t h o r o u g h l y and greedily into e v e r y t h i n g that

was d e e p and evil. T h i s Jesus of N a z a r e t h , as t h e e m b o d i m e n t of

t h e gospel of love, this " r e d e e m e r " bringing salvation and vic-

t o r y to the poor, t h e sick, to sinners—was he not seduction in its

m o s t sinister and irresistible form, seduction and the circuitous

r o u t e to just those very Jewish values and innovative ideals? Did

Israel not reach the pinnacle of her sublime vengefulness via

this very "redeemer," this a p p a r e n t o p p o n e n t of and disperser of

Israel? Is it not part of a secret black art of a truly great politics

of revenge, a far-sighted, s u b t e r r a n e a n revenge, slow to grip and

calculating, that Israel had to d e n o u n c e h e r actual i n s t r u m e n t of

revenge before all t h e world as a mortal e n e m y and nail him to

t h e cross so that "all t h e world," n a m e l y all Israel's enemies,

could safely nibble at this bait? And could anyone, on t h e o t h e r

hand, using all t h e i n g e n u i t y of his intellect, think up a m o r e

dangerous bait? S o m e t h i n g to equal the enticing, intoxicating,

b e n u m b i n g , c o r r u p t i n g power of that symbol of the "holy cross,"

to equal that horrible p a r a d o x of a " G o d on t h e Cross," to equal

t h a t m y s t e r y of an u n t h i n k a b l e final act of e x t r e m e cruelty and

self-crucifixion of G o d for t h e salvation of mankind?... At least it

is certain that sub hoc signo Israel, with its revenge and revalua-

tion of all f o r m e r values, has t r i u m p h e d r e p e a t e d l y over all

o t h e r ideals, all nobler ideals.—

9. — " B u t why do you talk about nobler ideals! Let's bow to t h e

facts: the people have w o n — o r ' t h e slaves,' the 'plebeians,' ' t h e

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft ?

herd,' or w h a t e v e r you want to call t h e m — i f the Jews m a d e this

c o m e about, good for them! No p e o p l e ever had a m o r e w o r l d -

historic mission. ' T h e Masters' are deposed; the m o r a l i t y of t h e

c o m m o n p e o p l e has t r i u m p h e d . You m i g h t take this v i c t o r y for

b l o o d - p o i s o n i n g (it did mix the races u p ) — I do not d e n y it; but

u n d o u b t e d l y this intoxication has succeeded. T h e 'salvation' of

the h u m a n race (I mean, f r o m 'the Masters') is well on course;

everything is b e i n g m a d e appreciably Jewish, Christian or ple-

beian (never m i n d the words!). T h e passage of this poison

through t h e whole body of mankind seems u n s t o p p a b l e , even

though its t e m p o and pace, f r o m now on, might tend to be

slower, softer, quieter, c a l m e r — t h e r e is no h u r r y . . . W i t h this in

view, does t h e c h u r c h still have a vital role, indeed, does it have

a right to exist? Or could one do w i t h o u t it? Quaeritur* If seems

that the C h u r c h r a t h e r slows down and blocks the passage of

poison instead of accelerating it? Well, that might be what

makes it u s e f u l . . . C e r t a i n l y it is by now c r u d e and boorish,

s o m e t h i n g which is r e p u g n a n t to a m o r e t e n d e r intellect, to a

t r u l y m o d e r n taste. Should not t h e c h u r c h at least try to be m o r e

refined? . . . N o w a d a y s it alienates, m o r e than it seduces . . . W h o

amongst us would be a f r e e - t h i n k e r if it were not for the

Church? We loathe the C h u r c h , wonts poison . .. Apart f r o m the

C h u r c h , we too love t h e poison .. . " — T h i s is the epilogue by a

"free-thinker" to my speech, an honest animal as he clearly

shows himself to be, and moreover a democrat; he had listened

to me up to that point, and could not stand listening to my

silence. As a m a t t e r of fact, there is m u c h for me to keep silent

about at this p o i n t . —

10. T h e b e g i n n i n g of the slaves' revolt in morality occurs w h e n

ressentiment itself turns creative and gives birth to values: the

ressentiment of those beings who, being denied t h e p r o p e r

response of action, c o m p e n s a t e for it only with imaginary

revenge. W h e r e a s all noble morality grows out of a t r i u m p h a n t

saying "yes" to itself, slave morality says "no" on principle to

everything that is "outside," "other," "non-self": and this "no" is

its creative deed. T h i s reversal of t h e evaluating g l a n c e — t h i s

" ' T h a t is the question.'

288 • Friedrich Nietzsche

inevitable orientation to t h e outside instead of back o n t o i t s e l f —

is a f e a t u r e of res sentiment in o r d e r to c o m e about, slave m o r a l -

ity first has to have an opposing, external world, it needs,

physiologically speaking, external stimuli in order to act at

all,—its action is basically a reaction. T h e opposite is the case

with t h e noble m e t h o d of valuation: this acts and grows s p o n t a -

neously, seeking o u t its opposite only so t h a t it can say "yes" to

itself even m o r e thankfully and exultantly,—its negative c o n -

c e p t "low," " c o m m o n , " "bad" is only a pale contrast created after

t h e event c o m p a r e d to its positive basic concept, saturated with

life and passion, "We the noble, t h e good, the beautiful and the

happy!" W h e n t h e n o b l e m e t h o d of valuation makes a mistake

and sins against reality, this h a p p e n s in relation to the s p h e r e

with which it is not sufficiently familiar, a t r u e k n o w l e d g e of

which it has indeed rigidly resisted: in s o m e circumstances, it

misjudges t h e s p h e r e it despises, that of t h e c o m m o n man, t h e

rabble; on the o t h e r h a n d , we should bear in m i n d that t h e dis-

tortion which results f r o m the feeling of c o n t e m p t , disdain and

superciliousness, always assuming t h a t the image of the despised

person is distorted, remains far behind t h e distortion with which

t h e e n t r e n c h e d hatred and revenge of t h e powerless m a n attacks

his o p p o n e n t — i n effigy of course. I n d e e d , c o n t e m p t has too

m u c h negligence, nonchalance, c o m p l a c e n c y and impatience,

even too m u c h personal cheerfulness mixed into it, for it to be in

a position to t r a n s f o r m its object into a real caricature and m o n -

ster. N o r should o n e fail to hear the almost kindly nuances

which t h e G r e e k nobility, for example, places in all words which

it uses to distinguish itself f r o m t h e rabble; a sort of sympathy,

consideration and i n d u l g e n c e incessantly p e r m e a t e s and sugars

them, with the result that nearly all words r e f e r r i n g to t h e c o m -

m o n man remain as expressions for "unhappy," "pitiable" ( c o m -

pare 8eiA.o<", SEIICUO^, 7tovr|e6<;, no%0r|e6<;, t h e last two

actually designating the c o m m o n man as slave worker and beast

of b u r d e n ) — a n d on the o t h e r hand, "bad," "low" and " u n h a p p y "

have never ceased to r e v e r b e r a t e in the G r e e k ear in a t o n e in

which " u n h a p p y " predominates: this is a legacy of the old,

nobler, aristocratic m e t h o d of valuation, which does n o t

d e n y itself even in c o n t e m p t (—philologists will r e m e m b e r the

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft ?

sense in which o(£ueo<;,* a v o X ( 3 o ^ iA,Tin<ov* o"oqTUX£tv,$

^(.Kjioea11 are used). T h e "well-born" felt the)' were "the happy";

they did not need first of all to construct their happiness artifi-

cially by looking at their enemies, or in some cases by talking

themselves into it, lyingthemselves into it{ as all men of ressentiment

are wont to do); and also, as complete men bursting with

strength and therefore necessarily active, they knew they must

not separate happiness from action,—being active is by neces-

sity counted as part of happiness (this is the etymological

derivation of EVrajaTteiv)1 all very much the opposite of "hap-

piness" at the level of the powerless, the oppressed, and those

rankled with poisonous and hostile feelings, for whom it mani-

fests itself as essentially a narcotic, an anaesthetic, rest, peace,

"sabbath," relaxation of the mind and stretching of the limbs, in

short as something passive. While the noble man is confident and

frank with himself (Y£VVOIIO<;, "of noble birth," underlines the

nuance "upright" and probably "naive" as well), the man of

ressentiment is neither upright nor naive, nor honest and straight

with himself. His soul squints; his mind loves dark corners, secret

paths and back-doors, everything secretive appeals to him as

being his world, his security, his comfort; he knows all about

keeping quiet, not forgetting, waiting, temporarily humbling

and abasing himself. A race of such men of ressentiment will

inevitably end up cleverer than any noble race, and will respect

cleverness to a quite different degree as well: namely, as a con-

dition of existence of the first rank, whilst the cleverness of

noble men can easily have a subtle aftertaste of luxury and

refinement about it:—precisely because in this area, it is

nowhere near as important as the complete certainty of function

*"Oi" is an interjection expressive of pain. A person whose life gives ample

occasion for

the use of this interjection is "oizuros."

'"not prosperous, unfortunate."

f'tlenai" = to bear, endure, suffer. A person who must endure things is "tlemon "

5"to have bad luck."

""accident, misfortune."
' T h i s expression (ett prattein) has something like the ambiguity of the English
"do well"

="engage in some activity successfully" or "fare well." T h e r e is no expression

in com-

mon use in German with a parallel ambiguity.

290 • Friedrich Nietzsche

of the governing unconscious instincts, nor indeed as important as

a certain lack of cleverness, such as a daring charge at danger or

at the enemy, or those frenzied sudden fits of anger, love, rever-

ence, gratitude and revenge by which noble souls down the ages

have recognized one another. When ressentiment does occur in

the noble man himself, it is consumed and exhausted in an

immediate reaction, and therefore it does not poison, on the

other hand, it does not occur at all in countless cases where it is

unavoidable for all who are weak and powerless. To be unable to

take his enemies, his misfortunes and even his misdeeds seriously

for long—that is the sign of strong, rounded natures with a

superabundance of a power which is flexible, formative, healing

and can make one forget (a good example from the modern

world is Mirabeau, who had no recall for the insults and slights

directed at him and who could not forgive, simply because he—

forgot). A man like this shakes from him, with one shrug, many
worms which would have burrowed into another man; here and

here alone is it possible, assuming that this is possible at all on

earth—truly to "love your neighbor."* How much respect a

noble man has for his enemies!—and a respect of that sort is a

bridge to love .. . For he insists on having his enemy to himself,

as a mark of distinction, indeed he will tolerate as enemies none

other than such as have nothing to be despised and a great deal to

be honored! Against this, imagine "the enemy" as conceived of

by the man of ressentiment—and here we have his deed, his cre-

ation: he has conceived of the "evil enemy," " the evil one' as a

basic idea to which he now thinks up a copy and counterpart,

the "good o n e " — h i m s e l f ! . . .

11. Exactly the opposite is true of the noble man who conceives of

the basic idea "good" by himself, in advance and spontaneously,

and only then creates a notion of "bad"! This "bad" of noble ori-

gin and that "evil" from the cauldron of unassuaged hatred—the

first is an afterthought, an aside, a complementary color, whilst

the other is the original, the beginning, the actual deed in the

conception of slave morality—how different are the two words

"bad" and "evil," although both seem to be the opposite for the

"Gospel according to iVlatthew 5,43.

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft ?

same concept, "good"! But it is not the same concept "good"; on

the contrary, one should ask who is actually evil in the sense of

the morality of ressentiment. T h e stern reply is: precisely the

"good" person of the other morality, the noble, powerful, domi-

nating man, but re-touched, re-interpreted and re-viewed

through the poisonous eye of ressentiment. Here there is one

point which we would be the last to deny: anyone who came to

know these "good men" as enemies came to know nothing but

"evil enemies;" the same people who are so strongly held in check

by custom, respect, habit, gratitude and even more through spy-

ing on one another and through peer-group jealousy, who, on

the other hand, behave toward one another by showing such

resourcefulness in consideration, self-control, delicacy, loyalty,

pride and friendship,—they are not much better than uncaged

beasts of prey in the world outside where the strange, the for-

eign, begin. T h e r e they enjoy freedom from every social con-

straint, in the wilderness they compensate for the tension which

is caused by being closed in and fenced in by the peace of the

community for so long, they return to the innocent conscience of

the wild beast, as exultant monsters, who perhaps go away hav-

ing committed a hideous succession of murder, arson, rape and

torture, in a mood of bravado and spiritual equilibrium as

though they had simply played a student's prank, convinced that

poets will now have something to sing about and celebrate for

quite some time. At the center of all these noble races we cannot

fail to see the blond beast of prey, the magnificent blond beast

avidly prowling round for spoil and victory; this hidden center

needs release from time to time, the beast must out again, must

return to the wild:—Roman, Arabian, Germanic,Japanese nobil-

ity, Homeric heroes, Scandinavian Vikings—in this require-

ment they are all alike. It was the noble races which left the

concept of "barbarian" in their traces wherever they went; even

their highest culture betrays the fact that they were conscious of

this and indeed proud of it (for example, when Pericles, in that

famous funeral oration, tells his Athenians, "Our daring has

forced a path to every land and sea, erecting timeless memorials

to itself everywhere for good and ill"). This "daring" of the noble

races, mad, absurd and sudden in the way it manifests itself, the

302 • Friedrich Nietzsche

unpredictability and even the improbability of their undertak-

ings—Pericles singles out the gaQuiuia of the Athenians for

praise—their unconcern and scorn for safety, body, life, com-

fort, their shocking cheerfulness, and depth of delight in all

destruction, in all the debauches of victory and cruelty—all

this, for those who suffered under it, was summed up in the

image of the "barbarian," the "evil enemy," perhaps the "Goth"

or the "Vandal." T h e deep and icy mistrust which the German

arouses as soon as he comes to power, which we see again even

today—is still the aftermath of that inextinguishable horror

with which Europe viewed the raging of the blond Germanic

beast for centuries (although between the old Germanic peoples

and us Germans there is scarcely an idea in common, let alone a

blood relationship). I once remarked on Hesiod's dilemma when

he thought up the series of cultural eras and tried to express

them in gold, silver and iron: he could find no other solution to

the contradiction presented to him by the magnificent but at the

same time so shockingly violent world of Homer than to make

two eras out of one, which he now placed one behind the

other—first the era of heroes and demigods from Troy and

Thebes, as that world which remained in the memory of the

noble races which had their ancestors in it; then the iron era, as

that same world appeared to the descendants of the downtrod-

den, robbed, ill-treated, and those carried off and sold: as an era

of iron, hard, as I said, cold, cruel, lacking feeling and con-

science, crushing everything and coating it with blood. Assum-

ing that whacis at any rate believed as "truth" were indeed true,

that it is the meamngofall culture to breed a tame and civilized ani-

mal, a household pet, out of the beast of prey "man," then one would

undoubtedly have to view all instinctive reaction and instinctive

ressentiment, by means of which the noble races and their ideals

were finally wrecked and overpowered, as the actual instruments

of culture; which, however, is not to say that the bearers of these

instincts were themselves representatives of the culture. Instead,

the opposite would be not only probable—no! it is visible today!

These bearers of oppressive, vindictive instincts, the descen-

dants of all European and non-European slavery, in particular

of all pre-Aryan population—represent the decline of mankind!

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft ?

T h e s e " i n s t r u m e n t s of culture" are a disgrace to man, m o r e a

grounds for suspicion of, or an a r g u m e n t against, " c u l t u r e " in

general! We may be quite justified in retaining o u r f e a r of t h e

blond beast at t h e center of every n o b l e race and r e m a i n on o u r

guard: but who would not, a h u n d r e d times over, p r e f e r to fear if

he can a d m i r e at t h e same time, r a t h e r than not fear, but t h e r e b y

p e r m a n e n t l y retain the disgusting spectacle of t h e failed, the

stunted, the wasted away and t h e poisoned? And is that not our

fate? W h a t constitutes oar aversion to "man" today?—for we suf-

fer from m a n , no d o u b t about t h a t — A f e f e a r ; rather, t h e fact that

we have n o t h i n g to fear from man; t h a t "man" is first and fore-

most a t e e m i n g mass of worms; t h a t t h e "tame man," who is

incurably m e d i o c r e and unedifying, has already learnt to view

himself as t h e aim and pinnacle, t h e m e a n i n g of history, the

"higher man";—yes, the fact that he has a certain right to feel

like that insofar as he feels distanced f r o m the s u p e r a b u n d a n c e

of failed, sickly, tired and exhausted people of w h o m today's

E u r o p e is b e g i n n i n g to reek, and insofar as he is at least rela-

tively successful, at least still capable of living, at least saying

"yes" to life . . .

12. — A t this j u n c t u r e I cannot suppress a sigh and o n e last hope.

W h a t do I find absolutely intolerable? S o m e t h i n g which I just

cannot cope alone with and which suffocates me and makes me

feel faint? Bad air! Bad air! T h a t s o m e t h i n g failed c o m e s near

me, that I have to smell the bowels of a failed s o u l ! . . . Apart

from that, what c a n n o t be b o r n e in t h e way of need, deprivation,

bad weather, disease, toil, solitude? Basically we can cope with

everything else, born as we are to an u n d e r g r o u n d and battling

existence; again and again we keep c o m i n g up to t h e light, again

and again we e x p e r i e n c e our golden h o u r of victory,—and then

there we stand, t h e way we were born, unbreakable, tense, ready

for new, m o r e difficult and distant things, like a bow which is

merely stretched tauter by affliction.—But f r o m time to t i m e

grant m e — a s s u m i n g that there are divine benefactresses beyond

good and evil—a glimpse, grant me just one glimpse of s o m e -

thing perfect, c o m p l e t e l y finished, happy, powerful, t r i u m p h a n t ,

which still leaves s o m e t h i n g to fear! A glimpse of a man who jus-

tifies man himself, a stroke of luck, an instance of a man who

294 • Friedrich Nietzsche

makes up for and redeems man, and enables us to retain our faith

in mankind!. . . For the matter stands like so: the stunting and

leveling of European man conceals our greatest danger, because

the sight of this makes us tired . . . Today we see nothing that

wants to expand, we suspect that things will just continue to

decline, getting thinner, better-natured, cleverer, more comfort-

able, more mediocre, more indifferent, more Chinese, more

Christian—no doubt about it, man is getting "better" all the

time . . . Right here is where the destiny of Europe lies—in los-

ing our fear of man we have also lost our love for him, our

respect for him, our hope in him and even our will to be man.

T h e sight of man now makes us tired—what is nihilism today if

it is not that?... We are tired of man...

13. — B u t let us return: the problem of the other origin of "good," of

good as thought up by the man of ressentiment, demands its solu-

tion.—There is nothing strange about the fact that lambs bear a

grudge toward large birds of prey: but that is no reason to blame

the large birds of prey for carrying off the little lambs. And if the

lambs say to each other, "These birds of prey are evil; and who-

ever is least like a bird of prey and most like its opposite, a

lamb,—is good, isn't he?", then there is no reason to raise objec-

tions to this setting-up of an ideal beyond the fact that the birds

of prey will view it somewhat derisively, and will perhaps say,

"We don't bear any grudge at all toward these good lambs, in fact

we love them, nothing is tastier than a tender lamb."—It is just

as absurd to ask strength not to express itself as strength, not to be

a desire to overthrow, crush, become master, to be a thirst for

enemies, resistance and triumphs, as it is to ask weakness to

express itself as strength. A quantum of force is just such a quan-

tum of drive, will, action, in fact it is nothing but this driving,

willing and acting, and only the seduction of language (and the

fundamental errors of reason petrified within it), which con-

strues and misconstrues all actions as conditional upon an

agency, a "subject," can make it appear otherwise. And just as the

common people separates lightning from its flash and takes the

latter to be a deed, something performed by a subject, which is

called lightning, popular morality separates strength from the

manifestations of strength, as though there were an indifferent

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft ?

substratum behind the strong person which had the freedom to

manifest strength or not. But there is no such substratum; there

is no "being" behind the deed, its effect and what becomes of it;

"the doer" is invented as an a f t e r t h o u g h t — t h e doing is every-

thing. Basically, the common people double a deed; when they

see lightning, they make a doing-a-deed out of it: they posit the

same event, first as cause and then as its effect. T h e scientists do

no better when they say "force moves, force causes" and such

like,—all our science, in spite of its coolness and freedom from

emotion, still stands exposed to the seduction of language and

has not ridded itself of the changelings foisted upon it, the "sub-
jects" (the atom is, for example, just such a changeling, likewise

the Kantian "thing-in-itself"): no wonder, then, if the entrenched,

secretly smouldering emotions of revenge and hatred put this

belief to their own use and, in fact, do not defend any belief

more passionately than that the strong are free to be weak, and the

birds of prey are free to be lambs:—in this way, they gain the

right to make the birds of prey responsible for being birds of

prey .. . When the oppressed, the downtrodden, the violated say

to each other with the vindictive cunning of powerlessness: "Let

us be different from evil people, let us be good! And a good per-

son is anyone who does not rape, does not harm anyone, who

does not attack, does not retaliate, who leaves the taking of

revenge to God, who keeps hidden as we do, avoids all evil and

asks little from life in general, like us who are patient, humble

and upright"—this means, if heard coolly and impartially, noth-

ing more than "We weak people are just weak; it is good to do

nothing for which we are not strong enough" —but this grim state of

affairs, this cleverness of the lowest rank which even insects pos-

sess (which play dead, in order not to "do too much" when

in great danger), has, thanks to the counterfeiting and self-

deception of powerlessness, clothed itself in the finery of self-

denying, quiet, patient virtue, as though the weakness of the

weak were itself—I mean its essence, its effect, its whole unique,

unavoidable, irredeemable reality—a voluntary achievement,

something wanted, chosen, a deed, an accomplishment. This cype of

man needs to believe in an unbiased "subject" with freedom of

choice, because he has an instinct of self-preservation and self-

296 • Friedrich Nietzsche

affirmation in which every lie is sanctified. T h e reason the sub-

ject (or, as we more colloquially say, the soul) has been, until now,

the best doctrine on earth, is perhaps because it facilitated that

sublime self-deception whereby the majority of the dying, the

weak and the oppressed of every kind could construe weakness

itself as freedom, and their particular mode of existence as an

accomplishment.

14. —Would anyone like to have a little look down into the secret of

how ideals are fabricated on this earth? Who,has enough p l u c k ? . . .

C o m e on! Here we have a clear glimpse into this dark workshop.

Just wait one moment, Mr. Nosy Daredevil: your eyes will

have to become used to this false, shimmering light. . . There!

That's enough! N o w you can speak! What's happening down

there? Tell me what you see, you with your most dangerous
curiosity—now / am the one who's listening.—

—"T cannot see anything but I can hear all the better. T h e r e is

a guarded, malicious little rumor-mongering and whispering

from every nook and cranny. I think people are telling lies; a sug-

ary mildness clings to every sound. Lies are turning weakness

into an accomplishment, no doubt about it—it's just as you said."-—

— G o on!

—"and impotence which doesn't retaliate is heing turned into

'goodness'; timid baseness is being turned into 'humility'; submis-

sion to people one hates is being turned into 'obedience' (actually

toward someone who, they say, orders this submission—they call

him God). T h e inoffensiveness of the weakling, the very cow-

ardice with which he is richly endowed, his standing-by-the-door,

his inevitable position of having to wait, are all given good names

such as 'patience,' which is also called / ^ v i r t u e ; not-being-able-

to-take-revenge is called not-wanting-to-take-revenge, it might

even be forgiveness ('for they know not what they do—but we

know what they are doing!').* They are also talking about 'loving

your enemy'—and sweating while they do it."

— G o on!

— " T h e y are miserable, without a doubt, all these r u m o r -

mongers and clandestine forgers, even if they do crouch close

Gospel according to Luke 23.34.

On the Genealogy of Morality 2 ft ?

together for warmth—but they tell me that their misery means

they are God's chosen and select, after all, people beat the dogs

they love best; perhaps this misery is just a preparation, a test, a

training, it might be even more than that—-something which

will one day be balanced up and paid back with enormous inter-

est in gold, no! in happiness. They call that 'bliss."'

— G o on!

—"They are now informing me that not only are they better

than the powerful, the masters of the world whose spittle they

have to lick (not from fear, not at all from fear! but because God

orders them to honor those in authority)*—not only are they

better, but they have a 'better time,' or at lease will have a better

time one day. But enough! enough! I can't bear it any longer. Bad

air! Bad air! This workshop where ideals are fabricated—it seems

to me just to stink of lies."

—No! Wait a moment! You haven't said anything yet about

the masterpieces of those black magicians who can turn any-

thing black into whiteness, milk and innocence:—haven't you

noticed their perfect rajfnement, their boldest, subtlest, most

ingenious and mendacious stunt? Pay attention! These cellar

rats full of revenge and hatred—what do they turn revenge and

hatred into? Have you ever heard these words? Would you sus-

pect, if you just went by what they said, that the men around you

were nothing but men of res sentiment?. . .

—"I understand, I'll open my ears once more (oh! oh! oh! and

hold my nose). Now, at last, I can hear what they have been say-

ing so often: 'We good people— we are the jusf-—what they are

demanding is not called retribution, but 'the triumph of justice'-,

what they hate is not their enemy, oh no! they hate ' injustice,'

'godlessness'; what they believe and hope for is not the prospect

of revenge, the delirium of sweet revenge (—Homer early on

dubbed it 'sweeter than honey'), but the victory of God, the just

God, over the Godless; all that remains for them to love on earth

are not their brothers in hate but their 'brothers in love,'' as they

say, all good and just people on earth."

"Romans 13.1.

'First Thessalonians 1 3

298 • Friedrich Nietzsche

— A n d what do they call that which serves as a consolation

for all t h e sufferings of the w o r l d — t h e i r phantasmagoria of

anticipated f u t u r e bliss?

—"What? Do I h e a r correctly? T h e y call it 'the last judg-

ment,' t h e c o m i n g of their kingdom, the ' k i n g d o m of G o d ' — b u t

in the meantime they live 'in faith,' 'in love,' 'in h o p e . " "

— E n o u g h ! E n o u g h !

' F i r s t Corinthians 13.13; First Thessalonians 1.3.

CHAPTER 12

S 0 R E N K I E R K E G A A R D

Often referred to as the father of Existentialism, Seren Kierkegaard

was born in Copenhagen in 1813. He was the youngest child of

Michael Pederson Kierkegaard and his second wife, Anne Sarens-

datter Lund. Kierkegaard's father was both a Pietist and member of

the Copenhagen nouveau riche.

Kierkegaard entered the University of Copenhagen in 1830, but it

took him more than a decade to finish his degree. He passed his

exams in 1840 and a year later completed his remarkable disserta-

tion, On the Concept of Irony. With Constant Ref erence to Socrates.

In 1837, when Kierkegaard was twenty-four, he met and fell in

love with Regine Olsen. Three years later, they became engaged but,

despite the loud protests of both his and her families, Kierkegaard
inexplicably broke off the engagement. He would, however, remain

obsessed with her for the remainder of his life.

Kierkegaard started writing in earnest around the time of the

break with Regine. From the early 1840s until his death in 1855, he

poured forth an astounding number of works, including Fear and

Trembling, The Concept of Anxiety, Philosophical Fragments, Concluding

Unscientific Postscript, Works of Love, and the text at hand, The Sickness

Unto Death.

At some level Kierkegaard was always wrestling with the question

of what it means to have faith. By the end of his own life and perhaps

300 • Soren Kierkegaard

long before, Kierkegaard c a m e to the conclusion that believing in

C h r i s t involved the a t t e m p t to follow Christ in his self-denial, s u f f e r -

ing, and humiliation. So far as Kierkegaard was concerned, the i m i t a -

tion of Christ was the furthest thing from the mind of institutionalized

Christianity. As he approached the end, Kierkegaard stopped going to

c h u r c h , saying that he no longer wanted to participate in "making a

fool of G o d . " He also engaged in a' fierce attack on t h e state C h u r c h

and in opposition to the very idea that o n e only needed to be born in

t h e right place to b e c o m e a Christian. He died in 1855 at the age ot

f o r t y - f o u r .
Kierkegaard is seldom i n c l u d e d in ethics texts. After all, by his

own reckoning, he was an essentially religious thinker who seldom

addressed himself directly to ethics. But t h e r e is m o r e to the story of

Kierkegaard's omission f r o m the ethics stacks.

M o s t philosophers believe ethics e d u c a t i o n is all about the accu-

m u l a t i o n of knowledge and skills of analysis. Kierkegaard was of a

d i f f e r e n t opinion. He believed that we all have a k n o w l e d g e of right

and w r o n g in the form of conscience. T h e real test of a righteous life

is one of relating ourselves p r o p e r l y and passionately to that k n o w l -

edge.

Like Kant, who figures in subtle but significant ways in his texts,

Kierkegaard believed t h a t doing the right thing will often run us up

against o u r self-interests. W h e n conscience and desire conflict, it is

t h e rare r e p r o b a t e w h o just straight-out does what he takes to be

wrong. Instead, Kierkegaard thought, we slowly and p e r h a p s u n c o n -

sciously convince ourselves that, in the circumstance, in question, it

is right to tell a little lie or skim profits. P u t a n o t h e r way, for the Dane,

i g n o r a n c e is n o t t h e main obstacle to leading a life t h a t o u r better

angels can smile u p o n . As this e x c e r p t emphasizes, the real challenge

is to refrain f r o m talking ourselves out of w h a t we know, that is, to

avoid self-deception.
T H E S I C K N E S S U N T O D E A T H : P A R T I I

C H A P T E R 2

THE SOCRATIC DEFINITION OF SIN

Sin is ignorance. That, as is well known, is the Socratic definition,

which like everything Socratic is always entitled to respect. However,

with this Socratic view it is the same as with so much else Socratic—

people have learned to feel an urge to go further. What countless

number have not felt the urge to go further than Socratic ignorance!

Presumably because they felt it impossible to stop there; for indeed,

how many are there in any generation who can stand the strain of

expressing universal ignorance existentially for even just one month?

I shall therefore by no means dismiss the Socratic definition on

the grounds that one cannot stop there. But, with Christianity in

mente |in mind], I shall use it in order to bring Christianity into

relief—just because t h e Socratic definition is so genuinely Greek,

and revealed here, as with any other definition that is not in the

strictest sense Christian, that is, every intermediate definition, in its

emptiness.

N o w the defect of the Socratic definition is that it leaves it unclear

how ignorance is to be more precisely understood, its origin, etc.

302 • Se 7i Kierkegaard
T h a t is, even if sin is ignorance (or what Christianity would p e r h a p s

r a t h e r call stupidity), which is in a sense u n d e n i a b l e , are we to take it

to be original ignorance? Is t h e state of i g n o r a n c e then t h a t of s o m e -

one w h o has not known, and has h i t h e r t o been u n a b l e to know, any-

t h i n g a b o u t the truth? Or is it an acquired, a later ignorance? If t h e

latter, t h e n sin must really consist in s o m e t h i n g o t h e r than ignorance;

it m u s t consist in the activity w h e r e b y a person has worked at

o b s c u r i n g his knowledge. But even assuming this the intractable and

very tenacious defect returns, in question now b e c o m e s w h e t h e r at

t h e m o m e n t he began to obscure his k n o w l e d g e the person is clearly

conscious of doing so. If he is n o t clearly conscious of doing so, then

t h e k n o w l e d g e is already s o m e w h a t obscured, b e f o r e he gets

going;

and t h e n again the question simply r e t u r n s once more. If it is

assumed, on the other hand, t h a t w h e n he began to obscure the

knowledge, he was clearly conscious of d o i n g so, then the sin (even if

it is ignorance, insofar as this is what results) is n o t in the k n o w l e d g e

but in t h e will, and the question that has to be raised is about the

m u t u a l relationship of k n o w l e d g e and will. W i t h all such m a t t e r s

(and o n e could go on raising these questions for many days) t h e

Socratic definition is really not c o n c e r n e d . It is t r u e that Socrates was

an ethicist, the first (in fact antiquity established u n r e s e r v e d l y his

claim to be the f o u n d e r of ethics), as he is and remains t h e first of his

kind But he begins with i g n o r a n c e Intellectually t h e direction he

goes in is toward ignorance, toward k n o w i n g nothing. Ethically,

however, he u n d e r s t a n d s i g n o r a n c e in a quite d i f f e r e n t way, and

so

begins with it. On the o t h e r hand, naturally e n o u g h Socrates is not

really a religious ethicist, even less a dogmatic one, as is the Christian

ethicist. T h e r e f o r e he does n o t really e n t e r into the whole inquiry

with which Christianity begins, into the prius [preceding state] in

which sin p r e s u p p o s e s itself, and which is given its Christian expla-

nation in the d o g m a of original sin, a d o g m a which this inquiry will

only touch on.

T h e r e f o r e Socrates does not really c o m e to t h e category of sin,

which is w i t h o u t a d o u b t a defect in a definition of sin H o w so? Well,

if sin is ignorance, then sin does not really exist, for sin is precisely

consciousness; if sin is ignorance of what is right, and one then does

w h a t is w r o n g because one does not know what is right, no sin has

o c c u r r e d . If that is to be sin, t h e n it is assumed, as Socrates also

1 'be Sickness Unto Death. Part II • 303

assumed, that there cannot be a case of someone's doing the wrong

thing knowing what is the right thing, or doing the wrong thing

knowing it to be wrong. Christianly this is just as it should be, in a

deeper sense quite in order; in terms of Christian interests it is quod

eratdemomtratum [that which was to be demonstrated j. T h e very con-

cept in which Christianity differs most crucially in kind from pagan-

ism is: sin, the doctrine of sin. And so, quite consistently, Christianity

also assumes that neither paganism nor the natural man know what

sin is; yes, it assumes there must be a revelation from God to reveal

what sin is. It is not the case, as superficial reflection supposes, that

the doctrine of the atonement is what distinguishes paganism and

Christianity qualitatively. No, the beginning has to be made far

deeper, with sin, with the doctrine of sin, which is also what Christi-

anity does. What a dangerous objection it would be against Christi-

anity, therefore, if paganism had a definition of sin which Christianity

had to acknowledge was correct.

What then is the missing component in Socrates's specification of

sin? It is: the will, defiance. Greek intellectuality was too fortunate,

too naive, too aesthetic, too ironic, too—too sinful—to be able to get

it into its head that someone would knowingly refrain from doing the

good, or knowing what is right, knowingly do what is wrong. T h e

Greek mind posits an intellectual categorical imperative.

T h e truth in this certainly ought not to be disregarded, and needs

to be brought home in times like these which have lost themselves in

so much empty, pretentious and useless learning, so that just as in

Socrates's time, though even more so, people need to be Somatically

starved a little. It is enough to drive one to both laughter and tears, no

less the virtuosity with which many people are able to present the

highest in abstmcto, and in one sense quite correctly, than these

protestations about having understood and grasped it—it is enough

to drive one to both laughter and tears to see how all this knowledge

and understanding exercises no influence at all on people's lives, and

bears not the remotest relation to what they have indeed understood,

but rather the direct opposite. T h e s p e c t a c l e of this no less pathetic

than ridiculous disparity causes one involuntarily to exclaim, "But

how in the world can they have understood it? Can it really be true

that they have?" To this the old ironist and ethicist replies: "Don't

ever believe it, dear friend; they have not understood it, for if truly

304 • Se 7i Kierkegaard

they had, t h e n they would express it in their lives too, they would

have practiced what they u n d e r s t o o d . "

To u n d e r s t a n d and to u n d e r s t a n d ; are t h e s e t h e n two d i f f e r e n

t
things? Certainly. And t h e p e r s o n who u n d e r s t a n d s t h a t — t h o u g
h

not, be it noted, in t h e f o r m e r sense—is eo ipso ["by v i r t u e of t h a t very

fact] initiated into all t h e secrets of irony. T h i s is the contradiction

t h a t i r o n y is c o n c e r n e d with. It is a very low form of comedy, and

b e n e a t h irony's dignity, to see s o m e t h i n g comical in the fact that a

p e r s o n doesn't know something. N o r is there really any d e e p e r form

of c o m e d y co be f o u n d in the fact that t h e r e have been p e o p l e who

t h o u g h t t h e earth stood still—seeing they knew no better. O u r age

may well be in a similar position to a n o t h e r t h a t knows m o r e of p h y s -

ical nature. H e r e t h e contradiction is b e t w e e n two ages and t h e r e is

no d e e p e r p o i n t of coincidence. Such a contradiction is not essential,

and so not really comical either. N o , but t h a t a p e r s o n stands t h e r e

and says the right t h i n g — a n d so has u n d e r s t o o d i t — a n d then when

he acts does t h e w r o n g thing—-and so shows that he has not u n d e r -

stood it; yes, t h a t is infinitely comical. It is infinitely comical t h a t a

person, stirred so to tears t h a t t h e sweat p o u r s f r o m him as well as the

tears, can sit and read or h e a r a discourse on self-denial, on the nobil-

ity of sacrificing one's life for the t r u t h — a n d then, in the next sec-

ond, ein, zwei, drei, vupti, eyes scarcely dry, he is in full swing—in che

sweat of his b r o w and as best he c a n — h e l p i n g u n t r u t h to t r i u m p h

. It
is infinitely comical that a person, with t r u t h in his voice and mien,

d e e p l y affected and d e e p l y affecting, can grippingly portray the

t r u t h , grandly look all evil, all t h e powers of hell, in the eye, with a

confidence in his bearing, with boldness in his glance, his paces

a d m i r a b l y m e a s u r e d — i t is infinitely comical that almost t h e s a m e

instant, practically still in "full fig," he can leap aside at the least

i n c o n v e n i e n c e like a f a i n t - h e a r t e d coward. It is infinitely comical

that a person can u n d e r s t a n d the whole t r u t h about how w r e t c h e d

and p e t t y the world is, e t c . — t h a t he u n d e r s t a n d s it and then c a n n

o t

r e c o g n i z e what he has u n d e r s t o o d , for practically t h e same m o m e

n t

he is off joining in t h e s a m e w r e t c h e d n e s s and pettiness, is h o n o r e d

for it and accepts t h e honor, t h a t is, recognizes it. Ah! when o n e sees

s o m e o n e p r o t e s t i n g c o m p l e t e u n d e r s t a n d i n g o f how C h r i
s t w e n t

about in the f o r m of a lowly servant, poor, despised, mocked, and as

the S c r i p t u r e says: "spitted o n " — w h e n I see that same person taking

The Sickness Unto Death: Part II • 305

so m a n y pains to seek r e f u g e in t h e place w h e r e in worldliness it is

good to be, setting himself up as securely as possible, when I see him

so anxiously avoiding—as if his life d e p e n d e d on i t — e v e r y u n f a v o r

-
able breath of wind f r o m right or left, so blissful, so utterly blissful, so

jubilant, yes, to r o u n d it off, so jubilant that he even emotionally

thanks G o d for i t — f o r being h o n o r e d and respected by everyone,

everyone; then I have often said to myself, "Socrates, Socrates,

Socrates, how could it be possible for this person to have u n d e r s t o o d

what he claims to have understood?"

In t h e life of spirit t h e r e is no standing still [Stilstand] (really t h e r e

is no state of affairs [Tilstand] either, e v e r y t h i n g is actualization); if a

person does not do what is right the very second he knows it is t h e

right thing to d o — t h e n , for a start, the knowledge comes off t h e boil.

N e x t comes the question of what t h e will thinks of t h e knowledge.

T h e will is dialectical and has u n d e r n e a t h it t h e whole of man's lower

nature. If it doesn't like the knowledge, it doesn't i m m e d i a t e l y follow

that t h e will goes and does the opposite of what was grasped in k n o w -

i n g — s u c h strong contrasts are p r e s u m a b l y rare; but then the will lets

s o m e t i m e pass; t h e r e is an interim called "We'll look into it t o m o r -

row." D u r i n g all this t h e knowing b e c o m e s m o r e and m o r e obscured,

and t h e lower n a t u r e m o r e and m o r e victorious. For, alas!, t h e good

m u s t be d o n e immediately, directly it is known (and that is why in

p u r e ideality t h e transition f r o m t h i n k i n g to b e i n g occurs so easily,

for t h e r e everything h a p p e n s immediately), but t h e lower n a t u r e has

its strength in dragging things out. G r a d u a l l y t h e will ceases to object

to this happening; it practically winks at it. And then when t h e k n o w -

ing has b e c o m e duly obscured, the will and the knowing can better

u n d e r s t a n d o n e another. Eventually they are in entire a g r e e m e n t ,

since knowing has now deserted to t h e side of the will and allows it

to be known that what the will wants is quite right. And this is p e r -

haps how a large n u m b e r of people live: they contrive gradually to

o b s c u r e t h e ethical and ethico-religious knowledge which would

lead them into decisions and consequences not e n d e a r i n g to their

lower natures. On t h e o t h e r hand, they e x p a n d their aesthetic and

metaphysical knowledge, which is ethically a distraction.

PART II

T H E M O D E R N S
CHAPTER 13

R U T H B E N E D I C T

T h e renowned anthropologist Ruth Benedict (1887-1948) waged a

war against ethnocentricism, that is, the tendency to think that our

values are somehow objective and universal and then to judge other

cultures according to those values. In this classic essay from the

1930s, Benedict unpacks her notebooks on a n u m b e r of different

societies to establish the fact that what is regarded as a virtue in one

community may well be treated as a vice in another. Benedict main-

tains that moral values are simply the norms of a society and these

norms vary from culture to culture. In her own nonpbilosophical

terms, she reasons that ethical evaluations can only be justified rela-

tive to the norms of a given culture. For this reason she is classified as

an exemplar of the philosophical position known as ethical rela-

tivism.

A N T H R O P O L O G Y A N D

T H E A B N O R M A L

M o d e r n social anthropology has become more and more a study of the

varieties and common elements of cultural environment and the con-

sequences of these in human behavior. For such a study of diverse

social orders primitive peoples fortunately provide a laboratory not

yet entirely vitiated by the spread of a standardized worldwide civi-

lization. Dyaks and Hopis, Fijians and Yakuts are significant for psy-

chological and sociological study because only among these simpler

peoples has there been sufficient isolation to give opportunity for the

development of localized social forms. In the higher cultures the stan-

dardization of custom and belief over a couple of continents has given

a false sense of the inevitability of the particular forms that have

gained currency, and we need to turn to a wider survey in order to

check the conclusions we hastily base upon this near-universality of

familiar customs. Most of the simpler cultures did not gain the wide

currency of the one which, out of our experience, we identify with

human nature, but this was for various historical reasons, and certainly

not for any that gives us as its carriers a monopoly of social good or of

social sanity. Modern civilization, from this point of view, becomes not

a necessary pinnacle of human achievement but one entry in a long

series of possible adjustments.

T h e s e adjustments, whether they are in mannerisms like the ways

of showing anger, or joy, or grief in any society, or in major h u m a n

Anthropology and the Abnormal • 311

drives like those of sex, prove to be far m o r e variable than experience

in any one culture would suggest. In certain fields, such as that of

religion or of formal marriage arrangements, these wide limits of

variability are well known and can be fairly described. In others it is

not yet possible to give a generalized account, b u t that does not

absolve us of the task of indicating t h e significance of the work that

has been d o n e and of t h e problems t h a t have arisen.

O n e of these p r o b l e m s relates to the c u s t o m a r y m o d e r n n o r m a l

-

abnormal categories and o u r conclusions regarding them. In how far

are such categories culturally d e t e r m i n e d , or in how far can we with

assurance regard t h e m as absolute? In how far can we regard inabil-

ity to function socially as diagnostic of abnormality, or in how far is

it necessary to regard this as a function of t h e culture?

As a m a t t e r of fact, o n e of the most striking facts that e m e r g e from

a study of widely varying cultures is the ease with which o u r abnor-

m a l f u n c t i o n in o t h e r cultures. It does not matter what kind of

"abnormality" we choose for illustration, those which indicate

e x t r e m e instability, or those which are m o r e in the n a t u r e of charac-

ter traits like sadism or delusions of g r a n d e u r or of persecution, t h e r e

are well-described cultures in which these abnormals function at

ease and with honor, and apparently w i t h o u t danger or difficulty to

the society.

T h e most notorious of these is t r a n c e and catalepsy. E v e n a very

mild mystic is a b e r r a n t in o u r culture. But most peoples have

regarded even e x t r e m e psychic manifestations not only as normal

and desirable, but even as characteristic of highly valued and gifted

individuals. T h i s was t r u e even in o u r own cultural background in

t h a t period w h e n Catholicism m a d e the ecstatic experience the mark

of sainthood. It is hard for us, born and b r o u g h t up in a c u l t u r e that

makes no use of the experience, to realize how i m p o r t a n t a role it

may play and how m a n y individuals are capable of it, once it has

been given an h o n o r a b l e place in any society.

S o m e of the Indian tribes of California accorded prestige princi-

pally to those who passed t h r o u g h certain t r a n c e experiences. N o t all

of these tribes believed that it was exclusively women who w e r e so

blessed, but a m o n g the Shasta this was t h e convention. T h e i r shamans

w e r e w o m e n , and they w e r e accorded t h e greatest prestige in the

community. T h e y were chosen because of their constitutional liability

312 • J Ruth Benedict

to trance and allied manifestations. O n e day the woman who was so

destined, while she was about her usual work, would fall s u d d e n l y to

the g r o u n d . She had heard a voice speaking to her in tones of t h e

greatest intensity. T u r n i n g , she had seen a man with drawn bow and

arrow. He c o m m a n d e d h e r to sing on pain of b e i n g shot through the

h e a r t by his arrow, b u t u n d e r the stress of t h e e x p e r i e n c e she fell

senseless. H e r family gathered. She was lying rigid, hardly breathing.

T h e y k n e w that for s o m e time she had had d r e a m s of a special c h a r -

acter which indicated a shamanistic calling, d r e a m s of escaping griz-

zly bears, falling off cliffs or trees, or of being s u r r o u n d e d by swarms

of yellow jackets. T h e c o m m u n i t y knew t h e r e f o r e what to expect.

A f t e r a few h o u r s the woman began to moan gently and to roll about

u p o n t h e ground, t r e m b l i n g violently. She was supposed to be

r e p e a t i n g the song which she had been told to sing and which d u r i n g

the t r a n c e had been taught h e r by the spirit. As she revived her

m o a n i n g became m o r e and m o r e clearly the spirit's song until at last

she called out the n a m e of t h e spirit itself, and i m m e d i a t e l y blood

oozed f r o m her m o u t h .

W h e n t h e woman had c o m e to herself after the first e n c o u n t e r

with her spirit she danced that night her first initiatory shamanistic

dance, h o l d i n g herself by a rope that was s w u n g f r o m the ceiling. For

t h r e e nights she d a n c e d , and on the third night she had to receive in

her body h e r power from her spirit. She was dancing, and as she felt

the approach of the m o m e n t she called out, " H e will shoot me, he

will s h o o t me." H e r friends stood close, for when she reeled in a kind

of cataleptic seizure, they had to seize her before she fell or she

would die. From this time on she had in her body a visible m a t e r i a l -

ization of her spirit's power, an icicle-like object which in her dances

t h e r e a f t e r she would exhibit, p r o d u c i n g it f r o m o n e p a r t of h e r b
o d y

and r e t u r n i n g it to a n o t h e r part. From this t i m e on she c o n t i n u e d

to

validate h e r s u p e r n a t u r a l power by f u r t h e r cataleptic d e m o n s t r a

-

tions, and she was called u p o n in great e m e r g e n c i e s of life and death,

for c u r i n g and for divination and for counsel. She b e c a m e in o t h e r

words by this p r o c e d u r e a w o m a n of great p o w e r and importance.

It is clear that, so far f r o m regarding cataleptic seizures as blots

u p o n the family e s c u t c h e o n and as evidences of d r e a d e d disease, cul-

tural approval had seized u p o n them and m a d e of t h e m the pathway

to authority over one's fellows. T h e y w e r e the o u t s t a n d i n g c h a r a c -

Anthropology and the Abnormal • 313

teristic of t h e m o s t respected social type, t h e t y p e which f u n c t i o n e d

with most h o n o r and reward in t h e c o m m u n i t y . It was precisely the

cataleptic individuals who in this c u l t u r e were singled o u t for

authority and leadership.

T h e availability of "abnormal" t y p e s in t h e social structure, pro-

vided they are types that are culturally selected by that group, is

illustrated f r o m every p a r t of the world. T h e shamans of Siberia

d o m i n a t e their communities. A c c o r d i n g to t h e ideas of these

peoples, they are individuals w h o by submission to the will of t h e

spirits have been cured of a grievous illness—the onset of t h e

seizures—and have acquired by this m e a n s great s u p e r n a t u r a l power

and i n c o m p a r a b l e vigor and health. Some, d u r i n g the p e r i o d of the

call, are violently insane for several years, others irresponsible to t h e

point w h e r e they have to be watched constantly lest they w a n d e r off

in t h e snow and f r e e z e to death, o t h e r s ill and emaciated to the point

of death, sometimes with.bloody sweat. It is the shamanistic practice

which constitutes their cure, and t h e e x t r e m e physical exertion of a

Siberian seance leaves them, they claim, rested and able to enter

i m m e d i a t e l y u p o n a similar p e r f o r m a n c e . C a t a l e p t i c
seizures are

regarded as an essential part of any shamanistic p e r f o r m a n c e .

C a t a l e p t i c and trance p h e n o m e n a are, of course, only o n e illustra-

tion of the fact t h a t t h o s e whom we regard as abnormals may f u n c -

tion adequately in o t h e r cultures. M a n y of our culturally discarded

traits are selected for elaboration in d i f f e r e n t societies. H o m o s e x u a l -

ity is an excellent example, for in this case o u r attention is not con-

stantly diverted, as in the consideration of trance, to t h e i n t e r r u p t i o n

of r o u t i n e activity which it implies. H o m o s e x u a l i t y poses the prob-

lem very simply. A t e n d e n c y toward this trait in our c u l t u r e exposes

an individual to all the conflicts to which all aberrants are always

exposed, and we t e n d to identify t h e consequences of this conflict

with homosexuality. But these consequences are obviously local and

cultural. H o m o s e x u a l s in m a n y societies are n o t i n c o m p e t e n t ,

but

they may be such if the c u l t u r e asks adjustments of t h e m that would

strain any man's vitality. W h e r e v e r homosexuality has been given an

h o n o r a b l e place in any society, t h o s e to whom it is congenial have

filled adequately t h e h o n o r a b l e roles society assigns to t h e m . Plato's

Republic is, of course, the most convincing s t a t e m e n t of such a r e a d -

314 • J Ruth Benedict

ing of homosexuality. It is p r e s e n t e d as one of the m a j o r m e a n s to t h e

good life, and it was generally So regarded in G r e e c e at that time.

T h e cultural attitude toward homosexuals has n o t always been on

such a high ethical plane, b u t it has been very varied. A m o n g m a n y

American Indian tribes t h e r e exists t h e institution of the berdache,

as t h e F r e n c h called them. T h e s e m e n - w o m e n w e r e men w h o at

p u b e r t y or t h e r e a f t e r took the dress and the o c c u p a t i o n s of w o m

e n .

S o m e t i m e s they m a r r i e d o t h e r m e n and lived with them. S o m e t i

m e s

they w e r e men with no inversion, persons of weak sexual e n d o w -

m e n t w h o chose this role to avoid the jeers of the w o m e n . T h e

berdaches were never regarded as of first-rate s u p e r n a t u r a l power, as

similar m e n - w o m e n w e r e in Siberia, but r a t h e r as leaders in women's

occupations, good healers in certain diseases, or a m o n g certain

tribes, as t h e genial organizers of social affairs. In any case, they w e r e

socially placed. T h e y w e r e not left exposed to the conflicts that visit

the deviant who is excluded from participation in the recognized

patterns of his society.

T h e m o s t spectacular illustrations of t h e extent to which n o r m a l -

ity may be culturally defined are those cultures w h e r e an a b n o r m a l -

ity of o u r c u l t u r e is the c o r n e r s t o n e of their social structure. It is

not possible to do justice to these possibilities in a short discussion.

A r e c e n t study of an island of n o r t h w e s t Melanesia by F o r t u n e

describes a society built u p o n traits which we regard as beyond the

b o r d e r of paranoia. In this tribe the exogamic groups look u p o n each

o t h e r as p r i m e m a n i p u l a t o r s of black magic, so t h a t o n e marries

always into an e n e m y g r o u p which remains for life one's deadly and

u n a p p e a s a b l e foes. T h e y look u p o n a good garden crop as a c o n f e s

-

sion of theft, for everyone is engaged in m a k i n g magic to induce into

his garden t h e productiveness of his neighbors'; t h e r e f o r e no secrecy

in the island is so rigidly insisted u p o n as the secrecy of a man's h a r -

vesting of his.yams. T h e i r polite phrase at t h e a c c e p t a n c e of a gift is,

"And if you now poison me, how shall I repay you this present?"

T h e i r p r e o c c u p a t i o n with poisoning is constant; no w o m a n ever

leaves h e r cooking pot f o r a m o m e n t u n t e n d e d . Even the great affinal

e c o n o m i c exchanges t h a t are characteristic of this Melanesian cul-

t u r e area are quite altered in D o b u since they are i n c o m p a t i b l e with

this fear and distrust that p e r v a d e s the culture. T h e y go f a r t h e r and

p e o p l e t h e whole world outside their own q u a r t e r s with such malig-

Anthropology and the Abnormal • 315

nant spirits that all-night feasts and c e r e m o n i a l s simply do not o c c u r

here. T h e y have even rigorous religiously enforced customs that for-

bid the sharing of seed even in o n e family group. Anyone else's food

is deadly poison to you, so that c o m m u n a l i t y of stores is out of the

question. For s o m e m o n t h s before harvest t h e whole society is on the

verge of starvation, b u t if o n e falls to t h e t e m p t a t i o n and eats up one's

seed yams, o n e is an outcast and a b e a c h c o m b e r for life. T h e r e is no

c o m i n g back. It involves, as a m a t t e r of course, divorce and the

breaking of all social ties.

N o w in this society where no one may work with a n o t h e r and

no one may share with another, F o r t u n e describes the individual who

was regarded by all his fellows as crazy. He was not one of those who

periodically ran amok and, beside himself and frothing at the m o u t h ,

fell with a knife u p o n anyone he could reach. Such behavior they did

not regard as p u t t i n g anyone outside the pale. T h e y did not even p u t

the individuals who were known to be liable to these attacks u n d e r

any kind of control. T h e y merely fled w h e n they saw the attack c o m -

ing on and kept o u t of the way. " H e would be all right tomorrow." But

t h e r e was one m a n of sunny, kindly disposition who liked work and

liked to be helpful. T h e compulsion was too strong for him to repress

it in favor of the opposite tendencies of his culture. M e n and w o m e n

never spoke of him w i t h o u t laughing; he was silly and simple and

definitely crazy. Nevertheless, to the ethnologist used to a c u l t u r e

that has, in Christianity, m a d e his t y p e the m o d e l of all v i r t u e , he-

seemed a pleasant fellow.

An even m o r e e x t r e m e example, because it is of a culture t h a t has

built itself u p o n a m o r e complex abnormality, is that of the N o r t h

Pacific Coast of N o r t h America. T h e civilization of the Kwakiutl, at

the time when it was first recorded in the last decades of the n i n e -

teenth century, was o n e of the most vigorous in N o r t h America. It

was built up on an a m p l e e c o n o m i c supply of goods, the fish which

furnished their food staple being practically inexhaustible and

obtainable with comparatively small labor, and the wood which f u r -

nished the materia] for their houses, their furnishings, and their arts

being, with however m u c h labor, always procurable. T h e y lived in

coastal villages that c o m p a r e d favorably in size with those of any

o t h e r A m e r i c a n Indians and they kept up constant c o m m u n i c a t i o n

by means of sea-going d u g - o u t canoes.

316 • J Ruth Benedict

It was o n e of the most vigorous and zestful of the aboriginal cul-

t u r e s of N o r t h America, with complex crafts and ceremonials, and

elaborate and striking arts. It certainly had n o n e of t h e earmarks of a

sick civilization. T h e tribes of the N o r t h w e s t Coast had wealth, and

exactly in o u r terms.

In their behavior at great b e r e a v e m e n t s this set of the c u l t u r e comes

out most strongly. A m o n g the Kwakiutl it did not m a t t e r w h e t h e r a

relative had died in bed of disease, or by t h e hand of an enemy, in

either case death was an affront to be w i p e d o u t by the d e a t h of

a n o t h e r person. T h e fact t h a t o n e had been caused to m o u r n was

p r o o f that o n e had been p u t upon A chief's sister and her d a u g h t e r

had g o n e up to Victoria, and either because they drank bad whiskey

or b e c a u s e their boat capsized they never c a m e back. T h e chief

called t o g e t h e r his warriors. " N o w I ask you, tribes, w h o shall wail?

Shall I do it or shall another?" T h e spokesman answered, of course,

" N o t you, Chief. L e t s o m e o t h e r of the tribes." I m m e d i a t e l y they

set

up t h e war pole to a n n o u n c e their intention of w i p i n g out the injury,

and g a t h e r e d a war party. T h e y set out, and f o u n d seven men and two

children asleep and killed them. " T h e n they felt good when they

arrived at Sebaa in the evening."

T h e point which is of interest to us is t h a t in o u r society those who

on that occasion would feel good when they arrived at Sebaa t h a t

e v e n i n g would be the definitely abnormal. T h e r e would be some,

even in o u r society, b u t it is not a recognized and approved m o o d

u n d e r the circumstances. On the N o r t h w e s t Coast those are favored

and f o r t u n a t e to w h o m that m o o d u n d e r t h o s e circumstances is c o

n -

genial, and those to w h o m it is r e p u g n a n t are unlucky. T h i s latter

minority can register in their own c u l t u r e only by doing violence to

their congenial responses and acquiring o t h e r s that are difficult for

them. T h e person, f o r instance, who, like a Plains Indian whose wife

has been taken f r o m him, is too p r o u d to fight, can deal with the

N o r t h w e s t Coast civilization only by ignoring its strongest bents. If

he c a n n o t achieve it, he is the deviant in that culture, their instance

of abnormality.
T h i s h e a d - h u n t i n g t h a t takes place on the N o r t h w e s t Coast after

a death is no m a t t e r of blood revenge or of organized vengeance.

T h e r e is no effort to tie up the subsequent killing with any r e s p o n -

Anthropology and the Abnormal • 326

sibility on the part of t h e victim for the d e a t h of the person who is

being m o u r n e d . A chief whose son has died goes visiting wherever

his fancy dictates, and he says to his host, " M y prince has died today,

and you go with him." T h e n he kills him. In this, according to their

interpretation, he acts nobly because he has not been d o w n e d . He has

thrust back in return. T h e whole p r o c e d u r e is meaningless w i t h o u t

the f u n d a m e n t a l paranoid reading of bereavement. D e a t h , like all the

other untoward accidents of existence, c o n f o u n d s man's p r i d e and

can only be h a n d l e d in the category of insults.

Behavior h o n o r e d u p o n the N o r t h w e s t C o a s t is one which is rec-

ognized as a b n o r m a l in o u r civilization, and yet it is sufficiently close

to the attitudes of our own c u l t u r e to be intelligible to us and to have

a definite vocabulary with which we may discuss it. T h e megaloma-

niac paranoid trend is a definite d a n g e r in o u r society. It is e n c o u r -

aged by some of o u r major preoccupations, and it confronts us with a

choice of two possible attitudes. O n e is to brand it as a b n o r m a l and

reprehensible, and is the attitude we have chosen in o u r civilization.

T h e other is to make it an essential attribute of ideal man, and this is

the solution in the c u l t u r e of the N o r t h w e s t Coast.

T h e s e illustrations, which it has been possible to indicate only in

the briefest manner, force u p o n us the fact that normality is c u l t u r -

ally defined. An adult shaped to the drives and standards of either of

these cultures, if he were transported into o u r civilization, would fall

into o u r categories of abnormality. He would be faced with t h e psy-

chic dilemmas of the socially unavailable. In his own culture, h o w -

ever, he is t h e pillar of society, the end result of socially inculcated

mores, and the p r o b l e m of personal instability in his case simply

does not arise.

No o n e civilization can possibly utilize in its mores the whole

potential range of h u m a n behavior. J u s t as there are great n u m b e r s of

possible p h o n e t i c articulations, and the possibility of language

d e p e n d s on a selection and standardization of a few of these in order

t h a t speech c o m m u n i c a t i o n may he possible at all, so the possibility

of organized behavior of every sort, f r o m the fashions of local dress

and houses to the dicta of a people's ethics and religion, d e p e n d s

u p o n a similar selection a m o n g the possible behavior traits. In the

field of recognized e c o n o m i c obligations or sex tabus this selection is

as nonrational and subconscious a process as it is in the field of p h o -

318 • J Ruth Benedict

netics. It is a process which goes on in the g r o u p for long periods of

t i m e and is historically conditioned by i n n u m e r a b l e accidents of iso-

lation or of contact of peoples. In any c o m p r e h e n s i v e study of psy-

chology, the selection that d i f f e r e n t cultures have m a d e in the course

of history within the great c i r c u m f e r e n c e of potential behavior is of

great significance.

E v e r y society, b e g i n n i n g with s o m e slight inclination in o n e

direction or another, carries its p r e f e r e n c e f a r t h e r and farther, i n t e -

grating itself m o r e and m o r e c o m p l e t e l y u p o n its chosen basis, and

discarding those types of b e h a v i o r that are uncongenial. M o s t of

those organizations of personality t h a t seem to us most i n c o n t r o v e r t -

ibly a b n o r m a l have been used by d i f f e r e n t civilizations in the very

f o u n d a t i o n s of their institutional life. Conversely t h e most valued

traits of o u r normal individuals have been looked on in d i f f e r e n t l y

organized cultures as aberrant. Normality, in short, within a very

wide range, is culturally defined. It is primarily a t e r m for the socially

elaborated s e g m e n t of h u m a n behavior in any culture; and a b n o r -

mality, a t e r m for t h e s e g m e n t that t h a t particular civilization does

not use. T h e very eyes with which we see t h e p r o b l e m are c o n d i -

tioned by t h e long traditional habits of o u r own society.

It is a point that has been m a d e m o r e often in relation to ethics

than in relation to psychiatry. We do not any longer make t h e mistake

of d e r i v i n g t h e morality of o u r own locality and d e c a d e directly f r o m

t h e inevitable constitution of h u m a n nature. We do n o t elevate it to

the dignity of a first principle. We recognize that morality differs in

every society, and is a convenient term for socially approved habits.

M a n k i n d has always p r e f e r r e d to say, "It is a morally good," r a t h e r

than "It is habitual," and t h e fact of this p r e f e r e n c e is m a t t e r e n o u g h

for a critical science of ethics. But historically t h e two phrases are

s y n o n y m o u s .

T h e c o n c e p t of the n o r m a l is p r o p e r l y a variant of the c o n c e p t of

the good. It is that which society has approved. A n o r m a l action is

o n e which falls well within t h e limits of expected behavior f o r a p a r -

ticular society. Its variability a m o n g d i f f e r e n t peoples is essentially a

f u n c t i o n of the variability of the behavior p a t t e r n s that d i f f e r e n t

societies have created for themselves, and can never be wholly

divorced f r o m a consideration of culturally institutionalized types of

behavior.

Anthropology and the Abnormal • 319

Each culture is a m o r e or less elaborate w o r k i n g - o u t of t h e p o t e n -

tialities of t h e s e g m e n t it has chosen. Insofar as a civilization is well

integrated and consistent within itself, it will tend to carry f a r t h e r

and farther, according to its nature, its initial impulse toward a par-

ticular t y p e of action, and from the point of view of any o t h e r c u l t u r e

those elaborations will include m o r e and m o r e e x t r e m e and a b e r r a n t

traits.

Each of these traits, in p r o p o r t i o n as it reinforces t h e chosen

behavior p a t t e r n s of t h a t culture, is f o r t h a t culture normal. T h o s e

individuals to w h o m it is congenial e i t h e r congenitally, or as the

result of childhood sets, are accorded prestige in that culture, and are

not visited with t h e social c o n t e m p t or disapproval which t h e i r traits

would call down u p o n t h e m in a society that was differently orga-

nized. On the o t h e r hand, those individuals whose characteristics are

n o t congenial to t h e selected t y p e of h u m a n behavior in that c o m -

m u n i t y are the deviants, no m a t t e r how valued their personality

traits may be in a contrasted civilization.

T h e D o b u a n who is not easily susceptible to fear of treachery,

who enjoys work and likes to be h e l p f u l , is their n e u r o t i c and

regarded as silly. On the N o r t h w e s t Coast the person who finds it dif-

ficult to read life in t e r m s of an insult contest will be the p e r s o n u p o n

w h o m fall all the difficulties of t h e culturally u n p r o v i d e d for. T h e

person who does not find it easy to h u m i l i a t e a neighbor, n o r to see

humiliation in his own experience, w h o is genial and loving, may, of

course, find s o m e u n s t a n d a r d i z e d way of achieving satisfactions in

his society, but not in t h e major p a t t e r n e d responses that his c u l t u r e

requires of him. If he is born to play an i m p o r t a n t role in a family

with many h e r e d i t a r y privileges, he can succeed only by d o i n g vio-

lence to his whole personality. If he does not succeed, he has

betrayed his culture; that is, he is abnormal.

I have spoken of individuals as having sets toward certain types of

behavior, and of these sets as r u n n i n g s o m e t i m e s c o u n t e r to t h e

types

of behavior which are institutionalized in t h e c u l t u r e to which they

belong. From all that we know of contrasting cultures it s e e m s clear

t h a t differences of t e m p e r a m e n t o c c u r in every society. T h e m a t t e

r

has never been m a d e the subject of investigation, but f r o m t h e avail-

able material it would a p p e a r that these t e m p e r a m e n t types are very

likely of universal r e c u r r e n c e . T h a t is, there is an ascertainable range

320 • J Ruth Benedict

of h u m a n behavior that is found w h e r e v e r a sufficiently large series

of individuals is observed. But t h e p r o p o r t i o n in which behavior

types stand to o n e a n o t h e r in d i f f e r e n t societies is not universal. T h e

vast m a j o r i t y of the individuals in any g r o u p are shaped to t h e fash-

ion of that culture. In o t h e r words, most individuals are plastic to the

m o u l d i n g f o r c e of t h e society into which t h e y are born. In a society

t h a t values trance, as in India, they will have s u p e r n o r m a l e x p e r i -

ence. In a society that institutionalizes homosexuality, they will be

homosexual. In a society t h a t sets the g a t h e r i n g of possessions as t h e

chief h u m a n objective, they will amass property. T h e deviants, w h a t -

ever the t y p e of behavior t h e c u l t u r e has institutionalized, will

remain few in number, and t h e r e seems no m o r e difficulty in m o u l d -

ing t h e vast malleable m a j o r i t y to the " n o r m a l i t y " of what we c o n -

sider an aberrant trait, such as delusions of r e f e r e n c e , than to t h e

n o r m a l i t y of such accepted behavior p a t t e r n s as acquisitiveness. T h e

small p r o p o r t i o n of t h e n u m b e r of the deviants in any c u l t u r e is not

a f u n c t i o n of the sure instinct with which that society has built itself

u p o n t h e f u n d a m e n t a l sanities, b u t of t h e universal fact that, happily,

t h e m a j o r i t y of m a n k i n d q u i t e readily take any shape that is p r e -

sented to them.

T h e relativity of n o r m a l i t y is n o t an academic issue. In the first

place, it suggests that t h e a p p a r e n t weakness of the a b e r r a n t is m o s t

often and in great m e a s u r e illusory. It springs not f r o m t h e fact t h a t

he is lacking in necessary vigor, b u t t h a t he is an individual u p o n

w h o m that c u l t u r e has p u t m o r e than the usual strain. His inability to

adapt himself to society is a reflection of the fact that that adaptation

involves a conflict in him that it does not in t h e so-called normal.

T h e r a p e u t i c a l l y , it suggests that t h e inculcation of tolerance and

appreciation in any society toward its less usual t y p e s is f u n d a m e n -

tally i m p o r t a n t in successful mental hygiene. T h e c o m p l e m e n t of

this tolerance, on the patients' side, is an e d u c a t i o n in self-reliance

and h o n e s t y with himself. If he can be b r o u g h t to realize that w h a t

has t h r u s t him into his misery is despair at his lack of social backing

he may be able to achieve a m o r e i n d e p e n d e n t and less t o r t u r e d atti-

tude and lay t h e f o u n d a t i o n for an adequately f u n c t i o n i n g m o d e

of

existence.

CHAPTER 14

M A R Y M I D G L E Y

As earlier noted, ethical relativism is the view that moral judgments

can be justified only relative to a culture. T h e r e are only n o r m s — n o

absolute right and wrong. T h e suggestion that conscience is just a

matter of custom has alarmed many people, including the British

philosopher Mary Midgley. A prolific author and defender of animal

rights, she warns that relativism entails a moral isolationism that sep-

arates the people of the earth from understanding and critiquing one
another.

T R Y I N G O U T O N E ' S N E W S W O R D

All of us are, more or less, in trouble today about trying to u n d e r -

stand cultures strange to us. We hear constantly of alien customs. We

see changes in our lifetime which would have astonished our parents.

I want to discuss here one very short way of dealing with this diffi-

culty, a drastic way which many people now theoretically favor. It

consists in simply denying that we can ever understand any culture

except our own well enough to make judgments about it. T h o s e who

r e c o m m e n d this hold that the world is sharply divided into separate

societies, sealed units, each with its own system of thought. They feel

that the respect and tolerance due from one system to another for-

bids us ever to take up a critical position to any other culture. Moral

judgment, they suggest, is a kind of coinage valid only in its country

of origin.

I shall call this position "moral isolationism." I shall suggest that it

is certainly not forced upon us, and indeed that it makes no sense at

all. People usually take it up because they think it is a respectful atti-

tude to other cultures. In fact, however, it is not respectful. N o b o d y

can respect what is entirely unintelligible to them. To respect some-

one, we have to know enough about him to make a favorable judg-

ment, however general and tentative. And we do understand people

in other cultures to this extent. Otherwise a great mass of our most

valuable thinking would be paralyzed.

Trying Out One's New Stiiord • 323

To show this, I shall take a r e m o t e example, because we shall

probably find it easier to think calmly a b o u t it than we should with a

c o n t e m p o r a r y one, such as f e m a l e circumcision in Africa or t h e C h i

-

nese C u l t u r a l Revolution. T h e principles involved will still be t h e

same. My e x a m p l e is this. T h e r e is, it seems, a verb in classical J a p a -

nese which m e a n s "to try out one's new sword on a chance wayfarer."

( T h e word is tsujigiri, literally "crossroads-cur.") A samurai sword

had to be tried o u t because, if it was to work properly, it had to slice

through s o m e o n e at a single blow, f r o m t h e s h o u l d e r to t h e opposite

flank. Otherwise, t h e warrior b u n g l e d his stroke. T h i s could injure his

honor, offend his ancestors, and even let down his emperor. So tests

w e r e n e e d e d , and wayfarers had to be expended. Any wayfarer would

d o — p r o v i d e d , of course, that he was not a n o t h e r Samurai. Scientists

will recognize a familiar problem about the rights of experimental

subjects.

N o w when we h e a r of a custom like this, we may well reflect t h a t

we simply do not u n d e r s t a n d it; and t h e r e f o r e are not qualified to

criticize it at all, because we are not m e m b e r s of that culture. But we

are not m e m b e r s of any other c u l t u r e either, except o u r own. So we

extend the p r i n c i p l e to cover all extraneous cultures, and we seem

t h e r e f o r e to be moral isolationists. But this is, as we shall see, an

impossible position. L e t us ask what it would involve.

We must ask first: Does t h e isolating barrier work both ways? Are

p e o p l e in other cultures equally u n a b l e to criticize us? T h i s question

struck me sharply w h e n I read a r e m a r k in The Guardian by an

anthropologist about a South American Indian who had been taken

into a Brazilian town for an operation, which saved his life. W h e n he

c a m e back to his village, he m a d e several highly critical remarks

about the white Brazilians' way of life. T h e y may very well have been

justified. But t h e interesting point was that the anthropologist called

t h e s e remarks "a d a m n i n g i n d i c t m e n t of Western civilization." N o w

the Indian had been in that town about two weeks. Was he in a posi-

tion to deliver a d a m n i n g indictment? Would we ourselves be quali-

fied to deliver such an i n d i c t m e n t on t h e Samurai, provided we could

spend two weeks in ancient Japan? W h a t do we really think about

this? '

My own impression is that we believe that outsiders can, in prin-

ciple, deliver p e r f e c t l y good indictments—only, it usually takes m o r e

324 • Mary Midgley

than two weeks to make t h e m damning. U n d e r s t a n d i n g has degrees.

It is not a slapdash yes-or-no matter. Intelligent outsiders can progress

in it, and in s o m e ways will be at an advantage over the locals. But if

this is so, it m u s t clearly apply to ourselves as m u c h as a n y b o d y else.

O u r next question is this: Does the isolating barrier between cul-

tures block praise as well as blame? If I want to say that the Samurai

c u l t u r e has m a n y virtues, or to praise the South American Indians,

am I p r e v e n t e d f r o m d o i n g that by my outside status? Now, we cer-

tainly do n e e d to praise o t h e r societies in this way. But it is hardly

possible that we could praise t h e m effectively if we could not, in

principle, criticize t h e m . O u r praise would be worthless if it rested

on definite grounds, if it did n o t flow f r o m s o m e u n d e r s t a n d i n g . C e

r -

tainly we may need to praise things which we do not fully u n d e r s t a n d .

We say "there's s o m e t h i n g very good here, but I can't quite make o u t

what it is yet." T h i s h a p p e n s when we want to learn f r o m strangers.

And we can Jearn f r o m strangers. But to do this we have to distin-

guish b e t w e e n those strangers who are worth l e a r n i n g f r o m and

those who are not. Can we t h e n judge which is which?

T h i s brings us to o u r third question: W h a t is involved in judging?

N o w plainly t h e r e is no question h e r e of sitting on a bench in a red

r o b e and s e n t e n c i n g people. J u d g i n g simply m e a n s f o r m i n g an

o p i n -

ion, and expressing it if it is called for. Is t h e r e anything w r o n g a b o u t

this? N a t u r a l l y , we o u g h t to avoid f o r m i n g — a n d expressing—

crude

opinions, like t h a t of a s i m p l e - m i n d e d missionary, who might dismiss

the whole Samurai c u l t u r e as entirely bad, because n o n - C h r i s t i a n .

But this is a d i f f e r e n t objection. T h e t r o u b l e with c r u d e opinions is

t h a t they are crude, w h o e v e r f o r m s them, n o t t h a t they are f o r m e d

by

t h e w r o n g people. Anthropologists, after all, are outsiders q u i t e as

m u c h as missionaries. M o r a l isolationism forbids us to form any

opinions on these matters. Its g r o u n d for d o i n g so is t h a t we don't

u n d e r s t a n d them. But t h e r e is m u c h that we d o n ' t u n d e r s t a n d in

our

own c u l t u r e too. T h i s brings us to o u r last question: If we can't judge

o t h e r cultures, can we really judge our own? O u r efforts to do so will

be m u c h damaged if we are really deprived of o u r opinions about

o t h e r societies, because these provide the range of comparison, t h e

s p e c t r u m of alternatives against which we set what we want to u n d e r -

stand. We would have to stop u s i n g the m i r r o r which a n t h r o p o l o g y

so h e l p f u l l y holds up to us.

Trying Out One's New Stiiord • 325

In short, moral isolationism would lay down a general ban on

moral reasoning. Essentially, this is the p r o g r a m of immoralism, and

it carries a distressing logical difficulty. Tmmoralists like N i e t z s c h e

are actually just a r a t h e r specialized sect of moralists. T h e y can no

m o r e afford to put moralizing out of business than smugglers can

afford to abolish customs regulations. T h e power of moral j u d g m e n t

is, in fact, not a luxury, not a p e r v e r s e i n d u l g e n c e of the self-

righteous. It is a necessity. W h e n we judge something to be bad or

good, better or worse than something else, we are taking it as an

e x a m p l e to aim at or avoid. W i t h o u t opinions of this sort, we would

have no f r a m e w o r k of comparison for o u r own policy, no chance of

profiting by other people's insights or mistakes. In this v a c u u m , we

could form no j u d g m e n t s on our own actions.

N o w it would be odd if H o m o sapiens had really got himself into

a position as bad as t h i s — a position w h e r e his main evolutionary

asset, his brain, was so little use to him. N o n e of us is going to accept

this skeptical diagnosis. We cannot do so, because o u r involvement in

moral isolationism does not flow from apathy, but from a r a t h e r acute

concern a b o u t h u m a n hypocrisy and other forms of wickedness. But

we polarize that c o n c e r n around a few selected moral truths. We are

rightly angry with those who despise, oppress or steamroll o t h e r cul-

tures. We think that doing these things is actually wrong. But this is

itself a moral judgment. We could n o t c o n d e m n oppression and inso-

lence if we t h o u g h t that all o u r c o n d e m n a t i o n s were just a trivial

local quirk of our own culture. We could still less do it if we tried to

stop judging altogether.

Real moral scepticism, in fact, could lead only to inaction, to our

losing all interest in moral questions, most of all in those which c o n -

cern other societies. W h e n we discuss these things, it b e c o m e s

instantly clear how far we are from d o i n g this. Suppose, for instance,

that I criticize t h e bisecting Samurai, that 1 say his behavior is brutal.

W h a t will usually h a p p e n next is that s o m e o n e will protest, will say

t h a t 1 have no right to make criticisms like that of a n o t h e r culture.

But it is m o r e unlikely that he will use this move to end the discus-

sion of the subject. Instead, he will justify the Samurai. He will t r y to

fill in the b a c k g r o u n d , to make me u n d e r s t a n d t h e custom, by

explaining the exalted ideals of discipline and devotion which p r o -

d u c e d it. He will p r o b a b l y talk of the lower value which the ancient

326 • Mary Midgley

J a p a n e s e placed on individual life generally. He may well suggest

that this is a healthier attitude than o u r own obsession with security.

He may add, too, that t h e wayfarers did not seriously mind being

bisected, that in principle they accepted the whole a r r a n g e m e n t .

N o w an objector who talks like this is i m p l y i n g that it is possible

to u n d e r s t a n d alien customs. T h a t is just what he is trying to m a k e

me do. And he implies, too, that if I do succeed in u n d e r s t a n d i n g

them, 1 shall do s o m e t h i n g better t h a n giving up judging them. He

expects me to change my p r e s e n t j u d g m e n t to a t r u e r o n e — n a m e
l y ,

o n e t h a t is favorable. And the standards 1 m u s t use to do this c a n n o t

just be Samurai standards. T h e y have to be ones c u r r e n t in my own

culture. Ideals like discipline and devotion will not move anybody

unless he himself accepts them. As it happens, n e i t h e r discipline n o r

devotion is very p o p u l a r in t h e West at present. Anyone who appeals

to t h e m may well have to do s o m e m o r e a r g u i n g to make them accept-

able, b e f o r e he can use t h e m to explain the Samurai. But if he does

succeed here, he will have p e r s u a d e d us, n o t just t h a t t h e r e was

s o m e t h i n g to be said for them in ancient Japan, but that t h e r e would

be h e r e as well.

Isolating barriers simply c a n n o t arise here. If we accept s o m e t h i n g

as a serious moral t r u t h about o n e culture, we can't r e f u s e to apply

i t — i n however d i f f e r e n t an outward f o r m — t o o t h e r cultures as
well,

w h e r e v e r circumstances admit it. If we refuse to do this, we just are

not taking the other c u l t u r e seriously. T h i s becomes clear if we look

at t h e last a r g u m e n t used by my o b j e c t o r — t h a t of justification by

c o n s e n t of t h e victim. It is suggested that s u d d e n bisection is quite in

order, provided that it takes place between c o n s e n t i n g adults. I c a n n o t

now discuss how conclusive this justification is. W h a t I am p o i n t i n g

out is simply that it can only work if we believe that consent can m a k e

such a transaction r e s p e c t a b l e — a n d this is a t h o r o u g h l y m o d e r

n and

W e s t e r n idea. It would p r o b a b l y never occur to a Samurai; if it did, it

would surprise him very much. It is oar standard. In applying it, too,

we are likely to make a n o t h e r typically Western d e m a n d . We shall

ask f o r good factual e v i d e n c e t h a t the wayfarers actually do have this

r a t h e r surprising taste-—that they are really willing to be bisected. In

applying Western standards in this way, we are not being confused or

irrelevant. We are asking t h e questions which arise from where we

stand\ questions which we can see the sense of. We do this because

Trying Out One's New Stiiord • 336

asking questions which you can't see t h e sense of is h u m b u g . C e r -

tainly we can extend o u r questioning by imaginative effort. We can

c o m e to u n d e r s t a n d o t h e r societies better. By doing so, we m a y make

their questions o u r own, or we may see that they are really f o r m s of

the questions which we are asking already. T h i s is not impossible. It

is just very hard work. T h e obstacles which often prevent it are sim-

ply those of o r d i n a r y ignorance, laziness and prejudice.

If there were really an isolating barrier, of course, o u r own c u l t u r e

could never have been f o r m e d . It is no sealed box, but a fertile jungle

of different i n f l u e n c e s — G r e e k , Jewish, Roman, Norse, C e l t i c and

so

forth, into which f u r t h e r influences are still p o u r i n g — A m e r i c a n ,

Indian, Japanese, J a m a i c a n , you n a m e it. T h e moral isolationist's pic-

t u r e of separate, u n m i x a b l e cultures is quite unreal. P e o p l e who talk

about British history usually stress t h e value of this fertilizing mix,

no doubt rightly. But this is not just an odd fact about Britain. E x c e p t

for the very smallest and most remote, all c u l t u r e s are f o r m e d o u t of

many streams. All have the problem of digesting and assimilating

things which, at t h e start, they do not u n d e r s t a n d . All have the choice

of learning s o m e t h i n g f r o m this challenge, or, alternatively, of refus-

ing to learn, and fighting it mindlessly instead.

T h i s universal p r e d i c a m e n t has been obscured by t h e fact that

anthropologists u s e d to concentrate largely on very small and

r e m o t e cultures, which did not seem to have this problem. T h e s e tiny

societies, which had often forgotten their own history, m a d e neat,

self-contained subjects for study. No d o u b t it was valuable to e m p h a -

size their remoteness, their e x t r e m e strangeness, their i n d e p e n -

d e n c e of our cultural tradition. T h i s emphasis was, I think, the root

of moral isolationism. But, as the tribal studies themselves showed,

even t h e r e the anthropologists were able to i n t e r p r e t what they saw

and make j u d g m e n t s — o f t e n f a v o r a b l e — a b o u t the tribesmen.

And

the tribesmen, too, were quite equal to m a k i n g j u d g m e n t s about

t h e a n t h r o p o l o g i s t s — a n d about the tourists and C o c a - C o l a

sales-

m e n who followed them. Both sets of judgments, no doubt, were

s o m e w h a t hasty, both have been refined in the light of f u r t h e r experi-

ence. A similar transaction between us and the Samurai m i g h t take

even longer. But that is no reason at all for d e e m i n g it impossible.

Morally as well as physically, t h e r e is only one world, and we all have

to live in it.

C H A P T E R 15

J E A N ' P A U L SARTRE

J e a n - P a u l Sartre (1905-1980) may have been the only existential

philosopher to accept the label of existentialist. In this excerpt drawn

from his defining statement of that movement, Existentialism and

Human Emotion, Sartre recounts the tale of a young man who conies to

him for advice during the war. His only sibling has been killed and he

is trying to decide between joining the resistance and staying h o m e

to take care of his mother. T h e man wants to do the right thing. How

should he decide? If Sartre is correct, ethical theories can be used to

reinforce either decision. In the end, people are, as Sartre puts it,

"forlorn." T h e r e can be no objective basis for our moral resolutions.

We must simply choose, and take responsibility for our choices.

EXISTENTIALISM

A N D H U M A N E M O T I O N

If existence really does precede essence, there is no explaining things

away by reference to a fixed and given h u m a n nature. In other words,

there is no determinism, man is free, man is freedom. On the other

hand, if God does not exist, we find no values or commands to turn

to which legitimize our conduct. So, in the bright realm of values, we

have no excuse behind us, nor justification before us. We are alone,

with no excuses.

T h a t is the idea I shall try to convey when I say that man is con-

d e m n e d to be free. C o n d e m n e d , because he did not create himself,

yet, in other respects is free; because, once thrown into the world, he
is responsible for everything he does. T h e existentialist does not

believe in the power of passion. He will never agree that a sweeping

passion is a ravaging torrent which fatally leads a man to certain acts

and is therefore an excuse. He thinks that man is responsible for his

passion.

T h e existentialist does not think that man is going to help him-

self by finding in the world some omen by which to orient him-

self. Because he thinks that man will interpret the omen to suit

himself. Therefore, he thinks that man, with no support and no aid,

is condemned every m o m e n t to invent man. Ponge, in a very fine

article, has said, "Man is the future of man." That's exactly it. But if it

is taken to mean that this future is recorded in heaven, that G o d sees

330 • Jean-Paul Sartre

ic, then it is false, because it would really no longer be a f u t u r e . If it is

taken to mean that, whatever a man may he, t h e r e is a f u t u r e to be

forged, a virgin f u t u r e b e f o r e him, then this remark is sound. But

then we are forlorn.

To give you an e x a m p l e which will enable you to u n d e r s t a n d for-

lorn ness better, I shall cite the case of one of my students w h o c a m e

to see me u n d e r the following circumstances: his father was on bad

terms w i t h his mother, and, moreover, was inclined to be a collabora-

tionist; his o l d e r b r o t h e r had been killed in t h e G e r m a n offensive of

1940, and t h e y o u n g m a n , with s o m e w h a t i m m a t u r e b u t

generous,

feelings, wanted to avenge him. His m o t h e r lived alone with him,

very m u c h u p s e t by t h e half-treason of h e r h u s b a n d and the death of

her o l d e r son; t h e boy was h e r only consolation.

T h e boy was faced with t h e choice of leaving for E n g l a n d and

joining t h e Free French F o r c e s — t h a t is, leaving his m o t h e r b e h i n d

—

or r e m a i n i n g with his m o t h e r and helping h e r to carry on. He was

fully aware t h a t the w o m a n lived only f o r h i m and that his going-

o f f — a n d p e r h a p s his d e a t h — w o u l d p l u n g e h e r into despair.

He was

also aware that every act that he did for his mother's sake was a s u r e

thing, in the sense that it was h e l p i n g her to carry on, whereas every

e f f o r t he m a d e toward going off and fighting was an u n c e r t a i n move

which m i g h t r u n aground and prove c o m p l e t e l y useless; for example,

on his way to E n g l a n d he might, while passing t h r o u g h Spain, be

d e t a i n e d indefinitely in a Spanish camp; he m i g h t reach E n g l a n d or

Algiers and be stuck in an office at a desk job. As a result, he was faced

with two very d i f f e r e n t kinds of action: one, concrete, immediate, but

c o n c e r n i n g only o n e individual; the o t h e r c o n c e r n e d an i n c o m p

a r a -
bly vaster group, a national collectivity, b u t f o r that very reason was

dubious, and might be i n t e r r u p t e d en route. And, at t h e same time,

he was wavering b e t w e e n two kinds of ethics. On the one hand, an

ethics of sympathy, of p e r s o n a l devotion; on the other, a b r o a d e r

ethics, but o n e whose efficacy was m o r e dubious. He had to choose

b e t w e e n the two

W h o could help him choose? Christian doctrine? N o . Christian

d o c t r i n e says, "Be charitable, love y o u r neighbor, take the m o r e

rugged path, etc., etc." But which is the m o r e rugged path? W h o m

should he love as a brother? T h e fighting man or his mother? W h i c h

does t h e g r e a t e r good, the v a g u e act of fighting in a group, or the c o n -

Existentialism and Human Emotion • 331

Crete one of helping a particular h u m a n being to go on living? W h o

can decide a priori} Nobody. No book of ethics can tell him. T h e

Kantian ethics says, " N e v e r treat any person as a means, but as an

end." Very well, if I stay with my mother, I'll t r e a t her as an end and

not as a means; b u t by v i r t u e of this very fact, I'm r u n n i n g t h e risk of

t r e a t i n g the people a r o u n d me who are fighting, as means; and, c o n -

versely, if I go to join t h o s e who are fighting, I'll be treating t h e m as

an end, and, by d o i n g that, I r u n t h e risk of treating my m o t h e r as a

means.
If values are vague, and if they are always too broad for the con-

crete and specific case t h a t we are considering, t h e only thing left for

us is to trust o u r instincts. T h a t ' s what this y o u n g man tried to do;

and when I saw him, he said, "In the end, feeling is w h a t counts. I

o u g h t to choose whichever pushes me in o n e direction If I feel that I

love my m o t h e r e n o u g h to sacrifice e v e r y t h i n g else for h e r — m v

desire for vengeance, for action, for a d v e n t u r e — t h e n I'll stay with

her. If, on the contrary, I feel t h a t my love for my m o t h e r isn't

enough, I'll leave."

But how is the value of a feeling d e t e r m i n e d ? W h a t gives his feel-

ing for his m o t h e r value? Precisely the fact that he remained with

her. I may say t h a t I like so-and-so well e n o u g h to sacrifice a certain

a m o u n t of money for him, but I may say so only if I've done it. I may

say "I love my m o t h e r well enough to remain with her" if I have

r e m a i n e d with her. T h e only way to d e t e r m i n e t h e value of this

affection is, precisely, to p e r f o r m an act which confirms and defines

it. But, since I r e q u i r e this affection to justify my act, I find myself

c a u g h t in a vicious circle.

On t h e o t h e r hand, G i d e has well said that a mock feeling and a

t r u e feeling are almost indistinguishable; to decide that I love my

m o t h e r and will remain with her, or to remain with her by p u t t i n g on

an act, a m o u n t s o m e w h a t to the same thing. In other words, the feel-

ing is formed by the acts o n e performs; so, I c a n n o t r e f e r to it in o r d e r

to act u p o n it. W h i c h means that I can n e i t h e r seek within myself t h e

t r u e condition which will impel me to act, nor apply to a system of

ethics for concepts which will p e r m i t me to act. You will say, "At

least, he did go to a t e a c h e r for advice." But if you seek advice f r o m a

priest, f o r example, you have chosen this priest; you already knew,

m o r e or less, just about w h a t advice he was going to give you. In o t h e r

332 • Jean-Paul Sartre

words, choosing y o u r adviser is involving yourself. T h e proof of this

is t h a t if you are a Christian, you will say, " C o n s u l t a priest." But

some priests are collaborating, s o m e are just marking time, s o m e are

resisting. W h i c h to choose? If t h e y o u n g m a n chooses a priest who is

resisting or collaborating, he has already d e c i d e d on the kind of

advice he's going to get. T h e r e f o r e , in c o m i n g to see me he knew the

answer I was going to give him, and I had only o n e answer to give:

"You're free, choose, that is, invent." No general ethics can show you

what is to be done; t h e r e are no o m e n s in the world. T h e Catholics

will reply, "But t h e r e are." G r a n t e d — b u t , in any case, I myself

choose the m e a n i n g they have.

W h e n I was a prisoner, I k n e w a r a t h e r r e m a r k a b l e y o u n g m a n
w h o was a Jesuit. He had e n t e r e d the J e s u i t o r d e r in the following

way: he had had a n u m b e r of very bad breaks; in childhood, his father

died, leaving him in poverty, and he was a scholarship s t u d e n t at a

religious institution w h e r e he was constantly m a d e to feel that he was

being kept out of charity; then, he failed to get any of t h e h o n o r s and

distinctions that children like; later on, at a b o u t eighteen, he b u n g l e d

a love affair; finally, at twenty-two, he failed in military training, a

childish e n o u g h matter, h u t it was t h e last straw.

T h i s y o u n g fellow m i g h t well have felt t h a t he had botched e v e r y -

thing. It was a sign of something, but of what? He m i g h t have taken

r e f u g e in bitterness or despair. But he very wisely looked u p o n all

this as a sign that he was not m a d e for secular t r i u m p h s , and that only

t h e t r i u m p h s of religion, holiness, and faith were open to him. He

saw t h e hand of G o d in all this, and so he e n t e r e d t h e order. W h o can

h e l p seeing that he alone d e c i d e d what t h e sign meant?

S o m e other i n t e r p r e t a t i o n m i g h t have been drawn from this series

of setbacks; for example, that he might have d o n e b e t t e r to t u r n car-

p e n t e r or revolutionist. T h e r e f o r e , he is fully responsible for t h e

i n t e r p r e t a t i o n . Forlornness implies t h a t we ourselves choose o u r

being. Forlornness and anguish go together.

CHAPTER 16
P H I L I P H A L L I E

N o t your ordinary philosopher, Mr. Hallie worked in the medium of

concrete historical events. As a much decorated World War II vet-

eran and a passionate student of the Holocaust, Mr. Hallie was liter-

ally driven to despair by the many examples in human history of

institutionalized violence and sadism. Indeed, who knows what

might have happened to him if he had not inadvertently come across

the story of the good and hrave people of Le Chambon, France. D u r -

ing the war, these ordinary citizens consistently risked their lives to

save Jews from the Gestapo. In this article from 1981, Mr. Hallie bal-

ances out the mind-numbing inhumanity that he has witnessed with

something that he quaintly terms "hospitality."

F R O M C R U E L T Y T O G O O D N E S S

I am a student of ethics, of good and evil; but my approach to these

two rather melodramatic terms is skeptical. I am in the tradition of

the ancient G r e e k skeptikoi, whose name means "inquirers" or "inves-

tigators." And what we investigate is relationships among particular

facts. W h a t we put into doubt are the intricate webs of high-level

abstractions that passed for philosophizing in the ancient world, and

that still pass for philosophizing. My approach to good and evil

emphasizes not abstract common nouns like "justice," but p r o p e r

names and verbs. N a m e s and verbs keep us close to the facts better

than do our highfalutin common nouns. N a m e s refer to particular

people, and verbs connect subjects with predicates in time, while

c o m m o n nouns are above all this.

O n e of the words that is important to me is my own name. For me,

philosophy is personal; it is closer to literature and history than it is

to the exact sciences, closer to the passions, actions, and c o m m o n

sense of individual persons than to a dispassionate technical science.

It has to do with the personal matter of wisdom. And so ethics for me

is p e r s o n a l — m y story, and not necessarily (though possibly) yours. It

concerns particular people at particular times.

Rut ethics is more than such particulars. It involves abstractions,

that is, rules, laws, ideals. W h e n you look at the ethical magnates of

history you see in their words and deeds two sorts of ethical rules:

From Cruelty to Goodness • 335

negative and positive. T h e negative rules are scattered t h r o u g h o u t

the Bible, but M o s e s b r o u g h t down f r o m M o u n t Sinai the main neg-

ative ethical rules of t h e W e s t T h o u shalt n o t m u r d e r ; thou shalt not

b e t r a y . . . . T h e positive injunctions are similarly spread t h r o u g h o u t

the Bible. In the first c h a p t e r of t h e book of Isaiah we are told to ". ..

d e f e n d the fatherless, plead for the w i d o w . . ." T h e negative ethic

forbids certain actions; the positive ethic d e m a n d s certain actions. To

follow the negative e t h i c is to be decent, to have clean hands. But to

follow the positive ethic, to be one's brother's keeper, is to be m o r e than

d e c e n t — i t is to be active, even aggressive. If the negative ethic is o n e

of decency, the positive o n e is the ethic of riskful, strenuous nobility.

In my early studies of particularized ethical terms, I found myself

dwelling u p o n negative ethics, u p o n prohibitions. And among the

most conspicuous prohibitions I found e m b o d i e d in history was the

prohibition against deliberate harmdoing, against cruelty. " T h o u shalt

not be cruel" had as m u c h to do with the n i g h t m a r e of history as did

t h e prohibitions against m u r d e r and betrayal. In fact, many of t h e T e n

C o m m a n d m e n t s — e s p e c i a l l y those against murder, adultery,

stealing,

and betrayal—were ways of prohibiting cruelty.

Early in my research it b e c a m e clear t h a t there are various

approaches to cruelty, as the different c o m m a n d m e n t s suggest. For

instance, t h e r e is t h e way reflected in the origins of the word "cruel."

T h e Latin crudus is related to still o l d e r words standing for b l o o d -

shed, or raw flesh. A c c o r d i n g to the e t y m o l o g y of the word, c r u e l t y

involves the spilling of blood.

But m o d e r n dictionaries give the word a d i f f e r e n t meaning. T h e y

define it as "disposed to giving pain." T h e y emphasize awareness, not

simply bloodshed. A f t e r all, they seem to say, you cannot be cruel to

a dead body. T h e r e is no cruelty w i t h o u t consciousness.

And so I found myself studying the kinds of awareness associated

with the hurting of h u m a n beings. It is certainly t r u e that for millen-

nia in history and literature people have been t o r t u r i n g each o t h e r

not only with hard w e a p o n s b u t also with hard words.

Still, the word "pain" seemed to be a simplistic and superficial way

of describing the m a n y d i f f e r e n t sorts of cruelty. In Reska Weiss's

Journey Through Hell ( L o n d o n , 1961) t h e r e is a brief passage of o n e of

the deepest cruelties that N a z i s p e r p e t r a t e d u p o n e x t e r m i n a t i o n

c a m p inmates. On a m a r c h

336 • Philip Hallie

U r i n e and excreta poured down the prisoners' legs, and by

nightfall the excrement, which had frozen to our limbs,

gave off its stench.. ..

And Weiss goes on to talk n o t in terms of "pain" or bloodshed, b u t in

o t h e r terms:

. . . We were really no longer h u m a n beings in the

accepted sense. N o t even animals, but p u t r e f y i n g corpses

moving on two l e g s . . . .
T h e r e is one factor that the idea of "pain" and the simpler idea of

bloodshed do not touch: cruelty, not playful, quotidian teasing or

ragging, b u t cruelty (what the a n t i - c r u e l t y societies usually call

"substantial cruelty") involves the m a i m i n g of a person's dignity, the

c r u s h i n g of a person's self-respect. Bloodshed, the idea of pain

(which is usually s o m e t h i n g involving a localizable o c c u r r e n c e ,

localizable in a tooth, in a head, in short, in t h e body) these are s u p e r -

ficial ideas of cruelty. A whip, bleeding flesh, these are what t h e jour-

nalists of c r u e l t y emphasize, following the e t y m o l o g y and dictionary

m e a n i n g of the word. But the d e p t h s of an u n d e r s t a n d i n g of c r u e

l t y

lie in the depths of an u n d e r s t a n d i n g of h u m a n - d i g n i t y and of

how

you can m a i m it w i t h o u t bloodshed, and often w i t h o u t localizable

b o d i l y pain.

In excremental assault, in t h e process of keeping camp i n m a t e s

from w i p i n g themselves or f r o m going to the latrine, and in m a k i n g

t h e m drink water f r o m a toilet bowl full of excreta (and the excreta of

the g u a r d s at that) localizable pain is nothing. D e e p h u m i l i a t i o n is

everything. We h u m a n beings believe in hierarchies, w h e t h e r we are

skeptics or not a b o u t h u m a n value. T h e r e is a hierarchical gap

b e t w e e n shit and me. We are even above using the word. We are
"above" walking around besmirched with feces. O u r dignity, w h a t -

ever the origins of that dignity may be, does n o t p e r m i t it. Tn o r d e r to

be able to want to live, in o r d e r to be able to walk erect, we m u s t

r e s p e c t ourselves as beings "higher" than o u r feces. W h e n we feel

that we are not "higher" than dirt or filth, then o u r lives are m a i m e d

at the very center, in the very depths, not m e r e l y in some localizable

p o r t i o n of o u r bodies. And when our lives are so m a i m e d we b e c o m e

From Cruelty to Goodness • 337

things, slaves, instruments. From ancient times until this m o m e n t ,

and as long as t h e r e will be human beings on this planet, t h e r e are

those who know this and will use it, just as t h e Roman slave owners

and the S o u t h e r n American slave owners knew it w h e n — o n e t i m e a

y e a r — t h e y e n c o u r a g e d t h e slaves to drink all the alcohol they could

drink so that they could get bestially d r u n k and t h e n even m o r e bes-

tially sick afterward u n d e r the eyes of their generous owners. T h e

self-hatred, the loss of self-respect that t h e Saturnalia created in

a n c i e n t Rome, say, m a d e it possible to c o n t i n u e using the slaves as

things, since they themselves came to think of themselves as things,

as s u b h u m a n tools of t h e owners and the overseers.

Institutionalized c r u e l t y I learned, is t h e subtlest kind of cruelty.

In episodic cruelty t h e victim knows he is being hurt, and his victim-

izer knows it too. But in a persistent p a t t e r n of humiliation t h a t

e n d u r e s for years in a community, both the victim and t h e victimizer

find ways of o b s c u r i n g t h e harm that is being done. Blacks c o m e to

think of themselves as inferior, even esthetically inferior (black is

"dirty"); and J e w s c o m e to think of t h e m s e l v e s as inferior, even

esthetically (dark hair and aquiline noses are "ugly"), so t h a t t h e way

they are being t r e a t e d is justified by their "actual" inferiority, by t h e

inferiority they themselves feel.

A similar process h a p p e n s in the minds of t h e victimizers in

institutionalized cruelty. T h e y feel that since they are superior,

even esthetically ("to be blonde is to be beautiful") they deserve to

do what they wish, d e s e r v e to have t h e s e lower creatures u n d e r

their control. T h e words of H e i n r i c h H i m m l e r , head of t h e N a z i

SS, in Posen in t h e year 1943 in a speech to his SS subordinates in

a closed session, show how institutionalized c r u e l t y can obscure

harmdoing:

.. . the words c o m e so easily. " T h e Jewish people will be

exterminated," says every party member, "of course. It's in

our program . . . extermination. We'll take care of it." And

then they come, these nice 80 million Germans, and every

one of them has his decent Jew. Sure the others are swine,
but his one is a fine Jew . . . Most of you will know what it

means to have seen 100 corpses together, or 500 or 1000.

To have m a d e one's way through that, and . . . to have

338 • Philip Hallie

remained a decent person throughout, that is what has

m a d e us hard. T h a t is a page of glory in our h i s t o r y . . . .

In this speech he was m a k i n g a sharp distinction b e t w e e n t h e p r o -

gram of c r u s h i n g t h e Jews and t h e personal sentiments of individual

G e r m a n s . T h e program stretched over years; personal s e n t i m e n t s

w e r e momentary. He was p l e a d i n g for the p r o g r a m , for institutional-

ized destruction.

But o n e of the m o s t interesting parts of the speech occurs toward

the end of it:

. . . in sum, we can say that we fulfilled this heaviest of

tasks [destroying the Jews] in love to our people. And we

suffered no harm in our essence, in our soul, in our charac-

ter. . . .

C o m m i t m e n t that overrides all sentimentality t r a n s f o r m s c r u e l t y

and destruction into moral nobility, and c o m m i t m e n t is the life-

blood of an institution.

C R U E L T Y A N D T H E P O W E R R E L A T I O N S H I P S
But when I studied all these ways that we have used the word " c r u -

elty," I was nagged by t h e feeling that I had not p e n e t r a t e d into its

i n n e r structure. I was classifying, sorting out symptoms; b u t s y m p -

toms are signals, and what were these s y m p t o m s signals oft I felt like

a person who had been studying cancer by sorting out brief pains

from persistent pains, pains in the belly from pains in the head. 1 was

being superficial, and I was not asking the question, " W h a t are the

forces behind these kinds of cruelty?" I felt that t h e r e w e r e such

forces, but as yet I had not t o u c h e d them.

T h e n o n e day I was reading in one of the great autobiographies of

western civilization, Frederick Douglass's Life and Times. T h e passage

I was r e a d i n g was about Douglass's thoughts on the origins of slavery.

He was asking himself " H o w could these whites keep us enslaved?"

And he suddenly realized:

From Cruelty to Goodness • 339

My faculties and powers of body and soul are not my own,

but are the p r o p e r t y of a fellow-mortal in no sense supe-

rior to me, except that he has the physical power to c o m -

pel me to be owned and controlled by him. By the

combined physical force of the c o m m u n i t y I am his

slave—a slave for life.

And then I saw that a disparity in power lay at t h e center of the

d y n a m i s m of cruelty. If it was institutional cruelty it was in all likeli-

hood a difference involving both verbal and physical power that kept

t h e cruelty going. T h e power of the majority and t h e weakness of a

m i n o r i t y were at t h e c e n t e r of the institutional cruelty of slavery and

of N a z i anti-Semitism. T h e whites n o t only o u t n u m b e r e d t h e blacks

in America, but had e c o n o m i c and political ascendancy over t h e m .

But just as i m p o r t a n t as these "physical" powers was the p o w e r t h a t

words like "nigger" and "slave" gave the white majority. T h e i r lan-

guage sanctified if it did not create their power ascendancy over t h e

blacks, and one of the most i m p o r t a n t projects of the slaveholders

and their allies was that of seeing to it that the blacks themselves

t h o u g h t of themselves in just these powerless terms. T h e y utilized

the language to convince n o t only t h e whites but the blacks t h e m -

selves that blacks were weak in mind, in will power, and in worth.

T h e s e words were like the excremental assault in the killing camps of

the Nazis: they diminished both the r e s p e c t the victimizers m i g h t

have for their victims and the respect the victims might have for

themselves.

It occurred to me that if a power differential is crucial to t h e idea

of cruelty, then when t h a t power differential is maintained, c r u e l t y

will tend to be m a i n t a i n e d , and when t h a t power differential is elim-

inated, c r u e l t y will t e n d to be eliminated, And this seemed to work.

In all kinds of cruelty, violent and polite, episodic and institutional,

w h e n t h e victim arms himself with the a p p r o p r i a t e strength, t h e c r u -

elty diminishes or disappears. W h e n Jews joined the Bush W a r r i o r s

of France, the Maquis, and became powerful enough to strike at

Vichy or the Nazis, they s t o p p e d being victims of French and N a z i

cruelty. W h e n Frederick Douglass learned to use t h e language with

great skill and expressiveness, and w h e n he learned to u s e his physi-

cal strength against his masters, the p o w e r differential between him

340 • Philip Hallie

and his masters diminished, and so did their c r u e l t y to him. In his

a u t o b i o g r a p h y he wrote:

A man without force is without the essentia] dignity of

humanity. H u m a n nature is so constituted that it cannot

h o n o r a helpless man, though it can pity him, and even this

it cannot do long if signs of power do not arise.

W h e n T looked back at my own childhood in Chicago, I r e m e m -

bered that t h e physical and mental cruelties that I suffered in t h e

slums of t h e southwest side when I was about ten years old

sharply diminished and finally disappeared when I learned how to

d e f e n d myself physically and verbally. It is exactly this lesson

that Douglass learned while growing up in the crliel institution of

slavery.

C r u e l t y then, whatever else it is, is a kind of power relationship, an

i m b a l a n c e of power w h e r e i n t h e stronger p a r t y becomes the victim-

izer and t h e weaker b e c o m e s the victim. And since m a n y general

t e r m s are most swiftly u n d e r s t o o d in relationship with their o p p o -

sites (just as "heavy" can be understood most handily in relationship

with what we mean by "light") t h e opposite of c r u e l t y lay in a s i t u a -

tion w h e r e t h e r e is no i m b a l a n c e of power. T h e opposite of cruelty, I

learned, was f r e e d o m f r o m t h a t u n b a l a n c e d p o w e r relationship.

E i t h e r t h e victim should get stronger and stand up to t h e victiinizer,

and t h e r e b y bring about a balance of t h e i r powers, or the victim

should f r e e himself f r o m the whole relationship by flight.

In p u r s u i n g this line of t h o u g h t , I came to believe that, again, dic-

tionaries are misleading: many, of t h e m give "kindness" as t h e

a n t o n y m for "cruelty." In s t u d y i n g slavery in America and the c o n -

centration camps of central E u r o p e I f o u n d that kindness could be

t h e u l t i m a t e cruelty, especially when it was given within that u n b a l -

anced p o w e r relationship. A kind overseer or a kind c a m p guard can

exacerbate cruelty, can r e m i n d his victim t h a t t h e r e are other rela-

tionships than the relationship of cruelty, and can make the victim

d e e p l y bitter, especially w h e n he sees t h e self-satisfied smile of his

victiinizer. He is b e i n g c r u e l l y treated when he is given a p e n n y or a

b u n a f t e r having e n d u r e d the c r u s h i n g and grinding of his m e n t a l

and bodily well-being. As Frederick Douglass p u t it:

From Cruelty to Goodness • 350

T h e kindness of the slave-master only gilded the chain. It

detracted nothing f r o m its weight or strength. T h e thought

that men are for other and better uses than slavery throve

best u n d e r the gentle treatment of a kind master.

N o , 1 learned, the opposite of c r u e l t y is not kindness. T h e o p p o -

site of the c r u e l t y of the overseer in A m e r i c a n slavery was not the

kindness of t h a t overseer for a m o m e n t or for a day. An episodic

kindness is not the opposite of an institutionalized cruelty. T h e

opposite of institutionalized cruelty is f r e e d o m from the cruel rela-

tionship.

It is i m p o r t a n t to see how perspectival the whole m e a n i n g of c r u -

elty is. From the perspective of the SS guard or the s o u t h e r n over-

seer, a bit of bread, a smile is indeed a d i m i n u t i o n of cruelty. But in

the relationship of cruelty, the point of view of the victimizer is of

only m i n o r importance; it is the point of view of the victim that is

authoritative. T h e victim feels the s u f f e r i n g in his own m i n d and

body, whereas the victimizer, like H i m m l e r ' s "hard" and "decent"

Nazi, can be quite u n a w a r e of that suffering. T h e sword does not feel

the pain that it inflicts. Do not ask it about suffering.

G O O D N E S S P E R S O N I F I E D I N L E C H A M B O N

All these considerations drove me to write my book The Paradox of

Cruelty. But with the book behind me, I felt a d e e p discontent. 1 saw

cruelty as an e m b o d i m e n t , a particular case of evil. But if c r u e l t y is

o n e of the main evils of h u m a n history, why is the opposite of cruelty

not one of the key goods of h u m a n history? F r e e d o m f r o m the cruel

relationship, either by escaping it or by redressing the imbalance of

power, was n o t essential to what western philosophers and t h e o l o -

gians have t h o u g h t of as goodness. E s c a p e is a negative affair. G o o d -

ness has something positive in it, s o m e t h i n g triumphantly affirmative.

H o p i n g for a h i n t of goodness in the very center of evil, 1 started

looking closely at the so-called "medical e x p e r i m e n t s " of the N a z i s

u p o n children, usually Jewish and G y p s y children, in the d e a t h

camps. H e r e were the weakest of the weak. N o t only were they

342 • Philip Hallie

despised minorities, b u t they were, as individuals, still in their

nonage, T h e y were d e p e n d e n t s . H e r e t h e power imbalance b e t w e e

n

t h e c r u e l e x p e r i m e n t e r s and their victims was at its greatest. But

instead of seeing light or finding insight by going down into this hell,

into t h e d e e p e s t d e p t h of cruelty, I found myself unwillingly b e c o m -

ing p a r t of t h e world I was studying. I f o u n d myself e i t h e r y e a r n i n g

to be viciously cruel to t h e victimizers of t h e children, or 1 f o u n d

myself f e e l i n g compassion for the children, feeling their despair and

pain as they looked up at t h e m e n and w o m e n in white coats cutting

off their fingertips one at a time, or breaking their slender bones, or

w o u n d i n g their internal organs. E i t h e r 1 b e c a m e a w o u l d - b e v i c t

i m -

izer or o n e m o r e Jewish victim, and in e i t h e r case I was not achieving

insight, only misery, like so m a n y other students of the Holocaust.

And when I was t r y i n g to be "objective" a b o u t my studies, w h e n I was

s u c c e e d i n g at being i n d i f f e r e n t to both the victimizers and t h e vic-

tims of these cruel relationships, I b e c a m e cold; I b e c a m e a n o t h e r

m o n s t e r who could look u p o n t h e m a i m i n g of a child with an indif-

f e r e n t eye.

To relieve this u n e n d i n g suffering, f r o m time to t i m e I would t u r n

to the literature of the F r e n c h resistance to the Nazis. I had been

trained by the U.S. A r m y to u n d e r s t a n d it, T h e resistance was a way

of t r y i n g to redress the p o w e r imbalance b e t w e e n Hitler's Fortress

E u r o p e and Hitler's victims, and so I saw it as an e n e m y of cruelty.

Still, its m e t h o d s were often cruel like the m e t h o d s of most power

struggles, and I had little h o p e of finding goodness here. We soldiers

violated t h e negative ethic f o r b i d d i n g killing in order, we t h o u g h t , to

follow the positive ethic of b e i n g o u r b r o t h e r s ' keepers.

A n d t h e n o n e gray April a f t e r n o o n I f o u n d a brief article on t h e

F r e n c h village of Le C h a m b o n - s u r - L i g n o n . I shall not analyze h e

r e

the tears of a m a z e m e n t and gladness and release from d e s p a i r — i n

short, of j o y — t h a t I shed w h e n I first read t h a t story. T e a r s t h e m -

selves interest me g r e a t l y — b u t not the tears of m e l a n c h o l y h i n d -

sight and existential despair, r a t h e r the tears of awe you e x p e r i e n c e

w h e n the realization of an ideal suddenly appears before y o u r very

eyes or t h u n d e r s inside y o u r mind; these tears interest me.

And o n e of the reasons I w e p t at first r e a d i n g about Le C h a m b o n

in t h o s e brief, i n a c c u r a t e pages was that at last I had discovered an

e m b o d i m e n t of goodness in opposition to c r u e l t y I had discovered in

From Cruelty to Goodness • 352

the flesh and blood of history, in people with definite n a m e s in a defi-

nite place at a definite time in the n i g h t m a r e of history, what no clas-

sical or religious ethicist could deny was goodness.

T h e French Protestant village of Le C h a m b o n , located in the

C e v e n n e s M o u n t a i n s of southeastern France, and with a population

of about 3,500, saved t h e lives of about 6,000 people, most of t h e m

Jewish children whose parents had been m u r d e r e d in t h e killing

camps of central E u r o p e . U n d e r a national government which was

not only collaborating with the N a z i c o n q u e r o r s of France b u t fre-

quently trying to o u t d o the G e r m a n s in anti-Semitism in o r d e r to

please their conquerors, and later u n d e r the day-to-day t h r e a t of

destruction by the G e r m a n A r m e d SS, they started to save children

in the winter of 1940, the w i n t e r after t h e fall of France, and they

continued to do so until the war in France was over. T h e y sheltered

the refugees in their own homes and in various houses they estab-

lished especially for them; and they took many of t h e m across the

terrible m o u n t a i n s to neutral Geneva, Switzerland, in the teeth of

French and G e r m a n police and military power. T h e p e o p l e of Le

C h a m b o n are poor, and the H u g u e n o t faith to which they b e l o n g is a

diminishing faith in Catholic and atheist France; but their spiritual

power, their capacity to act in unison against the victimizers who sur-

r o u n d e d them, was immense, and m o r e than a match for the military

power of those victimizers.

But for me as an ethicist the h e a r t of the m a t t e r was not only their

special power. W h a t interested me was that they obeyed both t h e neg-

ative and the positive injunctions of ethics; they were good not only

in the sense of trying to be their brothers' keepers, p r o t e c t i n g the

victim, " d e f e n d i n g t h e fatherless," to u s e t h e language of Isaiah; they

w e r e also good in the sense t h a t they obeyed the negative injunctions

against killing and betraying. W h i l e those around t h e m — i n c l u d i n g

m y s e l f — w e r e m u r d e r i n g in order presumably, to help m a n k i n d in

some way or other, they m u r d e r e d nobody, and betrayed not a single

child in those long and dangerous f o u r years. For me as an ethicist

they were the e m b o d i m e n t of u n a m b i g u o u s goodness.

But for me as a s t u d e n t of cruelty they were s o m e t h i n g more: they

were an e m b o d i m e n t of the opposite of cruelty. And so, somehow, at

last, I had f o u n d goodness in opposition to cruelty. In s t u d y i n g their

story, and in telling it in Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed, I l e a r n e d that the

344 • Philip Hallie

opposite of cruelty is not simply f r e e d o m f r o m t h e cruel relation-

ship; it is hospitality. It lies not only in s o m e t h i n g negative, an absence

of c r u e l t y or of imbalance; it lies in u n s e n t i m e n t a l , efficacious love.

T h e o p p o s i t e of the cruelties of the camps was not the liberation of

t h e camps, the cleaning o u t of t h e barracks and the cessation of the

horrors. All of this was the end of the c r u e l t y relationship, not the

o p p o s i t e of that relationship. And it was not even the end of it,

b e c a u s e t h e victims would never forget and would remain in agony

as long as they r e m e m b e r e d t h e i r humiliation and suffering. N o , the

o p p o s i t e of cruelty was not the liberation of t h e camps, not f r e e d o m ;

it was the hospitality of the p e o p l e of C h a m b o n , and of very few

others d u r i n g t h e Holocaust. T h e opposite of c r u e l t y was the kind of

goodness that h a p p e n e d in C h a m b o n .

Let me explain the d i f f e r e n c e between liberation and hospitality

by telling you about a letter I received a year ago f r o m a woman w h o

had b e e n saved by the p e o p l e of Le C h a m b o n w h e n she was a y o u n

g

girl. S h e wrote:

N e v e r was there a question that the C h a m b o n n a i s would

not share all they had with us, meager as it was. O n e

C h a m b o n n a i s once told me that even if there was less, they

still would want m o r e for us.

And she goes on:

It was indeed a very different attitude from the one in

Switzerland, which while saving us also resented us so

m u c h .
If today we are not bitter people like most survivors it

can only be d u e to the fact that we m e t people like the

p e o p l e of Le C h a m b o n , who showed to us simply that life

can be different, that there are people who care, that

people can live together and even risk their own lives for

their fellow man.

T h e Swiss liberated relugees and removed t h e m f r o m the cruel rela-

tionship; the p e o p l e of Le C h a m b o n did more. T h e y taught t h e m

that goodness could c o n q u e r cruelty, that loving hospitality could

From Cruelly to Goodness >•#S

remove them f r o m t h e cruel relationship. And they taught me this,

too.

It is i m p o r t a n t to e m p h a s i z e that c r u e l t y is not simply an episodic,

m o m e n t a r y matter, especially institutional c r u e l t y like that of

Nazism or slavery. As we have seen t h r o u g h o u t this essay, not only-

does it persist while it is being exerted u p o n the weak; it can persist in

the survivors after they have escaped t h e p o w e r relationship. T h e sur-

vivors t o r t u r e themselves, continue to suffer, c o n t i n u e to m a i m their

own lives long after the actual t o r t u r e is finished. T h e sell-hatred and

rage of the blacks and the despair of the native Americans and the

Jews who have s u f f e r e d u n d e r institutional crushing and m a i m i n g

are continuations of original cruelties. A n d these continuations exist

because only a superficial liberation f r o m t o r t u r e has occurred. T h e

sword has stopped falling on their flesh in the old obvious ways, but

the wounds still bleed. I am not saying that the village of C h a m b o n

healed these w o u n d s — t h e y go too deep. W h a t I am saying is that the

people I have talked to who were o n c e children in Le C h a m b o n have

m o r e h o p e for their species and m o r e respect for themselves as

h u m a n beings than most o t h e r survivors 1 have met. T h e e n d u r i n g

hospitality they m e t in Le C h a m b o n h e l p e d t h e m find realistic h o p e

in a world of persisting cruelty.

W h a t was the n a t u r e of this hospitality that saved and deeply

changed so m a n y lives? It is hard to s u m m a r i z e briefly what the

C h a m h o n n a i s did, and above all how they did it. T h e m o r n i n g after a

new r e f u g e e family c a m e to town they would find on their f r o n t d o o r

a w r e a t h with " Bienvenue!" "Welcome!" painted on a piece of card-

board attached to t h e wreath. N o b o d y knew who had b r o u g h t the

wreath; in effect, the whole town had b r o u g h t it.

It was mainly the w o m e n of C h a m b o n who gave so m u c h m o r e

than shelter to these, the most hated e n e m i e s of the Nazis. T h e r e was

M a d a m e Barraud, a tiny Alsatian, who cared for the r e f u g e e boys in

her h o u s e with all t h e love such a tiny body could hold, and who
cared for the way they felt day and night. And t h e r e w e r e others.

But t h e r e was o n e person without w h o m Le C h a m b o n could not

have b e c o m e the safest place in E u r o p e f o r Jews: the H u g u e n o t min-

ister of the village, A n d r e T r o c m e . T r o c m e was a passionately reli-

gious man. He was massive, m o r e than six feet tall, blonde, with a

quick temper. O n c e long after the war, while he was l e c t u r i n g on t h e

346 • Philip Hallie

main project of his life, the p r o m o t i o n of t h e idea of nonviolence in

international relations, one of t h e m e m b e r s of his a u d i e n c e started to

whisper a few words to his neighbor. T r o c m e let this go on for a few

m o m e n t s , then i n t e r r u p t e d his speech, walked up to the astonished

whisperer, raised his massive arm, pointed toward t h e door, and

yelled, "Out! Out! G e t out!" And the lecture was on nonviolence.

T h e c e n t e r of his t h o u g h t was the belief that G o d showed how

i m p o r t a n t m a n was by b e c o m i n g Himself a h u m a n being, and by

b e c o m i n g a particular sort of h u m a n being who was the e m b o d i m e n t

of sacrificially g e n e r o u s love. For T r o c m e , every h u m a n being was

like Jesus, had G o d in him or her, and was just as precious as G o d

H i m s e l f . And when T r o c m e with t h e help of the Q u a k e r s and others

organized his village into the most efficient rescue m a c h i n e in

E u r o p e , he did so not only to save the Jews, but also to save the N a z i s
and their collaborators. He wanted to keep them f r o m blackening

their souls with m o r e e v i l — h e wanted to save t h e m , t h e victimizers,

f r o m evil

O n e of t h e reasons he was successful was t h a t t h e H u g u e n o t s had

been themselves p e r s e c u t e d for h u n d r e d s of years by t h e kings of

France, and they knew what p e r s e c u t i o n was. In fact, w h e n t h e

p e o p l e of C h a m b o n took Jewish children and whole families across

the m o u n t a i n s of s o u t h e a s t e r n France into neutral Switzerland, they

often followed pathways that had been taken by H u g u e n o t s in their

flight f r o m t h e D r a g o o n s of t h e French kings.

A particular incident f r o m t h e story of Le C h a m b o n d u r i n g the

N a z i o c c u p a t i o n of France will explain succinctly w h y he was suc-

cessful in making the village a village of refuge. But before I relate

the story, I must point o u t that the people of t h e village did not think

of themselves as "successful," let alone as "good." From their point of

view, they did not do a n y t h i n g that required elaborate explanation.

W h e n I asked them why they helped these dangerous guests, they

invariably answered, " W h a t do you mean, 'Why?' W h e r e else could

they go? H o w could you t u r n t h e m away? W h a t is so special about

being r e a d y to help {prete a servir)? T h e r e was n o t h i n g else to do."

And s o m e of t h e m laughed in a m a z e m e n t when 1 told t h e m that I

t h o u g h t they were "good people." T h e y saw no alternative to t h e i r

actions and to the way they acted, and t h e r e f o r e they saw w h a t they

did as necessary, not s o m e t h i n g to be picked out for praise. H e l p i n g

From Cruelty to Goodness • 356

these guests was for t h e m as natural as breathing or e a t i n g — o n e does

not think of alternatives to these functions; they did not think of

alternatives to sheltering people who w e r e e n d a n g e r i n g not only the

lives of their hosts b u t the lives of all the people of the village.

And now t h e story. O n e afternoon a r e f u g e e woman knocked on

the door of a f a r m h o u s e outside the village. T h e f a r m e r s around the

village p r o p e r w e r e Protestants like most of the others in C h a m b o n ,

but with one difference: they were mostly "Darbystes," followers of a

strange Scot n a m e d Darby, who t a u g h t their ancestors in t h e nine-

teenth c e n t u r y to believe every word of the Bible, and indeed, who

had t h e m m e m o r i z e the Bible. T h e y w e r e literal fundamentalists.

T h e f a r m - w o m a n o p e n e d the d o o r to t h e refugee and invited h e r

into the kitchen w h e r e it was warm. S t a n d i n g in the m i d d l e of t h e

tloor t h e refugee, in heavily accented French, asked for eggs for h e r

children. In those days of very short supplies, people with children

often went to f a r m e r s in the "gray market" (neither black n o r exactly

legal) to get necessary food. T h i s was early in 1941, and the f a r m e r s

were not yet accustomed to the refugees. T h e f a r m - w o m a n looked

into the eyes of the shawled r e f u g e e and asked, "Are you Jewish?"

T h e woman started to tremble, but she could not lie, even though

that question was usually the beginning of the end of life f o r Jews in

Hitler's Fortress E u r o p e . She answered, "Yes."

T h e woman ran f r o m the kitchen to the staircase nearby, and while

the r e f u g e e t r e m b l e d with terror in t h e kitchen, she called up the

stairs, "Husband, children, c o m e down, c o m e down! We have in o u r

house at this very m o m e n t a representative of t h e C h o s e n People!"

N o t all the Protestants in C h a m b o n w e r e Darbyste f u n d a m e n t a l -

ists; b u t almost all were convinced t h a t p e o p l e are the children of

G o d , and are as precious as G o d H i m s e l f . T h e i r leaders w e r e

H u g u e n o t p r e a c h e r s and their following of the negative and positive

c o m m a n d m e n t s of the Bible c a m e in part f r o m their personal g e n -

erosity and courage, b u t also in part f r o m the depths of their reli-

gious conviction that we are all children of G o d , and we m u s t take

care of each o t h e r lovingly. T h i s c o m b i n e d with the ancient and d e e p

historical ties b e t w e e n the H u g u e n o t s and t h e Jews of France and

their own centuries of persecution by t h e Dragoons and Kings of

France helped make them what they were, "always ready to help," as

the C h a m b o n n a i s saying goes.

348 • Philip Hallie

A C H O I C E O F P E R S P E C T I V E S

We have c o m e a long way from cruelty to the p e o p l e of C h a m b o n ,

just as I have c o m e a long way in my research f r o m concrete evil to

c o n c r e t e goodness. Let me c o n c l u d e with a point that has been alter-

nately h i n t e d at and stressed in the course of this essay.

A few m o n t h s after Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed was published I

received a letter from Massachusetts t h a t o p e n e d as follows:

I have read your book, and 1 believe that you mushy-

minded moralists should be awakened to the facts.

N o t h i n g happened in Le C h a m b o n , nothing of any impor-

tance whatsoever.

T h e Holocaust, dear Professor, was like a geological

event, like an earthquake. No person could start it; no per-

son could change it; and no person could end it. And no

small group of persons could do so either. It was the

armies and the nations that performed actions that

counted. Individuals did nothing. You sentimentalists have

got to learn that the great masses and big political ideas

make the difference. Your people and the people they

saved simply do not e x i s t . . . .

N o w b e t w e e n this position and mine t h e r e is an abyss that no

a m o u n t of shouted a r g u m e n t s or facts can cross. And so I shall not

answer this letter with a tightly organized reply. I shall answer it only

by telling you that o n e of the reasons institutional cruelty exists and

persists is that p e o p l e believe that individuals can do nothing, that

only vast ideologies and armies can act meaningfully. E v e r y act of

institutional c r u e l t y — N a z i s m , slavery, and all the others—lives n o t

with p e o p l e in the concrete, but with abstractions that blind p e o p l e

to individuals. H i m m l e r ' s speech to the SS leadership in 1943 is full

of phrases like " e x t e r m i n a t i n g a bacillus," and " T h e Jewish p e o p l e

will be exterminated." And in that speech he attacks any G e r m a n

who believes in "his d e c e n t j e w . " Institutional cruelty, like o t h e r mis-

leading approaches to ethics, blinds us to the victim's p o i n t of view;

and w h e n we are blind to that point of view we can c o u n t e n a n c e and

p e r p e t r a t e cruelty wTith impunity.

From Cruelty to Goodness • 358

I have told you that I cannot and will not try to r e f u t e the letter •

from Massachusetts. I shall only s u m m a r i z e the point of view of this

essay with a n o t h e r story.

I was lecturing a f e w m o n t h s ago in Minneapolis, and when T fin-

ished talking about the Holocaust and the village of Le C h a m b o n , a

w o m a n stood up and asked me if t h e village of Le C h a m b o n was in

the D e p a r t m e n t of H a u t e - L o i r e , the high sources of the L o i r e

River.

Obviously she was French, with h e r accent; and all French p e o p l e

know that there are m a n y villages called "Le C h a m b o n " in France,

just as any American knows that t h e r e are m a n y "Main Streets" in

the United States. I said that Le C h a m b o n was indeed in t h e H a u t e -

Loire.

She said, " T h e n you have been speaking about the village that

saved all t h r e e of my children. I want to thank yon for writing this

book, n o t only because the story will now be p e r m a n e n t , but also

because I shall be able to talk about t h o s e terrible days with A m e r i -

cans now, for they will u n d e r s t a n d those days b e t t e r than they have.

You see, you Americans, though you s o m e t i m e s cross the oceans, live

on an island h e r e as far as war is c o n c e r n e d .. ."

T h e n she asked to c o m e up and say one sentence. T h e r e was not a

sound, not even breathing, to be heard in the room. She c a m e to the

f r o n t of the r o o m and said, " T h e H o l o c a u s t was storm, lightning,

thunder, wind, rain, yes. And Le C h a m b o n was the rainbow."

O n l y f r o m h e r perspective can you u n d e r s t a n d the c r u e l t y and

the goodness I have been talking about, not f r o m the point of view of
the g e n t l e m a n f r o m Massachusetts. You m u s t choose which p e r s p e c
-

tive is best, and your choice will have m u c h to do with y o u r feelings

about the preciousness of life, and not only the preciousness of o t h e r

people's lives. If the lives of others are precious to you, your life will

b e c o m e m o r e precious to you.

CHAPTER 17

R O B E R T C O L E S

Harvard psychiatrist Robert Coles won the Pulitzer Prize for general

nonfiction in 1973 for his Children of Crisis. In this multivolume work,

he offered firsthand accounts of children living through the process

of school desegregation in the South. A prolific author, Dr. Coles has

written extensively on the issues of moral and spiritual development.

In this offering, we can follow him grappling with the distinction

between being able to theorize and talk about virtue and being

morally virtuous. Dr. Coles's short reflection speaks to the difference

that Aristotle draws between intellectual and moral virtue.

T H E D I S P A R I T Y B E T W E E N

I N T E L L E C T A N D C H A R A C T E R

Over 150 years ago, Ralph Waldo Emerson gave a lecture at Harvard

University, which he ended with the terse assertion: "Character is

higher than intellect." Even then, this prominent man of letters was

worried (as many other writers and thinkers of succeeding genera-

tions would be) about the limits of knowledge and the nature of a

college's mission. T h e intellect can grow and grow, he knew, in a p e r -

son who is smug, ungenerous, even cruel. Institutions originally

founded to teach their students how to become good and decent, as

well as broadly and deeply literate, may abandon the first mission to

concentrate on a driven, narrow book learning—a course of study in

no way intent on making a connection between ideas and theories on

one hand and, on the other, our lives as we actually live them.

Students have their own way of realizing and trying to come to

terms with the split that Emerson addressed. A few years ago, a soph-

o m o r e student of mine came to see me in great anguish. She had

arrived at Harvard from a Midwestern, working-class background.

She was trying hard to work her way through college, and, in doing

so, cleaned the rooms of some of her fellow students. Again and

again, she encountered classmates who apparently had forgotten t h e

meaning of please, of thank you—no matter how high their Scholastic

Assessment Test scores—students who did not hesitate to be rude,

even crude toward her.

352 • Robert Coles

O n e day she was not so subtly propositioned by a y o u n g man she

knew to be a very bright, successful p r e m e d s t u d e n t and already an

accomplished journalist T h i s was not the first t i m e he had m a d e such

an overture, b u t now she had reached a breaking point. She had quit

h e r job and was p r e p a r i n g to quit college in what she called "fancy,

p h o n y Cambridge."

T h e s t u d e n t had been part of a seminar I teach, which links Ray-

m o n d Carver's fiction and poetry with Edward H o p p e r ' s paintings

and d r a w i n g s — t h e t h e m a t i c convergence of literary and artistic sen-

sibility in exploring A m e r i c a n loneliness, both its social and its p e r -

sonal aspects. As she expressed h e r anxiety and anger to me, she soon

was sobbing hard. After h e r sobs quieted, we began to r e m e m b e r t h e

old days of that class. But she had s o m e weightier matters on h e r

mind and began to give me a detailed, sardonic account of college

life, as viewed by s o m e o n e v u l n e r a b l e and h a r d - p r e s s e d by it. At

o n e

point, she observed of t h e s t u d e n t who had propositioned her: " T h a t

guy gets all A's. He tells p e o p l e he's in G r o u p I [the t o p academic cat-

egory], I've taken two m o r a l - r e a s o n i n g courses with him, and I'm

s u r e he's gotten A's in both of t h e m — a n d look at how he behaves

with me, and I'm sure w i t h others."

She s t o p p e d for a m o m e n t to let me take t h a t in I h a p p e n e d to

know t h e y o u n g man and could only acknowledge t h e irony of his

behavior, even as I wasn't totally surprised by what she'd experi-

enced. But I was at a loss to know what to say to her. A philosophy

major, with a strong interest in literature, she had taken a c o u r s e on

the H o l o c a u s t and described for me the ironies she also saw in that

t r a g e d y — m a s s m u r d e r of unparalleled historical p r o p o r t i o n in a

nation h i t h e r t o known as o n e of t h e most civilized in the world, with

a citizenry as well e d u c a t e d as t h a t of any c o u n t r y at the time.

D r a w i n g on her education, the s t u d e n t put b e f o r e me names such

as M a r t i n Heidegger, Carl J u n g , Paul De M a n , Ezra P o u n d — b r i l -

liant and accomplished men (a philosopher, a psychoanalyst, a liter-

ary critic, a poet) who nonetheless had linked themselves with the

hate that was N a z i s m and Fascism d u r i n g t h e 1930s. She r e m i n d e d

me of t h e willingness of t h e leaders of G e r m a n and Italian universi-

ties to e m b r a c e N a z i and Fascist ideas, of t h e countless doctors and

lawyers and judges and journalists and schoolteachers, and, yes, even

m e m b e r s of the c l e r g y — w h o w e r e able to a c c o m m o d a t e
themselves

The Disparity Between Intellect and Character • 353

to m u r d e r o u s thugs because the thugs had political power. She p o i n t -

edly m e n t i o n e d , too, the Soviet Gulag, t h a t expanse of prisons to

which millions of honorable people were sent by Stalin and his

brutish accomplices—prisons c o m m o n l y staffed by psychiatrists

quite eager to label those victims of a vicious totalitarian state with

an assortment of psychiatric names, then shoot them up with drugs

meant to r e d u c e them to zombies.

I tried hard, toward t h e end of a conversation that lasted almost

two hours, to salvage s o m e t h i n g for her, for myself, and, not least, for

a university that I m u c h respect, even as I know its failings. I sug-

gested that if she had learned what she had just shared with me at

H a r v a r d — w h y , that was itself a valuable e d u c a t i o n acquired. She

smiled, gave me credit for a "nice try," but r e m a i n e d u n c o n v i n c e d .

T h e n she p u t this tough, pointed, u n n e r v i n g question t o me: " I ' v e

been taking all t h e s e philosophy courses, and we talk about what's

true, what's i m p o r t a n t , what's good. Well, how do you teach p e o p l e to

be good?" And she added: "What's the p o i n t of knowing good, if you

don't keep trying to becomes, good person?"

I suddenly f o u n d myself on the defensive, although all along I had

been s y m p a t h e t i c to her, to the indignation she had been d i r e c t i n g

toward some of her fellow students, and to her critical examination

of the limits of abstract knowledge. Schools are schools, colleges are

colleges, I averred, a complaisant and s m u g a c c o m m o d a t i o n in my

voice. T h e r e b y I m e a n t to say that o u r schools and colleges t h e s e

days d o n ' t take major responsibility for the m o r a l values of their stu-

dents, but, rather, assume that their s t u d e n t s acquire those values at

home. 1 t o p p e d off my s u r r e n d e r to t h e status quo with a s h r u g of

my

shoulders, to which she responded with an u n s p o k e n but barely con-

cealed anger. T h i s she expressed t h r o u g h a knowing look that

a n n o u n c e d that she'd taken t h e full moral m e a s u r e of me.

Suddenly, she was on her feet p r e p a r i n g to leave. 1 realized t h a t I'd

s t u m b l e d badly. I w a n t e d to p u r s u e the discussion, applaud h e r for

taking on a large subject in a forthright, incisive manner, and tell h e r

she was right in u n d e r s t a n d i n g that moral reasoning is not to be

equated with moral c o n d u c t . I wanted, really, to explain my s h r u g —

point out that t h e r e is only so m u c h t h a t any of us can do to affect

others' behavior, t h a t institutional life has its own m o m e n t u m . But

she had no interest in that kind of self-justification—as she let me

354 • Robert Coles

know in an u n f o r g e t t a h l e aside as she was d e p a r t i n g my office: "I

w o n d e r w h e t h e r E m e r s o n was just being "smart" in that lecture he

gave here. T w o n d e r if he ever had any ideas about w h a t to do about

what was w o r r y i n g h i m — o r did he think he'd d o n e enough b e c a u s e

he'd spelled the problem out to t h o s e H a r v a r d professors?"

She was d e m o n s t r a t i n g that she u n d e r s t o o d two levels of irony:

O n e was that the study of p h i l o s o p h y — e v e n moral philosophy or

moral r e a s o n i n g — d o e s n ' t necessarily p r o m p t in either the t e a c h e

r

or the s t u d e n t a d e t e r m i n a t i o n to act in a c c o r d a n c e with moral

prin-

ciples. And, further, a discussion of that very irony can prove equally

sterile—again carrying no a p p a r e n t consequences as far as one's

everyday actions go.

W h e n that s t u d e n t left my office (she would soon leave H a r v a r d

for good), I was exhausted and s a d d e n e d — a n d b r o u g h t up short. All

too often those of us who read books or teach d o n ' t think to pose for

ourselves the kind of ironic d i l e m m a she had posed to me. H o w

might we t e a c h e r s e n c o u r a g e our students ( e n c o u r a g e ourselves)

to

take that big step f r o m t h o u g h t to action, f r o m moral analysis to f u l -

filled moral commitments? R a t h e r ohviously, c o m m u n i t y service

offers us all a chance to p u t o u r m o n e y w h e r e o u r m o u t h s are; and,

of

course, such service can enrich our u n d e r s t a n d i n g of t h e disciplines

we study. A reading of Invisible Man (literature), Tally's Corners (soci-

ology and anthropology), or Childhood and Society (psychology and

psychoanalysis) takes on n e w m e a n i n g a f t e r s o m e t i m e spent in a

ghetto school or a clinic. By t h e same token, such books can p r o m p t

us to think pragmatically about, say, how t h e wisdom that Ralph Elli-

son worked into his fiction m i g h t shape the way we get along with t h e

c h i l d r e n we're t u t o r i n g — a f f e c t o u r attitudes toward them, the

things

we say and do with them.

Yet I w o n d e r w h e t h e r classroom discussion, perse, can't also be of

help, t h e skepticism of my s t u d e n t notwithstanding. She had p u s h e d

me hard, and I started r e f e r r i n g again and again in my classes on

moral introspection to what she had observed and learned, and my

s t u d e n t s m o r e than got the message. H e r moral righteousness, her

shrewd eye and ear for hypocrisy hovered over us, m a d e us uneasy,

goaded us.

She challenged us to prove that what we think intellectually can

he c o n n e c t e d to o u r daily deeds. For s o m e of us, the connection was

The Disparity Between Intellect and Character • 355

established t h r o u g h c o m m u n i t y service. But that is not t h e only pos-

sible way. I asked students to write p a p e r s that told of p a r t i c u l a r

efforts to h o n o r t h r o u g h action the high thoughts we were discussing.

T h u s goaded to a certain self-consciousness, I suppose, students

m a d e various efforts. I felt that the best of them were small victories,

brief epiphanies that might otherwise have been overlooked, b u t had

great significance for the students in question.

"I thanked s o m e o n e serving me food in the college cafeteria, and

then we got to talking, the first time," o n e s t u d e n t wrote. For her, this

was a decisive break with her f o r m e r i n d i f f e r e n c e to others she

abstractly regarded as "the people who work on the serving line." She

felt that she had l e a r n e d s o m e t h i n g about another's life and had tried

to show respect for that life.

T h e s t u d e n t who challenged me with h e r angry, melancholy story

had pushed me to teach differently. Now, I make an explicit issue of

the m o r e than occasional disparity b e t w e e n thinking and doing, and

I ask my students to consider how we all m i g h t bridge that disparity.

To be sure, t h e task of c o n n e c t i n g intellect to character is daunting,

as E m e r s o n and others well knew. And any of us can lapse into cyni-

cism, turn the moral challenge of a s e m i n a r into yet another m o m e n t

of o p p o r t u n i s m : I'll get an A this time, by writing a p a p e r cannily

extolling myself as a doer of this or that "good deed"!

Still, I know t h a t college administrators and faculty m e m b e r s

e v e r y w h e r e are struggling with t h e same issues that I was faced with,

and I can testify t h a t m a n y students will r e s p o n d seriously, in at least

small ways, if we make clear that we really believe that the link

between moral r e a s o n i n g and action is i m p o r t a n t to us. My experi-

e n c e has given me at least a m e a s u r e of h o p e that moral reasoning

and reflection can s o m e h o w be integrated into s t u d e n t s ' — a n d

teachers'—lives as they actually live t h e m .

CHAPTER IS

D R . M A R T I N L U T H E R

K I N G , JR.

In the spring of 1963 the Southern Christian Leadership Council, an

organization led by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and others, began a

campaign for equal rights in what was then one of the most racially

divided cities in America—Birmingham, Alabama. Boycotts and

nonviolent demonstrations were organized t h r o u g h o u t the city.

E u g e n e "Bull" Conner, the chief of police, used fire hoses and police

dogs on peaceful protesters, many of whom were either children or

high school students. T h e r e were hundreds of arrests. On Good Fri-

day, April 12, 1963, Dr. King was put behind bars for violating an

injunction against public demonstrations. A few days before he was

jailed, Dr. King read a statement from eight white clergymen, termed

"A Call for Unity." T h e group beseeched Dr. King to call off the
demonstrations and give the courts time to work. As these largely

sympathetic men of the cloth saw it, Dr. King's direct action strategy

was sure to spark violence and the loss of innocent lives. On April 16,

Dr. King replied with his "Letter from a Birmingham Jail." In this, one

of the most important documents of the Civil Rights movement,

Dr. King contended that the fight for justice could no longer be p u t

Ethics: The Essential Writings • 351

off. He insisted, "Justice too long d e f e r r e d is justice denied." Appeal-

ing to Augustine, Aquinas, and t h e n a t u r a l law tradition, t h e rev-

erend reasoned that laws that poison t h e soul, such as t h e segregation

statutes, are false laws, and as such there is a h i g h e r law that calls us

to disobey them, no m a t t e r what the cost.

LETTER FROM

A B I R M I N G H A M JAIL

16 April 1963

My Dear Fellow Clergymen:

While confined here in the Birmingham city jail, I came

across your recent statement calling my present activities

"unwise and untimely." Seldom do I pause to answer criti-

cism of my work and ideas. If I sought to answer all the

criticisms that cross my desk, my secretaries would have

little time for anything other than such correspondence in

the course of the day, and I would have no time for con-

structive work. But since 1 feel that you are men of genuine

good will and that your criticisms are sincerely set forth, I

want to try to answer your statement in what I hope will be

patient and reasonable terms.

I think I should indicate why I am here in Birmingham,

since you have been influenced by the view which argues

against "outsiders coming in." I have the honor of serving as

president of the Southern Christian Leadership Confer-

ence, an organization operatingin every southern state, with

headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. We have some eighty five

affiliated organizations across the South, and one of them

is the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights.

Letter from a Birmingham Jail • 359

Frequently we share staff, educational and financial re-

sources with our affiliates. Several months ago the affiliate

here in Birmingham asked us to be on call to engage in a

nonviolent direct action program if such were d e e m e d

necessary. We readily consented, and when the h o u r came

we lived up to our promise. So I, along with several m e m -

bers of my staff, am here because I was invited here, I am

here because I have organizational ties here.

But m o r e basically, I am in Birmingham because injus-

tice is here. J u s t as the prophets of the eighth century B.C.

left their villages and carried their "thus saith the Lord" far

beyond the boundaries of their h o m e towns, and just as the

Apostle Paul left his village of Tarsus and carried the

gospel of Jesus Christ to the far corners of the G r e c o

Roman world, so am I compelled to carry the gospel of

freedom beyond my own home town. Like Paul, 1 must

constantly respond to the Macedonian call for aid.

Moreover, I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all

communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and

not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham.

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We

are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in

a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly,

affects all indirectly. N e v e r again can we afford to live with

the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who

lives inside the United States can never be considered an

outsider anywhere within its bounds.

You deplore the demonstrations taking place in Birm-

ingham. But your statement, I am sorry to say, fails to

express a similar concern for the conditions that brought

about the demonstrations. I am sure that none of you

would want to rest content with the superficial kind of

social analysis that deals merely with effects and does not

grapple with underlying causes. It is u n f o r t u n a t e that

demonstrations are taking place in Birmingham, but it is

even more u n f o r t u n a t e that the city's white power struc-

ture left the N e g r o community with no alternative.

In any nonviolent campaign t h e r e are four basic steps:

360 • Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

collection of the facts to d e t e r m i n e w h e t h e r injustices

exist; negotiation; self purification; and direct action. We

have gone through all these steps in Birmingham. T h e r e

can be no gainsaying the fact that racial injustice engulfs

this community. Birmingham is probably the most thor-

oughly segregated city in the United States. Its ugly record

of brutality, is widely known. N e g r o e s have experienced

grossly unjust t r e a t m e n t in the courcs. T h e r e have been

m o r e unsolved bombings of N e g r o homes and churches in

Birmingham than in any other city in the nation. T h e s e are

the hard, brutal facts of the case On the basis of these con-

ditions, N e g r o leaders sought to negotiate with the city

fathers. But the latter consistently refused to engage in

good faith negotiation.

T h e n , last September, came the opportunity to talk

with leaders of Birmingham's economic community. In the

course of the negotiations, certain promises were made by

the merchants—for example, to remove the stores' h u m i l -

iating racial signs. On the basis of these promises, the Rev-

erend Fred Shuttlesworth and the leaders of the Alabama

Christian M o v e m e n t for H u m a n Rights agreed to a m o r a -

torium on all demonstrations. As the weeks and months

went by, we realized that we were the victims of a broken

promise. A few signs, briefly removed, returned; the others

remained. As in so m a n y past experiences, our hopes had

been blasted, and the shadow of d e e p disappointment

settled upon us. We had no alternative except to p r e p a r e

for direct action, whereby we would present our very b o d -

ies as a means of laying our case before the conscience of

the local and the national community. M i n d f u l of the diffi-

culties involved, we decided to u n d e r t a k e a process of self

purification. We began a series of workshops on nonvio-

lence, and we repeatedly asked ourselves: "Are you able to

accept blows without retaliating?" "Are you able to e n d u r e

the ordeal of jail?" We decided to schedule o u r direct

action program for the Easter season, realizing that except

for Christmas, this is the main shopping period of the

year. Knowing that a strong economic-withdrawal pro-

Letter from a Birmingham Jail •

gram would be the by product of direct action, we felt that

this would be t h e best time to bring pressure to bear on the

merchants for the needed change.

T h e n it occurred to us thar Birmingham's mayoral elec-

tion was cormng up in March, and we speedily decided to

postpone action until after election day. W h e n we discov-

ered that t h e Commissioner of Public Safety, E u g e n e

"Bull" Connor, had piled up enough votes to be in the run

off, we decided again to postpone action until the day after

the run off so that the demonstrations could not be used to

cloud the issues. Like many others, we waited to see Mr.

C o n n o r defeated, and to this end we e n d u r e d postpone-

ment after postponement. Having aided in this c o m m u n i t y

need, we felt that our direct action program could be

delayed no longer.

You may well ask: "Why direct action? Why sit ins,

marches and so forth? Isn't negotiation a better path?" You

are quite right in calling for negotiation. Indeed, this is the

very purpose of direct action. N o n v i o l e n t direct action

seeks to create such a crisis and foster such a tension that a

c o m m u n i t y which has constantly refused to negotiate is

forced to confront the issue. It seeks so to dramatize the

issue that it can no longer be ignored. My citing the cre-

ation of tension as part of the work of the nonviolent

resister may sound rather shocking. But I must confess that

I am not afraid of the word "tension." I have earnestly

opposed violent tension, but there is a type of constructive,

nonviolent tension which is necessary f o r growth, fust as

Socrates felt that it was necessary to create a tension in the

mind so that individuals could rise from the bondage of

myths and half truths to the u n f e t t e r e d realm of creative

analysis and objective appraisal, so must we see the need

for nonviolent gadflies to create the kind of tension in soci-

ety that will help men rise from the dark depths of preju-

dice and racism to the majestic heights of understanding

and brotherhood. T h e purpose of o u r direct action pro-

gram is to create a situation so crisis packed that it will

inevitably open the door to negotiation I therefore concur

371 • Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

with you in your call for negotiation. Too long has our

beloved Southland been bogged down in a tragic effort to

live in monologue rather than dialogue.

O n e of the basic points in your statement is that the

action that I and my associates have taken in Birmingham

is untimely. Some have asked: "Why didn't yon give the

n e w city administration time to act?" T h e only answer that

1 can give to this query is that the new Birmingham admin-

istration must be prodded about as much as the outgoing

one, before it will act. We are sadly mistaken if we feel that

the election of Albert Boutwell as mayor will bring the

millennium to Birmingham. While Mr. Boutwell is a much

more gentle person than Mr. Connor, they are both segre-

gationists, dedicated to maintenance of the status quo. I

have hope that Mr. Boutwell will be reasonable enough to

see the futility of massive resistance to desegregation. But

he will not see this w i t h o u t pressure from devotees of civil

rights. My friends, 1 must say to you that we have not m a d e

a single gain in civil rights without determined legal and

nonviolent pressure. Lamentably, it is an historical fact

t h a t privileged groups seldom give up their privileges vol-

untarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntar-

ily give up their unjust posture; but, as Reinhold N i e b u h r

has reminded us, groups tend to be more immoral than

individuals.

"We know through painful experience that freedom is

never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be

d e m a n d e d by the oppressed. Frankly, 1 have yet to engage

in a direct action campaign that was "well timed" in the

view of those who have not suffered unduly from the dis-

ease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word

"Wait!" It rings in the ear of every N e g r o with piercing

familiarity. This "Wait" has almost always meant "Never."

We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists,

that "justice too long delayed is justice denied."

We have waited for more than 340 years for our consti-
tutional and God given rights. T h e nations of Asia and

Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining polit-

Letter from a Birmingham Jail • 363

ical independence, but we still creep at horse and buggy

pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. P e r -

haps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging

darts of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen

vicious mobs lynch your m o t h e r s and fathers at will and

drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have

seen hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill y o u r

black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority

of your twenty million N e g r o brothers smothering in an

airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society;

when you suddenly find your t o n g u e twisted and your

speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year

old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement

park that has just been advertised on television, and see

tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that F u n t o w n

is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of

inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and

see her beginning to distort her personality by developing

an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you

have to concoct an answer for a five year old son who is

asking: "Daddy, why do white people treat colored people

so mean?"; when you take a cross county drive and find it

necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable

corners of your automobile because no motel will accept

you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nag-

ging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first

name becomes "nigger," your middle n a m e becomes "boy"

(however old you are) and your last name becomes "John,"

and your wife and m o t h e r are never given the respected

title "Mrs."; when you are harried by day and haunted by

night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at

tiptoe stance, never quire knowing what to expect next,

and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments;

when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of

"nobodiness"—then you will understand why we find it

difficult to wait. T h e r e comes a time when the c u p of

endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be

plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can

364 • Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.

You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to

break laws. This is certainly a legitimate concern. Since we

so diligently urge people to obey the S u p r e m e Court's

decision of 1954 outlawing segregation in the public

schools, at first glance it may seem rather paradoxical for

us consciously to break laws. One may well ask: "How can

you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?"

T h e answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws:

just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just

laws. O n e has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to

obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility

to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine

that "an unjust law is no law at all."

Now, what is the difference between t h e two? H o w does

one d e t e r m i n e whether a law is just or unjust? A just law is

a man made code that squares with the moral law or the

law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of h a r m o n y

with the moral law. To p u t it in the terms of St. T h o m a s

Aquinas: An unjust law is a h u m a n law that is not rooted in

eternal law and natural law. Any law that uplifts h u m a n

personality is just. Any law that degrades human personal-

ity is unjust. All segregation statutes are unjust because

segregation distorts the soul and damages the personality.

It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority and the

segregated a false sense of inferiority. Segregation, to use

the terminology of the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber,

substitutes an "I it" relationship for an "I thou" relationship

and ends up relegating persons to the status of things.

H e n c e segregation is not only politically, economically

and sociologically unsound, it is morally wrong,and sinful.

Paul Tillich has said that sin is separation. Is not segrega-

tion an existential expression of man's tragic separation,

his awful estrangement, his terrible sinfulness? T h u s it is

that I can urge men to obey the 1954 decision of the

S u p r e m e Court, for it is morally right; and I can u r g e them

to disobey segregation ordinances, for they are morally

wrong.

Letter from a Birmingham jfait • 365

Let us consider a more concrete example of just and

unjust laws. An unjust law is a code that a numerical or

power majority group compels a minority group to obey

but does not make binding on itself. This is difference

made legal. By the same token, a just law is a code that a

majority compels a minority to follow and that it is willing

to follow itself. This is sameness m a d e legal. Let me give

another explanation. A law is unjust if it is inflicted on a

minority that, as a result of being denied the right to vote,

had no part in enacting or devising the law. Who can say

that the legislature of Alabama which set up that state's

segregation laws was democratically elected? T h r o u g h o u t

Alabama all sorts of devious methods are used to prevent

N e g r o e s from becoming registered voters, and there are

some counties in which, even though N e g r o e s constitute a

majority of the population, not a single N e g r o is regis-

tered. Can law enacted u n d e r such circumstances be con-

sidered democratically structured?

Sometimes a law is just on its face and unjust in its

application. For instance, I have been arrested on a charge

of parading without a permit. Now, there is nothing

wrong in having an ordinance which requires a p e r m i t for

a parade. But such an ordinance becomes unjust when

it is used to maintain segregation and to deny citizens

the F i r s t - A m e n d m e n t privilege of peaceful assembly and

protest.

T hope you are able to see the distinction I am trying to

point out. In no sense do I advocate evading or defying the

law, as would the rabid segregationist. T h a t would lead to

anarchy. O n e who breaks an unjust law must do so openly,

lovingly, and with a willingness to accept the penalty. I

submit that an individual who breaks a law that conscience

tells him is unjust, and who willingly accepts the penalty of

imprisonment in order to arouse the conscience of the

community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the

highest respect for law.

Of course, t h e r e is nothing new about this kind of civil

disobedience. It was evidenced sublimely in the refusal of

366 • Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Sbadrach, Mesbach and Abednego to obey the laws of

Nebuchadnezzar, on the ground that a higher moral law

was at stake. It was practiced superbly by the early Chris-

tians, who were willing to face hungry lions and the excru-

ciating pain of c h o p p i n g blocks rather than submit to

certain unjust laws of the Roman Empire. To a degree, aca-

d e m i c f r e e d o m is a reality today because Socrates prac-

ticed civil disobedience. In our own nation, the Boston Tea

Party represented a massive act of civil disobedience.

We should never forget that everything Adolf Hitler did

in G e r m a n y was "legal" and everything the Hungarian

f r e e d o m fighters did in Hungary was "illegal." It was "ille-

gal" to aid and comfort a j e w in H i t l e r s Germany. Even so,

I am sure that, had I lived in G e r m a n y at the time, I would

have aided and comforted my Jewish brothers. If today I

lived in a C o m m u n i s t country w h e r e certain principles

dear to the Christian faith are suppressed, 1 would openly

advocate disobeying t h a t country's antireligious laws.

I must make two honest confessions to you, my Chris-

tian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the

past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the

white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable

conclusion that the Negro's great srumbling block in his

stride toward freedom is not the W h i t e Citizen's C o u n c i l e r

or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is

m o r e devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a neg-

ative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive

peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says:

"I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree

with your methods of direct action"; who paternalistically

believes he can set the timetable for another man's free-

dom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who

constantly advises the N e g r o to wait for a "more conve-

nient season." Shallow u n d e r s t a n d i n g f r o m people of good

will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding

from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much

more bewildering than outright rejection.

I had hoped that the white moderate would understand

Letter from a Birmingham Jail • 367

that law and order exist for the p u r p o s e of establishing jus-

tice and that when they fail in this purpose they become

the dangerously structured dams that block the How of

social progress. T had hoped that the white m o d e r a t e would

understand that the present tension in the South is a nec-

essary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative

peace, in-which the N e g r o passively accepted his unjust

plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men

will respect the dignity and worth of h u m a n personality.

Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are

not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface

the hidden tension that is already alive We bring it out in

the open, w h e r e it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil

that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must

be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of

air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension

its exposure creates, to the light of h u m a n conscience and

the air of national opinion before it can be cured.

In your statement you assert d:at our actions, even

though peaceful, must be c o n d e m n e d because they precip-

itate violence. But is this a logical assertion? Tsn't this like

condemning a robbed man because his possession of

money precipitated the evil act of robbery? Isn't this like

c o n d e m n i n g Socrates because his unswerving c o m m i t -

m e n t to truth and his philosophical inquiries precipitated

the act by the misguided populace in which they m a d e him

drink hemlock? Isn't this like c o n d e m n i n g Jesus because

his unique God consciousness and never ceasing devotion

to God's will precipitated the evil act of crucifixion? We

must come to see that, as the federal courts have consis-

tently affirmed, it is wrong to u r g e an individual to cease

his efforts to gain his basic constitutional rights because

the quest may precipitate violence. Society must protect

the robbed and punish the robber. I had also hoped that the

white moderate would reject the myth concerning time in

relation to the struggle for freedom. I have just received a

letter from a white brother in Texas. He writes: "All Chris-

tians know that the colored people will receive equal rights

368 • Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great a reli-

gious hurry. It has taken Christianity almost two thousand

years to accomplish what it has. T h e teachings of Christ

take time to come to earth." Such an attitude stems from a

tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational

notion that there is something in the very flow of time that

will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it

can be used either destructively or constructively. M o r e

and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time

much m o r e effectively than have the people of good will.

We will have to r e p e n t in this generation not merely for

the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the
appalling silence of the good people. H u m a n progress

never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through

the tireless efforts of men willing to be co workers with

G o d , and without this hard work, time itself becomes an

ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time

creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to

do right. N o w is the time to make real the promise of

democracy and transform o u r pending national elegy into

a creative psalm of brotherhood. N o w is the time to lift our

national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the

solid rock of h u m a n dignity.

You speak of our activity in Birmingham as extreme. At

first I was rather disappointed that fellow clergymen

would see my nonviolent efforts as those of an extremist. I

began thinking about the fact that 1 stand in the middle of

two opposing forces in the N e g r o community. One is a

force of complacency, made up in part of N e g r o e s who, as

a result of long years of oppression, are so drained of self

respect and a sense of "somebodiness" that they have

adjusted to segregation; and in part of a few middle-class

N e g r o e s who, because of a degree of academic and eco-

n o m i c security and because in some ways they profit by

segregation, have become insensitive to the problems of

the masses. T h e other force is one of bitterness and hatred,

and it comes perilously close to advocating violence. It is

expressed in the various black nationalist groups that are

Letter from a Birmingham jfait • 369

springing up across the nation, the largest and best known

being Elijah M u h a m m a d ' s Muslim movement. N o u r i s h e d

by the Negro's frustration over the continued existence of

racial discrimination, this movement is made up of people

who have lost faith in America, who have absolutely repu-

diated Christianity, and who have concluded that the

white man is an incorrigible "devil."

I have tried to stand between these two forces, saying

that we need emulate neither the "do nothingism" of the

complacent nor the hatred and despair of the black nation-

alist. For there is the more excellent way of love and non-

violent protest. I am grateful to G o d that, through the

influence of the N e g r o church, the way of nonviolence

became an integral part of our struggle. If this philosophy

had not emerged, by now many streets of the South would,

I am convinced, be flowing with blood. And I am further

convinced that if o u r white brothers dismiss as "rabble

rousers" and "outside agitators" those of us who employ

nonviolent direct action, and if they refuse to support our

nonviolent efforts, millions of Negroes will, out of frustra-

tion and despair, seek solace and security in black nation-

alist ideologies—a development that would inevitably

lead to a frightening racial nightmare.

Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever.

T h e yearning for f r e e d o m eventually manifests itself, and

that is what has happened to the American Negro. Some-

thing within has reminded him of his birthright of free-

dom, and something without has reminded him that it can

be gained. Consciously or unconsciously, he has been

caught up by the Zeitgeist, and with his black brothers of

Africa and his brown and yellow brothers of Asia, South

America and the Caribbean, the United States N e g r o is

moving with a sense of great urgency toward the promised

land of racial justice. If one recognizes this vital urge that

has engulfed the N e g r o community, one should readily

understand why public demonstrations are taking place.

T h e N e g r o has many pent up resentments and latent frus-

trations, and he must release them. So let him march; let

370 • Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

him make prayer pilgrimages to the city hall; let him go on

f r e e d o m rides—and try to u n d e r s t a n d why he must do so.

If his repressed emotions are not released in nonviolent

ways, they will seek expression through violence; this is

not a threat but a fact of history. So I have not said to my

people: "Get rid of your discontent." Rather, I have tried to

say that this normal and healthy discontent can be chan-

neled into the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action.

And now this approach is being termed extremist. But

though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as

an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter T

gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label.

Was not Jesus an extremist for love: "Love y o u r enemies,

bless t h e m that curse you, do good to them that hate you,

and pray for t h e m which despitefolly use you, and perse-

cute you." Was not Amos an extremist for justice: "Let jus-

tice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever

flowing stream." Was not Paul an extremist for the Chris-

tian gospel: "I bear, in my body the marks of the Lord

Jesus." Was not Martin L u t h e r an extremist: "Here I stand;

I cannot do otherwise, so help me God." And John Bunyan:

"I will stay in jail to the end of my days before I make a

butchery of my conscience." And Abraham Lincoln: "This

nation cannot survive half slave and half free." And

T h o m a s Jefferson: "We hold these truths to be self evident,

that all men are created e q u a l . . S o the question is not

whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists

we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will

we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the

extension of justice? In that dramatic scene on Calvary's

hill three men were crucified. We must never forget that all

three were crucified for the same c r i m e — t h e crime of

extremism. Two were extremists for immorality, and thus

fell below their environment. T h e other, Jesus Christ, was

an extremist for love, truth and goodness, and thereby rose

above his environment. Perhaps the South, the nation and

the world are in dire need of creative extremists.

I had hoped that the white moderate would see this need.

Letter from a Birmingham jfait • 371

Perhaps I was too optimistic; perhaps I expected too much. I

suppose 1 should have realized that few members of the

oppressor race can understand the deep groans and passion-

ate yearnings of the oppressed race, and still fewer have the

vision to see that injustice must be rooted out by strong, per-

sistent and determined action. I am thankful, however, that

some of our white brothers in the South have grasped the

meaning of this social revolution and committed themselves

to it. They are still all too few in quantity, but they are big in

quality. Some—such as Ralph McGill, Lillian Smith, Harry

Golden, James McBride Dabbs, Ann Braden and Sarah Pat-

ton Boyle—have written about our struggle in eloquent and

prophetic terms. Others have marched with us down name-

less streets of the South. They have languished in filthy,

roach infested jails, suffering the abuse and brutality of

policemen who view them as "dirt)' nigger-lovers." Unlike

so many of their moderate brothers and sisters, they have

recognized the urgency of the m o m e n t and sensed the need

for powerful "action" antidotes to combat the disease of seg-

regation. Let me take note of my other major disappoint-

ment. I have been so greatly disappointed with the white

church and its leadership. Of course, there are some notable

exceptions. I am not unmindful of the fact that each of you

has taken some significant stands on this issue. I commend

you, Reverend Stallings, for your Christian stand on this past

Sunday, in welcoming Negroes to your worship service on a

nonsegregated basis. I commend the Catholic leaders of this

state for integrating Spring Hill College several years ago.

But despite these notable exceptions, I must honestly

reiterate that I have been disappointed with the church. I

do not say this as one of those negative critics who can

always find something wrong with the church. 1 say this as

a minister of the gospel, who loves the church; who was

nurtured in its bosom; who has been sustained by its spiri-

tual blessings and who will remain t r u e to it as long as the

cord of life shall lengthen.

W h e n I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of

the bus protest in Montgomery, Alabama, a few years ago,

381 • Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I felt we would be supported by the white church. I felt

that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South

would be among our strongest allies. Instead, some have

been outright opponents, refusing to u n d e r s t a n d the free-

dom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; all too

m a n y others have been m o r e cautious than courageous

and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security

of stained glass windows.

In spite of my shattered dreams, I came to Birmingham

with the h o p e that the white religious leadership of this

c o m m u n i t y would see the justice of o u r cause and, with

d e e p moral concern, would serve as the channel through

which our just grievances could reach the power structure.

I had hoped that each of you would understand. But again

I have been disappointed.

I have heard numerous southern religious leaders admon-

ish their worshipers to comply with a desegregation decision

because it is the law, but 1 have longed to hear white minis-

ters declare: "Follow this decree because integration is

morally right and because the N e g r o is your brother." In the

midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I have

watched white churchmen stand on the sideline and mouth

pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities. In the

midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and eco-

nomic injustice, I have heard many ministers say: "Those are

social issues, with which the gospel has no real concern." And

I have watched many churches commit themselves to a com-

pletely other worldly religion which makes a strange, un-

Biblical distinction between body and soul, between the

sacred and the secular.

I have traveled the length and breadth of Alabama, Mis-

sissippi and all the o t h e r southern states. On sweltering

s u m m e r days and crisp autumn mornings I have looked at

the South's beautiful churches with their lofty spires

pointing heavenward. I have beheld the impressive o u t -

lines of her massive religious education buildings. Over

and over I have found myself asking: "What kind of people

Letter from a Birmingham jfait • 382

worship here? W h o is their God? W h e r e were their voices

when the lips of Governor Barnett dripped with words of

interposition and nullification? W h e r e were they when

Governor Wallace gave a clarion call for defiance and

hatred? W h e r e were their voices of support when bruised

and weary N e g r o men and women decided to rise f r o m the

dark d u n g e o n s of complacency to the bright hills of crea-

tive protesc?"

Yes, these questions are still in my mind. In deep disap-

pointment 1 have wept over the laxity of the church. But be

assured that my tears have been tears of love. T h e r e can be

no deep d i s a p p o i n t m e n t where t h e r e is not deep love. Yes,

I love the church. How could I do otherwise? I am in the

rather u n i q u e position of being the son, the grandson and

the great grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the church as

the body of Christ. But, oh! H o w we have blemished and

scarred that body through social neglect and through fear

of being nonconformists.

T h e r e was a time when the church was very p o w e r f u l —

in the t i m e when the early Christians rejoiced at being

deemed worthy ro suffer for what they believed. In those

days the church was not m e r e l y a t h e r m o m e t e r that

recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it

was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society.

W h e n e v e r the early Christians entered a town, the people

in power became disturbed and immediately sought to

convict the Christians for being "disturbers of the peace"

and "outside agitators." But the Christians pressed on, in

the conviction that they were "a colony of heaven," called

to obey G o d rather than man. Small in number, they were

big in commitment. T h e y were too God-intoxicated to be

"astronomically intimidated." By their effort and example

they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and

gladiatorial contests. Things are different now. So often the

contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an

uncertain sound. So often it is an a r c h d e f e n d e r of the sta-

tus quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the

314 • Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

church, the power s t r u c t u r e of the average c o m m u n i t y is

consoled by the church's silent—and often even vocal—

sanction of things as they are.

But the judgment of God is u p o n the church as never

before. If today's church does not r e c a p t u r e the sacrificial

spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit

the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant

social club with no meaning for the twentieth century.

Every day I m e e t y o u n g people whose disappointment

with the church has turned into outright disgust.

Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is orga-

nized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to

save our nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my

faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the

church, as the true ekklesia and the hope of the world. But

again 1 am thankful to G o d that some noble souls from the

ranks of organized religion have broken loose from the

paralyzing chains of conformity and joined us as active

partners in the struggle for freedom. T h e y have left their

secure congregations and walked the streets of Albany,

Georgia, with us. T h e y have gone down the highways of

t h e South on t o r t u o u s rides for freedom. Yes, they have

gone to jail with us. Some have been, dismissed f r o m their

churches, have lost the support of their bishops and fellow

ministers. But they have acted in t h e faith that right

defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. T h e i r witness

has been the spiritual salt that has preserved the t r u e

meaning of the gospel in these troubled times. T h e y have

carved a tunnel of hope through the dark mountain of dis-

appointment. I h o p e the church as a whole will meet the

challenge of this decisive hour. But even if the church does

not come to the aid of justice, I have no despair about the

future. I have no fear about the o u t c o m e of our struggle in

Birmingham, even if our motives are at present misunder-

stood. We will reach the goal of f r e e d o m in Birmingham

and all over the nation, because the goal of America is free-

dom. Abused and scorned though we may be, our destiny

is tied up with America's destiny. Before the pilgrims

Letter from a Birmingham Jail • 375

landed at P l y m o u t h , we were here. Before the pen of J e f -

ferson etched the majestic words of the Declaration of

I n d e p e n d e n c e across the pages of history, we were here.

For more than two centuries our forebears labored in this

country without wages; they made cotton king; they built

the homes of their masters while suffering gross injustice

and shameful humiliation—and yet out of a bottomless

vitality they continued to thrive and develop. If the inex-

pressible cruelties of slavery could not stop us, the opposi-

tion we now face will surely fail. We will win our freedom

because the sacred heritage of our nation and the eternal

will of God are embodied in our echoing demands. Before

closing I feel impelled to mention one other point in your

statement that has troubled me profoundly. You warmly

c o m m e n d e d the Birmingham police force for keeping

"order" and "preventing violence." I doubt that you would

have so warmly c o m m e n d e d the police force if you had

seen its dogs sinking their teeth into u n a r m e d , nonviolent

Negroes. I doubt that you would so quickly c o m m e n d t h e

policemen if you were to observe their ugly and inhumane

t r e a t m e n t of N e g r o e s here in the city jail; if you were to

watch them push and curse old N e g r o women and young

N e g r o girls; if you were to see t h e m slap and kick old

N e g r o men and young boys; if you were to observe them,

as they did on two occasions, refuse to give us food because

we wanted to sing our grace together. I cannot join you in

your praise of the Birmingham police department.

It is t r u e that the police have exercised a degree of dis-

cipline in handling the demonstrators. In this sense they

have conducted themselves rather "nonviolently" in p u b -

lic. But for what purpose? To preserve the evil system of

segregation. Over the past few years I have consistently

preached that nonviolence demands that the means we use

must be as p u r e as the ends we seek. I have tried to make

clear that it is wrong to use immoral means to attain moral

ends. But now I must affirm that it is just as wrong, or per-

haps even m o r e so, to use moral means to preserve

immoral ends. Perhaps Mr. C o n n o r and his policemen

385 • Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

have been rather nonviolent in public, as was Chief Pritch-

ett in Albany, Georgia, but they have used t h e moral means

of nonviolence to maintain the immoral end of racial

injustice. As T. S. Eliot has said: " T h e last temptation is the

greatest treason: To do the right deed for the wrong rea-

son."

I wish you had c o m m e n d e d the N e g r o sit inners and

demonstrators of Birmingham for their sublime courage,

their willingness to suffer and their amazing discipline in

the midst of great provocation. One day the South will rec-

ognize its real heroes. T h e y will be the J a m e s Merediths,

with the noble sense of p u r p o s e that enables them to face

jeering and hostile mobs, and with the agonizing loneliness

that characterizes the life of the pioneer. T h e y will be old,

oppressed, battered N e g r o women, symbolized in a sev-

enty two year old woman in Montgomery, Alabama, who

rose up with a sense of dignity and with her people

decided not to ride segregated buses, and who responded

with ungrammatical p r o f u n d i t y to one who inquired about

her weariness: " M y feets is tired, but my soul is at r e s t "

T h e y will be the y o u n g high school and college students,

t h e young ministers of the gospel and a host of their elders,

courageously and nonviolently sitting in at lunch counters

and willingly going to jail for conscience sake. O n e day the

South will know that when these disinherited children of

G o d sat down at lunch counters, they were in reality

standing up for what is best in the American dream and for

the most sacred values in our J u d a e o Christian heritage,

thereby bringing our nation back to those great wells of

democracy which were dug deep by the founding fathers

in their formulation of the Constitution and the Declara-

tion of Independence.

N e v e r before have I written so long a letter. I'm afraid it

is much too long to take your precious time. I can assure

you that it would have been much shorter if I had been

writing from a comfortable desk, but what else can one do

when he is alone in a narrow jail cell, other than write long

letters, think long thoughts and pray long prayers?

Letter from a Birmingham jfait • 386

If I have said anything in this letter that overstates the

truth and indicates an unreasonable impatience, I beg you

to forgive me. If I have said anything that understates the

truth and indicates my having a patience that allows me to

settle for anything less than brotherhood, I beg God to for-

give me.

I hope this letter finds you strong in the faith. I also hope

that circumstances will soon make it possible for me to

meet each of you, not as an inregrationist or a civil-rights

leader hut as a fellow clergyman and. a Christian brother.

Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will

soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will

be lifted from our fear drenched communities, and in some

not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and

brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their

scintillating beauty.

Yours for the cause of Peace and Brotherhood

Martin Luther King, Jr.

CHAPTER 19

J O H N RAWLS
One of the most important moral and political philosophers of the

twentieth century, John Rawls was born in Baltimore in 1921. He

received his BA from Princeton in 1943 and was drafted into the

service. During World War II, Rawls saw action as an infantryman in

the Pacific and witnessed the aftermath of the bombing of Hiroshima.

Rawls's combat experience crushed his faith and helped propel him

into the study of moral and political philosophy. He took his doctor-

ate from Princeton in 1950 and published his landmark A Theory of

Justice in 1971. He was a professor of philosophy at Harvard from

1962 until his death in 2002.

Between the war in Vietnam and the Civil Rights movement, the

1960s was a fertile era for reflection on social justice. Rawls was pas-

sionately involved in these issues and it was during this time that his

theory of justice took shape.

From the outset of his famous work, Rawls states, "Justice is the

first virtue of social institutions." He attempts to formulate prin-

ciples that could be applied to social and political institutions and

practices. Rawls rejects Utilitarianism because he believes that in its

devotion to maximizing happiness, the theory of Bentham and Mill

legitimizes trampling individual rights. Instead, Rawls works in the

social contract tradition of Flobbes, Locke, and Rousseau. Like those

philosophers, he invites us to imagine that we are entering into a

Ethics: The Essential Writings • 379

c o m p a c t with others b u t with one difference: In o r d e r to eschew t h e

taint of biases, Rawls bids us to assume that o u r reasoning is f r o m

behind a "veil of ignorance." We are to imagine that we are in t h e

dark about our class, social position, assets, and abilities. F r o m this

vantage point, Rawls reasons that t h e r e are two guiding principles

t h a t it would be rational to adopt. T h e first treats the issue of liberty

and the second addresses t h e question of how to deal justly with

inequalities among people.

A T H E O R Y OF JUSTICE

3. T H E M A I N IDEA OF THE THEORY OF JUSTICE

My aim is to present a conception of justice which generalizes and

carries to a higher level of abstraction the familiar theory of the

social contract as found, say, in Locke, Rousseau, and Kant* In order

to do this we are not to think of the original contract as one to enter

a particular society or to set up a particular form of government.

Rather, the guiding idea is that the principles of justice for the basic

structure of society are the object of the original agreement. T h e y

are the principles that free and rational persons concerned to further

their own interests would accept in an initial position of equality as

defining the fundamental terms of their association. T h e s e principles

are to regulate all f u r t h e r agreements; they specify the kinds of social

"As t h e text suggests, I shall regard Locke's Second Treatise of

Government,Rousseau's The

Social Contract, and Kant's ethical works b e g i n n i n g w i t h The

Foundations of the Metaphysics

of Morals as definitive of the c o n t r a c t tradition. For all of its greatness, H o

b b e s ' s

Leviathan raises special p r o b l e m s . A g e n e r a l historical s u r v e y is p r

o v i d e d by J. W.

G o u g h , The Social Contract, 2 n d ed. ( O x f o r d , T h e C l a r e n d o n

Press, 1957); and O t t o

G i e r k e , Natural Law and. the Theory of Society, trans with an i n t r o d u c

t i o n by E r n e s t

Barker ( C a m b r i d g e , T h e University P r e s s , 1934). A p r e s e n t a t i o

n of t h e c o n t r a c t view as

p r i m a r i l y an c t h i c a l t h e o r y is to be f o u n d in G. R G r i c e , The
Grounds of Moral Judgment

( C a m b r i d g e , T h e University Press, 1967). See also §19, n o t e 30.

A Theory of Justice • 381

cooperation that can he e n t e r e d into and t h e forms of g o v e r n m e n t

that can be established. T h i s way of r e g a r d i n g t h e principles of jus-

tice I shall call justice as fairness.

T h u s we are to imagine that those who engage in social coopera-

tion choose together, in o n e joint act, the principles which are to

assign basic rights and duties and to d e t e r m i n e t h e division of social

benefits. M e n are to d e c i d e in advance how they are to regulate their

claims against o n e a n o t h e r and what is to be t h e foundation c h a r t e r

of their society. J u s t as each person m u s t decide by rational reflection

w h a t constitutes his good, that is, t h e system of ends which it is

rational for him to p u r s u e , so a g r o u p of persons m u s t decide once

and for all w h a t is to count among t h e m as just and unjust. T h e

choice which rational men would m a k e in this hypothetical situation

of equal liberty, assuming for the p r e s e n t that this choice p r o b l e m

has a solution, d e t e r m i n e s the principles of justice..

In justice as fairness the original position of equality corresponds

to t h e state of n a t u r e in the traditional t h e o r y of t h e social contract.

T h i s original position is not, of course, t h o u g h t of as an actual his-

torical state of affairs, m u c h less as a primitive condition of culture.

It is u n d e r s t o o d as a p u r e l y hypothetical situation characterized so as

to lead to a certain c o n c e p t i o n of justice.* A m o n g the essential fea-

tures of this situation is t h a t no o n e knows his place in society, his

class position or social status, n o r does any one know his f o r t u n e in

the distribution of natural assets and abilities, his intelligence,

strength, and t h e like. 1 shall even assume that the parties do not

know their c o n c e p t i o n s of t h e good or their special psychological

propensities. T h e principles of justice are chosen behind a veil of

ignorance. T h i s ensures that no one is advantaged or disadvantaged

in the choice of principles by the o u t c o m e of natural chance or the

contingency of social circumstances. Since all are similarly situated

and no one is able to design principles to favor his particular condi-

*Kant is d e a r that t h e original a g r e e m e n t is h y p o t h e t i c a l . See The

Metaphysics of Morals,

pt. I ( Rechtslehre), especially §§47, 52; and pt. 11 of t h e essay " C o n c e r n i

n g t h e C o m m o n

Saying: T h i s M a y Be T r u e in T h e o r y but It D o e s N o t A p p l y in
Practice," in Kant's Polit-

ical Writings, ed. H a n s Reiss and trans, by H. B. N i s b e t ( C a m b r i d g e ,

T h e U n i v e r s i t y

Press, 1970), pp. 7 3 - 8 7 . See G e o r g e s Vlachos, La Pensecpolitique de

Kant (Paris, P r e s s e s

Universitaires de France, 1962), pp. 326-335; and J. G. M u r p h y , Kant The

Philosophy of

Right ( L o n d o n , M a c m i l l a n , 1970), pp. 109-112, 1 3 3 - 1 3 6 , f o r a f

u r t h e r discussion.

382 • John Ra •<• s

tion, the principles of justice are the result of a fair a g r e e m e n t or bar-

gain. For given the c i r c u m s t a n c e s of the original position, the s y m -

m e t r y of everyone's relations to each other, this initial situation is fair

b e t w e e n individuals as moral persons, that is, as rational beings with

their own ends and capable, I shall assume, of a sense of justice. T h e

original position is, o n e m i g h t say, t h e appropriate initial status quo,

and thus t h e f u n d a m e n t a l a g r e e m e n t s r e a c h e d in it are fair. T h i

s

explains the p r o p r i e t y of the n a m e "justice as fairness": it conveys t h e

idea t h a t t h e principles of justice are agreed to in an initial situation

that is f a i r T i e n a m e does not m e a n that t h e c o n c e p t s of justice and

fairness are t h e same, any m o r e than the phrase " p o e t r y as m e t a p h o r "

means that the concepts of p o e t r y and m e t a p h o r are the same.

j u s t i c e as fairness begins, as I have said, with one of the most g e n -

eral of all choices which p e r s o n s might m a k e together, namely, with

the choice of the first principles of a c o n c e p t i o n of justice which is to

regulate all s u b s e q u e n t criticism and r e f o r m of institutions. T h e n ,

having chosen a c o n c e p t i o n of justice, we can suppose that they are

to choose a constitution and a legislature to enact laws, and so on, all

in a c c o r d a n c e with the principles of justice initially agreed u p o n .

O u r social situation is just if it is such that by this s e q u e n c e of h y p o -

thetical a g r e e m e n t s we would have contracted into t h e general sys-

t e m of r u l e s which defines it. Moreover, assuming that the original

position does d e t e r m i n e a set of principles (that is, that a particular

c o n c e p t i o n of justice would be chosen), it will then be t r u e t h a t

w h e n e v e r social institutions satisfy these principles those engaged in

t h e m can say to o n e a n o t h e r that they are c o o p e r a t i n g on terms to

which they would agree if they w e r e free and equal persons whose

relations with respect to o n e a n o t h e r were fair. T h e y could all view

their a r r a n g e m e n t s as m e e t i n g the stipulations which they would

acknowledge in an initial situation that e m b o d i e s widely accepted

and reasonable constraints on t h e choice of principles. T h e general

recognition of this fact would provide the basis for a public accep-

t a n c e of the c o r r e s p o n d i n g principles of justice. No society can, of

course, be a s c h e m e of cooperation which m e n enter voluntarily in a

literal sense; each p e r s o n finds himself placed at birth in s o m e p a r -

ticular position in s o m e particular society, and t h e n a t u r e of this

position materially affects his life prospects. Yet a society satisfying

t h e principles of justice as fairness comes as close as a society can to

A Theory of Justice • 383

being a voluntary scheme, for it meets t h e principles which f r e e and

equal persons would assent to u n d e r circumstances that are fair. In

this sense its m e m b e r s are a u t o n o m o u s and the obligations they rec-

ognize self-imposed.

O n e feature of justice as fairness is to think of the parties in t h e

initial situation as rational and mutually disinterested. T h i s does not

m e a n that the parties are egoists, that is, individuals with only certain

kinds of interests, say in wealth, prestige, and domination. But they

are conceived as not taking an interest in one another's interests.

T h e y are to p r e s u m e that even their spiritual aims may be o p p o s e d ,

in t h e way that the aims of those of d i f f e r e n t religions may be

opposed. Moreover, the c o n c e p t of rationality must be i n t e r p r e t e d as

far as possible in the narrow sense, standard in e c o n o m i c theory, of

taking the most effective means to given ends. I shall m o d i f y this

c o n c e p t to some extent, as explained later (§25), but one m u s t try to

avoid introducing into it any controversial ethical elements. T h e ini-

tial situation m u s t be characterized by stipulations that are widely

accepted.

In working out t h e conception of justice as fairness o n e main task

clearly is to d e t e r m i n e which principles of justice would be chosen in

the original position. To do this we m u s t describe this situation in

s o m e detail and f o r m u l a t e with care the p r o b l e m of choice which it

presents. T h e s e m a t t e r s I shall take up in the immediately s u c c e e d -

ing chapters. It may be observed, however, that once the principles of

justice are t h o u g h t of as arising from an original a g r e e m e n t in a

situation of equality, it is an open question w h e t h e r the principle of

utility would be acknowledged. O f f h a n d it hardly seems likely t h a t

persons who view themselves as equals, entitled to press their claims

u p o n o n e another, would agree to a principle which may require

lesser life prospects f o r s o m e simply for the sake of a greater sum of

advantages enjoyed by others. Since each desires to protect his i n t e r -

ests, his capacity to advance his c o n c e p t i o n of the good, no o n e has a

reason to acquiesce in an e n d u r i n g loss for himself in o r d e r to bring

about a greater net balance of satisfaction. In the absence of strong

and lasting benevolent impulses, a rational man would n o t accept a

basic s t r u c t u r e m e r e l y because it maximized the algebraic s u m of

advantages irrespective of its p e r m a n e n t effects on his o w n basic

rights and interests. T h u s it seems that t h e principle of utility is

384 • John Ra •<• s

i n c o m p a t i b l e with t h e c o n c e p t i o n of social cooperation a m o n g

equals for m u t u a l advantage. It appears to be inconsistent with the

idea of reciprocity implicit in the notion of a w e l l - o r d e r e d society.

Or, at any rate, so 1 shall argue.

1 shall maintain instead that the persons in the initial situation

would choose two r a t h e r d i f f e r e n t principles: the first requires equal-

ity in the assignment of basic rights and duties, while the second

holds that social and e c o n o m i c inequalities, f o r e x a m p l e inequalities

of wealth and authority, are just only if they result in c o m p e n s a t i n g

benefits for everyone, and in particular for the least advantaged

m e m b e r s of society. T h e s e principles rule o u t justifying institutions

on the g r o u n d s that t h e hardships of s o m e are offset by a g r e a t e r

good in t h e aggregate. It may be e x p e d i e n t b u t it is not just that s o m e

should have less in o r d e r t h a t others may prosper. But there is no

injustice in t h e greater benefits earned by a few provided t h a t t h e

situation of persons not so f o r t u n a t e is t h e r e b y improved. T h e intu-

itive idea is that since everyone's well-being d e p e n d s upon a s c h e m e

of cooperation w i t h o u t which no o n e could have a satisfactory life,

the division of advantages should be such as to d r a w forth the willing

cooperation of everyone taking part in it, i n c l u d i n g those less well

situated. Yet this can be expected only if reasonable terms are

p r o p o s e d . T h e two principles m e n t i o n e d seem to be a fair a g r e e m

e n t

on t h e basis of which those b e t t e r endowed, or m o r e f o r t u n a t e in

their social position, n e i t h e r of which we can be said to deserve,

could expect the willing cooperation of others w h e n s o m e workable

s c h e m e is a necessary condition of t h e welfare of all* O n c e we

d e c i d e to look for a c o n c e p t i o n of justice that nullifies t h e accidents

of natural e n d o w m e n t and t h e contingencies of social c i r c u m s t a n c e

as c o u n t e r s in quest f o r political and e c o n o m i c advantage, we are led

to these principles. T h e y express the result of leaving aside those

aspects of t h e social world that seem arbitrary f r o m a moral point of

view.

T h e p r o b l e m of the choice of principles, however, is e x t r e m e l y

difficult. I do not expect the answer I shall suggest to be convincing

to everyone. It is, therefore, worth noting f r o m the o u t s e t that justice

as fairness, like other contract views, consists of two parts: (1) an

'For the formularron of this intuitive idea I am indebted to Allan Gibbnrd.

A Theory of Justice • 385

interpretation of t h e initial situation and of the problem of choice

posed there, and (2) a set of principles which, it is argued, would be

agreed to. O n e may accept the first p a r t of the theory (or s o m e vari-

ant thereof), hut not the other, and conversely. T h e c o n c e p t of the

initial contractual situation may s e e m reasonable although the par-

ticular principles proposed are rejected. To be sure, 1 want to m a i n -

tain that the most a p p r o p r i a t e conception of this situation does lead

to principles of justice contrary to utilitarianism and perfectionism,

and t h e r e f o r e t h a t the contract d o c t r i n e provides an alternative to

these views. Still, o n e may dispute this contention even though o n e

grants that t h e contractarian m e t h o d is a u s e f u l way of s t u d y i n g eth-

ical theories and of setting forth their u n d e r l y i n g assumptions.

J u s t i c e as fairness is an e x a m p l e of what I have called a contract

theory. N o w t h e r e may be an objection to the t e r m "contract" and

related expressions, b u t I think it will serve reasonably well. M a n y

words have misleading connotations which at first are likely to c o n -

fuse. T h e terms "utility" and "utilitarianism" are surely no exception.

T h e y too have u n f o r t u n a t e suggestions which hostile critics have

been willing to exploit; yet they are clear enough for those p r e p a r e d

to study utilitarian doctrine. T h e s a m e should be t r u e of the term

"contract" applied to moral theories. As I have m e n t i o n e d , to u n d e r -

stand it one has to keep in m i n d that it implies a certain level of

abstraction. In particular, the c o n t e n t of t h e relevant a g r e e m e n t is

not to enter a given society or to adopt a given form of g o v e r n m e n t ,

hut to accept certain moral principles. Moreover, the u n d e r t a k i n g s

r e f e r r e d to are purely hypothetical: a contract view holds that certain

principles would be accepted in a well-defined initial situation.

T h e merit of the contract t e r m i n o l o g y is that it conveys t h e idea

that principles of justice may he conceived as principles that would

be ghosen by rational persons, and that in this way conceptions of

justice may be explained and justified. T h e theory of justice is a part,

p e r h a p s the most significant part, of t h e theory of rational choice.

F u r t h e r m o r e , principles of justice deal with conflicting claims u p o n

t h e advantages won by social cooperation; they apply to the relations

a m o n g several persons or groups. T h e word "contract" suggests this

plurality as well as the condition t h a t the appropriate division of

advantages m u s t be in accordance with principles acceptable to all

parties. T h e condition of puhlicity for principles of justice is also

386 • John Ra •<• s

c o n n o t e d by the contract phraseology. T h u s , if these principles are

the o u t c o m e of an a g r e e m e n t , citizens have a knowledge of the p r i n -

ciples t h a t others follow. It is characteristic of contract theories to

stress t h e public n a t u r e of political principles. Finally t h e r e is t h e

long tradition of t h e contract doctrine. E x p r e s s i n g the tie with this

line of t h o u g h t helps to define ideas and accords with natural piety.

T h e r e are then several advantages in the use of the term "contract."

With d u e precautions taken, it should not be misleading.

A final remark. J u s t i c e as fairness is not a c o m p l e t e contract the-

ory. For it is clear that the contractarian idea can be extended to t h e

choice of m o r e or less an e n t i r e ethical system, that is, to a system

i n c l u d i n g principles for all the virtues and n o t only for justice. N o w

for the m o s t part I shall consider only principles of justice and others

closely related to them; I make no a t t e m p t to discuss t h e virtues in a

systematic way. Obviously if justice as fairness succeeds reasonably

well, a next s t e p would be to study the m o r e general view suggested

by t h e n a m e "rightness as fairness." But even this wider theory fails

to e m b r a c e all moral relationships, since it would seem to i n c l u d e

only o u r relations with o t h e r persons and to leave o u t of account

how we are to c o n d u c t ourselves toward animals and the rest of

nature. I do not contend that the contract notion offers a way to

approach these questions which are certainly of the first importance;

and I shall have to p u t t h e m aside. We m u s t recognize the limited

scope of justice as fairness and of the general type of view that it

exemplifies. H o w far its conclusions m u s t be revised o n c e these o t h e r

m a t t e r s are u n d e r s t o o d c a n n o t be decided in advance.

4 . T H E O R I G I N A L POSITION A N D JUSTIFICATION

I have said t h a t the original position is the a p p r o p r i a t e initial status

quo which insures t h a t the f u n d a m e n t a l a g r e e m e n t s reached in it

are

fair. T h i s fact yields t h e n a m e "justice as fairness." It is clear, then,

that I want to say t h a t o n e c o n c e p t i o n of justice is m o r e r e a s o n a b l

e

than another, or justifiable with respect to it, if rational persons in t h e

initial situation would choose its principles over those of the o t h e r

for t h e role of justice. C o n c e p t i o n s of justice are to be ranked by t h e i r

A Theory of Justice • 396

acceptability to persons so circumstanced. U n d e r s t o o d in this way

the question of justification is settled by working out a p r o b l e m of

deliberation: we have to ascertain which principles it would be

rational to adopt given the contractual situation. T h i s c o n n e c t s the

t h e o r y of justice with t h e theory of rational choice.

If this view of t h e p r o b l e m of justification is to succeed, we must,

of course, describe in s o m e detail the n a t u r e of this choice p r o b l e m .

A p r o b l e m of rational decision has a definite answer only if we know

the beliefs and interests of the parties, their relations with respect to

o n e another, the alternatives between which they are to choose, t h e

p r o c e d u r e w h e r e b y they m a k e up their minds, and so on. As the cir-

cumstances are presented in different ways, c o r r e s p o n d i n g l y d i f f e r -

ent principles are accepted. T h e c o n c e p t of t h e original position, as T

shall refer to it, is that of t h e most philosophically favored i n t e r p r e -

tation of this initial choice situation for t h e p u r p o s e s of a t h e o r y of

justice.

But how are we to decide what is the most favored interpretation?

1 assume, f o r o n e thing, t h a t there is a broad m e a s u r e of a g r e e m e n t

that principles of justice should be chosen u n d e r certain conditions.

To justify a particular description of the initial situation o n e shows

that it incorporates these c o m m o n l y shared p r e s u m p t i o n s . O n e

argues from widely accepted but weak p r e m i s e s to m o r e specific

conclusions. Each of the p r e s u m p t i o n s should by itself be natural and

plausible; s o m e of t h e m m a y seem i n n o c u o u s or even trivial. T h e aim

of t h e contract a p p r o a c h is to establish that taken t o g e t h e r they

i m p o s e significant b o u n d s on acceptable principles of justice. T h e

ideal o u t c o m e would be that these conditions d e t e r m i n e a u n i q u e set

of principles; but I shall be satisfied if they suffice to rank the main

traditional conceptions of social justice.

O n e should n o t be misled, then, by the s o m e w h a t unusual c o n d i -

tions which characterize t h e original position. T h e idea h e r e is

simply to make vivid to ourselves the restrictions that it seems reason-

able to impose on a r g u m e n t s for principles of justice, and t h e r e f o r e

on these principles themselves. T h u s it seems reasonable and g e n e r -

ally acceptable that no o n e should be advantaged or disadvantaged

by natural f o r t u n e or social circumstances in t h e choice of principles.

It also seems widely agreed that it should be impossible to tailor

principles to the circumstances of one's own case. We should i n s u r e

388 • John Ra •<• s

f u r t h e r that particular inclinations and aspirations, and persons' c o n -

ceptions of their good do not affect t h e principles adopted. T h e aim

is to r u l e o u t those principles t h a t it would be rational to p r o p o s e for

acceptance, however little the chance of success, only if o n e knew

certain things that are irrelevant f r o m the s t a n d p o i n t of justice. For

example, if a man knew t h a t he was wealthy, he might find it rational

to advance the p r i n c i p l e that various taxes f o r welfare measures be

c o u n t e d unjust; if he knew that he was poor, he would most likely

p r o p o s e t h e c o n t r a r y principle. T o r e p r e s e n t the desired

restrictions

one imagines a situation in which everyone is deprived of this sort of

information. O n e excludes t h e knowledge of those contingencies

which sets m e n at odds and allows t h e m to be g u i d e d by their p r e j u -

dices. In this m a n n e r the veil of ignorance is arrived at in a n a t u r a l

way. T h i s c o n c e p t should cause no difficulty if we keep in mind the

constraints on a r g u m e n t s that it is m e a n t to express. At any t i m e we

can e n t e r t h e original position, so to speak, simply by following a cer-

tain p r o c e d u r e , namely, by arguing for principles of justice in accor-

dance with these restrictions.

It s e e m s reasonable to s u p p o s e that the parties in the original

position are equal. T h a t is, all have the same rights in t h e p r o c e d u r e

for c h o o s i n g principles; each can make proposals, submit reasons f o r

their acceptance, and so on. Obviously the p u r p o s e of these c o n d i -

tions is to r e p r e s e n t equality between h u m a n beings as moral p e r -

sons, as creatures having a conception of their good and capable of a

sense of justice. T h e basis of equality is taken to be similarity in t h e s e

two respects. Systems of ends are not ranked in value; and each man

is p r e s u m e d , to have the requisite ability to u n d e r s t a n d and to act

u p o n w h a t e v e r principles are adopted. T o g e t h e r with the veil of

ignorance, these conditions define the principles of justice as t h o s e

which rational persons c o n c e r n e d to advance their interests would

c o n s e n t to as equals w h e n n o n e are known to be advantaged or dis-

advantaged by social and natural contingencies.

T h e r e is, however, a n o t h e r side to justifying a particular descrip-

tion of the original position. T h i s is to see if the principles which

would be chosen match o u r considered convictions of justice or

extend t h e m in an acceptable way. We can note w h e t h e r applying

these principles would lead us to m a k e the same j u d g m e n t s a b o u t the

basic s t r u c t u r e of society which we now make intuitively and in

A Theory of Justice • 389

which we have the greatest confidence; or whether, in cases w h e r e

o u r p r e s e n t j u d g m e n t s are in doubt and given with hesitation, these

principles offer a resolution which we can affirm on reflection. T h e r e

are questions which we feel sure m u s t be answered in a certain way.

For example, we are confident that religious intolerance and racial

discrimination are unjust. We think that we have examined these

things with care and have reached what we believe is an impartial

j u d g m e n t not likely to be distorted by an excessive attention to o u r

own interests. T h e s e convictions are provisional fixed points which

we p r e s u m e any c o n c e p t i o n of justice m u s t fit. But we have m u c h

less

assurance as to what is the correct distribution of wealth and a u t h o r -

ity. H e r e we may be looking for a way to remove o u r doubts. We can

check an i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of the initial situation, then, by the capacity

of its principles to a c c o m m o d a t e our firmest convictions and to p r o -

vide guidance w h e r e g u i d a n c e is needed.

In searching for t h e most favored description of this situation we

work f r o m both ends. We begin by describing it so that it represents

generally shared and preferably weak conditions. We then see if

these conditions are s t r o n g enough to yield a significant set of p r i n -

ciples. If not, we look f o r f u r t h e r premises equally reasonable. But if

so, and these principles match o u r considered convictions of justice,

then so far well and good. But p r e s u m a b l y there will be d i s c r e p a n -

cies. In this case we have a choice. We can either m o d i f y the a c c o u n t

of the initial situation or we can revise o u r existing judgments, for

even the judgments we take provisionally as fixed points are liable to

revision. By going back and forth, s o m e t i m e s altering the conditions

of t h e contractual circumstances, at o t h e r s withdrawing o u r judg-

m e n t s and c o n f o r m i n g them to principle, I assume that-eventually

we shall find a description of the initial situation that both expresses

reasonable conditions and yields principles which match o u r consid-

ered judgments duly p r u n e d and adjusted. T h i s state of affairs I r e f e r

to as reflective equilibrium.* It is an equilibrium because at last our

principles and j u d g m e n t s coincide; and it is reflective since we know

" T h e process of m u t u a l a d j u s t m e n t of principles a n d c o n s i d e r e d

j u d g m e n t s is n o t p e c u -

liar to moral philosophy. See N e l s o n G o o d m a n , Fact, Fiction, and

Forecast ( C a m b r i d g e ,

Mass., H a r v a r d University Press, 1955), pp. 6 5 - 6 8 , for parallel remarks c

o n c e r n i n g t h e

justification of the principles of d e d u c t i v e and i n d u c t i v e i n f e r e n c e

.

390 • John Ra •<• s

to what principles our j u d g m e n t s c o n f o r m and t h e premises of t h e i r

derivation At t h e m o m e n t e v e r y t h i n g is in order. But this equilib-

r i u m is n o t necessarily stable. It is liable to be upset by f u r t h e r

examination of the conditions which should be imposed on the c o n -

t r a c t u a l situation and by particular cases which may lead us to revise

o u r judgments. Yet for the time being we have d o n e what we can to

r e n d e r c o h e r e n t and to justify o u r convictions of social justice. We

have r e a c h e d a conception of t h e original position.

I shall not, of course, actually work t h r o u g h this process. Still, we

may think of the i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of t h e original position that I shall

p r e s e n t as t h e result of such a hypothetical c o u r s e of reflection. It

r e p r e s e n t s the a t t e m p t to a c c o m m o d a t e within one s c h e m e

both r e a -

sonable philosophical conditions on principles as well as o u r consid-

e r e d j u d g m e n t s of justice. In arriving at the favored i n t e r p r e t a t i o n

of

the initial situation t h e r e is no point at which an appeal is m a d e to

s e l f - e v i d e n c e in the traditional sense e i t h e r of general c o n c e p t i o

n s

or p a r t i c u l a r convictions. I do n o t claim for the principles of justice

p r o p o s e d that they are necessary t r u t h s or derivable f r o m such

truths. A c o n c e p t i o n of justice cannot be d e d u c e d f r o m s e l f - e v i d

e n t

p r e m i s e s or conditions on principles; instead, its justification is a

m a t t e r of t h e m u t u a l s u p p o r t of m a n y considerations, of e v e r y t h
i n g

fitting t o g e t h e r into o n e c o h e r e n t view.

A final comment. We shall want to say that certain principles of jus-

tice are justified because they would be agreed to in an initial situation

of equality. I have emphasized that this original position is purely h y p o -

thetical. It is natural to ask why, if this agreement is never actually

entered into, we should take any interest in these principles, moral or

otherwise. T h e answer is that the conditions embodied in the descrip-

tion of the original position are ones that we do in fact accept. Or if we

do not, then perhaps we can he persuaded to do so by philosophical

reflection. Each aspect of the contractual situation can be given sup-

porting grounds. T h u s what we shall do is to collect together into o n e

conception a n u m b e r of conditions on principles that we are ready

upon d u e consideration to recognize as reasonable. T h e s e constraints

express what we are prepared to regard as limits on fair terms of social

cooperation. O n e way to look at the idea of t h e original position, there-

fore, is to see it as an expository device which sums up t h e meaning of

these conditions and helps us to extract their consequences. On t h e

A '1 'henry of Justice • 391

other hand, this conception is also an intuitive notion that suggests its

own elaboration, so that led on by it we are drawn to define more

clearly the standpoint from which we can best interpret moral relation-

ships. We need a conception that enables us to envision our objective

from afar: the intuitive notion of the original position is to do this forus.

11. T w o PRINCIPLES OF JUSTICE

I shall now state in a provisional form the two principles of justice

that I believe would be chosen in the original position. In this section

I wish to make only the most general c o m m e n t s , and t h e r e f o r e the

first formulation of these principles is tentative. As we go on I shall

r u n through several formulations and a p p r o x i m a t e step by step the

final statement to be given m u c h later. I believe that doing this allows

the exposition to proceed in a natural way.

T h e first s t a t e m e n t of the two principles reads as follows.

First: each person is to have an equal right to the most extensive

basic liberty c o m p a t i b l e with a similar liberty for others.

Second: social and e c o n o m i c inequalities are to be arranged so

that they are both (a) reasonably expected to be to everyone's advan-

tage, and (b) attached to positions and offices open to all. T h e r e are

two ambiguous phrases in the second principle, namely "everyone's

advantage" and "open to all." D e t e r m i n i n g their sense m o r e exactly

will lead to a second f o r m u l a t i o n of the principle in §13. T h e final

version of the two principles is given in §46; §39 considers the r e n -

d e r i n g of the first principle.

By way of general c o m m e n t , these principles primarily apply, as I

have said, to the basic s t r u c t u r e of society. T h e y are to govern the

assignment of rights and duties and to regulate the distribution of

social and e c o n o m i c advantages. As their f o r m u l a t i o n suggests, these

principles p r e s u p p o s e that the social s t r u c t u r e can be divided into

two m o r e or less distincc parts, the first principle applying to t h e

one, the second to the other. T h e y distinguish between those aspects

of the social system that define and secure the equal liberties of citi-

zenship and those that specify and establish social and e c o n o m i c

inequalities. T h e basic liberties of citizens are, roughly speaking,

392 • John Ra •<• s

political liberty (the right to vote and to be eligible for public office)

t o g e t h e r with f r e e d o m of speech and assembly; liberty of conscience

and f r e e d o m of thought; f r e e d o m of the person along with the right

to hold (personal) p r o p e r t y ; and f r e e d o m f r o m arbitrary arrest and

seizure as defined by the c o n c e p t of the r u l e of law. T h e s e liberties

are all required to be equal by the first principle, since citizens of a

just society are to have the same basic rights.

T h e second principle applies, in the first approximation, to t h e

distribution of i n c o m e and wealth and to the design of organizations

that make use of differences in authority and responsibility, or chains

of c o m m a n d . While the distribution of wealth and i n c o m e need not

be equal, it must be to everyone's advantage, and at the same time,

positions of authority and offices of c o m m a n d must be accessible

to all. O n e applies the second principle by holding positions open,

and then, subject to this constraint, arranges social and e c o n o m i c

inequalities so t h a t everyone benefits.

T h e s e principles are to be arranged in a serial order with the first

p r i n c i p l e prior to the second. T h i s o r d e r i n g m e a n s that a d e p a r t

u r e

f r o m the institutions of equal liberty required by the first p r i n c i p l e

c a n n o t be justified by, or c o m p e n s a t e d for, by g r e a t e r social and

eco-

n o m i c advantages. T h e distribution of wealth and income, and the

hierarchies of authority, m u s t be consistent with both t h e liberties of

equal citizenship and equality of opportunity.

It is clear that these principles are r a t h e r specific in their content,

and their acceptance rests on certain assumptions that I must e v e n -

tually try to explain and justify. A t h e o r y of justice d e p e n d s u p o n a

t h e o r y of society in ways that will b e c o m e e v i d e n t as we proceed. For

t h e present, it should be observed that the two principles (and this

holds f o r all formulations) are a special case of a m o r e general c o n -

c e p t i o n of justice that can be expressed as follows.

All social values—liberty and opportunity, income and

wealth, and the bases of self-respect—are to be distributed

equally unless an u n e q u a l distribution of any, or all, of

these values is to everyone's advantage.

Injustice, then, is simply inequalities that are not to the benefit of all. Of

course, this conception is extremely vague and requires interpretation.

A Theory of Justice • 393

As a first step, s u p p o s e that t h e basic s t r u c t u r e of society distrib-

utes certain p r i m a r y goods, that is, things that every rational man is

p r e s u m e d to want. T h e s e goods n o r m a l l y have a use whatever a p e r

-

son's rational plan of life. For simplicity, assume t h a t the chief pri-

m a r y goods at t h e disposition of society are rights and liberties,

powers and opportunities, income and wealth. (Later on in P a r t

T h r e e the p r i m a r y good of self-respect has a central place.) T h e s e

are the social p r i m a r y goods. O t h e r p r i m a r y goods such as health

and vigor, intelligence and imagination, are natural goods; although

their possession is influenced by the basic structure, they are not

so directly u n d e r its control. Imagine, then, a hypothetical initial

a r r a n g e m e n t in which all the social p r i m a r y goods are equally dis-

tributed: everyone has similar rights and duties, and i n c o m e and

wealth are evenly shared. T h i s state of affairs provides a b e n c h m a r k

for judging improvements. If certain inequalities of wealth and

organizational powers would make e v e r y o n e better off than in this

hypothetical starting situation, then they accord with t h e general

conception.

N o w it is possible, at least theoretically, that by giving up s o m e of

t h e i r i u n d a m e n t a l liberties men are sufficiently compensated by the

resulting social and e c o n o m i c gains. T h e general conception of jus-

tice imposes no restrictions on what sort of inequalities are permissi-

ble; it only requires t h a t everyone's position be improved. We need

not suppose anything so drastic as c o n s e n t i n g to a condition of slav-

ery. Imagine instead that men forego certain political rights w h e n the

e c o n o m i c returns are significant and their capacity to influence t h e

c o u r s e of policy by the exercise of these rights would be marginal in

any case. It is this kind of exchange which t h e two principles as stated

r u l e out; being arranged in serial o r d e r they do not p e r m i t exchanges

between basic liberties and e c o n o m i c and social gains. T h e serial

o r d e r i n g of principles expresses an u n d e r l y i n g p r e f e r e n c e a m o n
g

p r i m a r y social goods. W h e n this p r e f e r e n c e is rarional so likewise is

the choice of these principles in this order.

In developing justice as fairness I shall, for the most part, leave

aside the general c o n c e p t i o n of justice and e x a m i n e instead the spe-

cial case of the two principles in serial order. T h e advantage of this

p r o c e d u r e is that from the first the m a t t e r of priorities is recognized

and an effort m a d e to find principles to deal with it. O n e is led to

394 • John Ra •<• s

attend t h r o u g h o u t to t h e conditions u n d e r which the acknowledg-

m e n t of t h e absolute weight of liberty with respect to social and eco-

n o m i c advantages, as defined by the lexical o r d e r of t h e two

principles, would be reasonable. O f f h a n d , this ranking appears

e x t r e m e and too special a case to be of m u c h interest; but t h e r e is

m o r e justification for it than would a p p e a r at first sight. Or at any

rate, so I shall maintain (§82). F u r t h e r m o r e , t h e distinction b e t w e e n

f u n d a m e n t a l rights and liberties and e c o n o m i c and social benefits

marks a d i f f e r e n c e a m o n g p r i m a r y social goods that one should try

to

exploit. It suggests an i m p o r t a n t division in the social system. Of

course, the distinctions d r a w n and the o r d e r i n g proposed are b o u n d

to be at best only approximations. T h e r e are surely circumstances in

which they fail Rut it is essential to depict clearly the main lines of a

r e a s o n a b l e c o n c e p t i o n of justice; and u n d e r m a n y conditions

any-

way, the two principles in serial order may serve well enough. W h e n

necessary we can fall back on t h e m o r e general conception.

T h e fact that the two principles apply to institutions has certain

consequences. Several points illustrate this. First of all, the rights and

liberties referred to by these principles are those which are defined

by the public rules of t h e basic structure. W h e t h e r men are free is

d e t e r m i n e d by the rights and duties established by the major institu-

tions of society. Liberty is a certain p a t t e r n of social forms. T h e first

principle simply requires that certain sorts of rules, those defining

basic liberties, apply to everyone equally and that they allow t h e

most extensive liberty c o m p a t i b l e with a like liberty f o r all. T h e only

reason for circumscribing the rights defining liberty and m a k i n g

men's f r e e d o m less extensive than it might o t h e r w i s e be is that these

equal rights as institutionally defined would i n t e r f e r e with o n e

another.

A n o t h e r thing to bear in m i n d is that when principles m e n t i o n

persons, or r e q u i r e t h a t e v e r y o n e gain f r o m an inequality, the r e f e r

-

e n c e is to representative persons holding t h e various social positions,

or offices, or whatever, established by the basic structure. T h u s in

applying the second principle I assume that it is possible to assign an

expectation of well-being to representative individuals h o l d i n g t h e s e

positions. T h i s expectation indicates their life prospects as viewed

f r o m their social station. In general, the expectations of r e p r e s e n t a -

tive p e r s o n s d e p e n d u p o n the distribution of rights and duties

A Theory of Justice • 395

t h r o u g h o u t the basic structure. W h e n this changes, expectations

change. I assume, then, that expectations are connected: by raising

the prospects of t h e representative m a n in o n e position we p r e s u m -

ably increase or decrease t h e prospects of representative men in

o t h e r positions. Since it applies to institutional forms, the second

p r i n c i p l e (or r a t h e r the first part of it) r e f e r s to the expectations of

representative individuals. As I shall discuss below, neither principle

applies to distributions of particular goods to particular individuals

w h o may be identified by their p r o p e r names. T h e situation w h e r e

s o m e o n e is considering how to allocate certain c o m m o d i t i e s to

n e e d y persons who are known to him is not within the scope of t h e

principles. T h e y are m e a n t to regulate basic institutional a r r a n g e -

ments. We m u s t not assume that t h e r e is m u c h similarity f r o m t h e

s t a n d p o i n t of justice between an administrative allotment of goods to

specific persons and t h e appropriate design of society. O u r c o m m o n

sense intuitions for the f o r m e r may be a p o o r guide to t h e latter.

N o w the second principle insists that each person benefit from

permissible inequalities in the basic s t r u c t u r e . This m e a n s t h a t it

m u s t be reasonable for each relevant representative man defined by

this structure, when he views it as a going concern, to p r e f e r his

prospects with the inequality to his prospects without it. O n e is not

allowed to justify differences in i n c o m e or organizational powers on

the g r o u n d t h a t t h e disadvantages of those in one position are out-

weighed by the g r e a t e r advantages of those in another. M u c h less can

i n f r i n g e m e n t s of liberty be c o u n t e r b a l a n c e d in this way. Applied

to

t h e basic structure, the principle of utility would have us m a x i m i z e

the s u m of expectations of representative men (weighted by the

n u m b e r of persons they represent, on t h e classical view); and this

would p e r m i t us to c o m p e n s a t e for t h e losses of some by the gains of

others. Instead, t h e two principles r e q u i r e t h a t everyone benefit f r o m

e c o n o m i c and social inequalities. It is obvious, however, that t h e r e

are indefinitely m a n y ways in which all may be advantaged when the

initial a r r a n g e m e n t of equality is taken as a benchmark. H o w then

are we to choose a m o n g these possibilities? T h e principles m u s t be

specified so that they yield a d e t e r m i n a t e conclusion. I now t u r n to

this problem.

CHAPTER 20

ALASDAIR M A C I N T Y R E

Written in nontechnical prose, Alasdair Maclntyre's bold After Virtue

elicited an e n o r m o u s reaction f r o m moral philosophers. MacIntyre,

who was born in Scotland in 1929, seriously questions the language of

rights, calling t h e m "moral fictions." Following Elizabeth Anscombe,

he argues that the present age is a moral tower of Babel. We have lost

our bearings or at least traditions. As G r e g Pence glosses MacIntyre,

"We are Platonic perfectionists in saluting Gold medalists in the

Olympics; Utilitarians in applying t h e principle of triage to t h e

w o u n d e d soldier; Lockeans in affirming p r o p e r t y rights; Christians in

idealizing charity . . . and followers of Kant and Mill in affirming p e r -

sonal autonomy." Given this motley cluster of ideals, it is no w o n d e r

that we have conflicting moral intuitions and intractable conflicts.

M a c I n t y r e contends that most c o n t e m p o r a r y ethics are too indi-

vidualistic. It is a mistake, he claims, to try to think of ourselves in

isolation f r o m a community. A professor at N o t r e Dame, he strives to

resuscitate a N e o - A r i s t o t e l i a n framework that stresses traditions and

t h e virtues and practices central to those traditions.

A F T E R V I R T U E

T H E N A T U R E O F THE VIRTUES

O n e response to the history which I have narrated so far might well

be to suggest that even within the relatively coherent tradition of

thought which I have sketched there are just too many different and
incompatible conceptions of a virtue for there to be any real unity to

the concept or indeed to the history. Homer, Sophocles, Aristotle,

the N e w T e s t a m e n t and medieval thinkers differ from each other

in too many ways. T h e y offer us different and incompatible lists of

the virtues; they give a different rank order of importance to differ-

ent virtues; and they have different and incompatible theories of the

virtues. If we were to consider later Western writers on the virtues,

the list of differences and incompatibilities would be enlarged still

further; and if we extended our enquiry to Japanese, say, or American

Indi an cultures, the differences would become greater still. It would

be all too easy to conclude that there are a n u m b e r of rival and alter-

native conceptions of the virtues, but, even within the tradition

which I have been delineating, no single core conception.

T h e case for such a conclusion could not be better constructed

than by beginning from a consideration of the very different lists of

items which different authors in different times and places have

included in their catalogues of virtues. Some of these catalogues—

398 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

H o m e r ' s , Aristotle's and the N e w T e s t a m e n t ' s — I have already

noticed at greater or lesser length. Let me at the risk of s o m e r e p e t i -

tion recall some of their key f e a t u r e s and t h e n i n t r o d u c e for f u r t h e

r

c o m p a r i s o n the catalogues of two later Western writers. Benjamin

Franklin and J a n e Austen.

T h e first example is that of H o m e r . At least s o m e of the i t e m s in a

H o m e r i c list of the aretai would clearly n o t be c o u n t e d by most of us

nowadays as virtues at all, physical strength being t h e most obvious

example. To this it m i g h t be replied that p e r h a p s we o u g h t n o t to

translate the word arete in H o m e r by o u r word "virtue," b u t instead

by o u r word "excellence"; and perhaps, if we w e r e so to translate it,

the a p p a r e n t l y surprising d i f f e r e n c e b e t w e e n H o m e r and

ourselves

would at first sight have b e e n removed. For we could allow w i t h o u t

any kind of oddity that the possession of physical strength is t h e p o s -

session of an excellence. But in fact we would not have removed, b u t

instead would merely have relocated, the d i f f e r e n c e b e t w e e n H o m e r

and ourselves. For we would now seem to be saying t h a t H o m e r ' s

c o n c e p t of an arete, an excellence, is o n e thing and that o u r c o n c e p t

of a v i r t u e is q u i t e a n o t h e r since a particular quality can be an excel-

lence in H o m e r ' s eyes, b u t n o t a v i r t u e in o u r s and vice versa.

But of course it is not t h a t H o m e r ' s list of virtues differs only f r o m

o u r own; it also notably differs f r o m Aristotle's. And Aristotle's of

c o u r s e also differs f r o m o u r own. For one thing, as I noticed earlier,

s o m e G r e e k v i r t u e - w o r d s are n o t easily translated into English or

r a t h e r o u t of G r e e k . M o r e o v e r consider the i m p o r t a n c e of f r i e
n d s h i p

as a v i r t u e in Aristotle's l i s t — h o w d i f f e r e n t from us! Or t h e place

of

phronesis—how d i f f e r e n t f r o m H o m e r and f r o m us! T h e m i n d

receives f r o m Aristotle t h e kind of t r i b u t e which t h e b o d y receives

from H o m e r . But it is not just the case t h a t the d i f f e r e n c e b e t w e e n

Aristotle and H o m e r lies in the inclusion of s o m e items and t h e

omission of others in their respective catalogues. It turns out also in

the way in which those catalogues are ordered, in which items are

ranked as relatively central to h u m a n excellence and which marginal.

M o r e o v e r the relationship of virtues to the social o r d e r has

changed. For H o m e r the p a r a d i g m of h u m a n excellence is the war-

rior; f o r Aristotle it is the Athenian g e n t l e m a n . I n d e e d according to

Aristotle certain virtues are only available to those of great riches

After Virtue • 399

and of high social status; t h e r e are virtues which are unavailable to

t h e p o o r man, even if he is a f r e e man. And those virtues are on Aris-

totle's view ones central to h u m a n life; m a g n a n i m i t y — a n d once

again, any translation of megalopsuchia is u n s a t i s f a c t o r y — a n d

munifi-

c e n c e are not just virtues, but i m p o r t a n t virtues within t h e Aris-

totelian scheme.

At o n c e it is impossible to delay the r e m a r k t h a t the most striking

contrast with Aristotle's catalogue is to be f o u n d n e i t h e r in H o m e r ' s

n o r in o u r own, but in the N e w Testament's. For t h e N e w T e s t a m e n t

not only praises virtues of which Aristotle knows n o t h i n g — f a i t h ,

h o p e and love—and says n o t h i n g about virtues such as phronesis

which are crucial for Aristotle, but it praises at least o n e quality as a

v i r t u e which Aristotle seems to c o u n t as o n e of the vices relative to

magnanimity, n a m e l y humility. M o r e o v e r since the N e w T e s t a m e n t

quite clearly sees t h e rich as destined for t h e pains of Hell, it is clear

t h a t the key virtues c a n n o t be available to them; yet they are available

to slaves. And the N e w T e s t a m e n t of course differs f r o m both

H o m e r and Aristotle not only in t h e items included in its catalogue

b u t once again in its rank o r d e r i n g of t h e virtues.

T u r n now to c o m p a r e all three lists of virtues considered so f a r —

t h e Homeric, t h e Aristotelian, and the N e w Testament's—with two

m u c h later lists, one which can be compiled from J a n e Austen's novels

and the other which Benjamin Franklin constructed for himself. T w o

features stand out in J a n e Austen's list. T h e first is the importance that

she allots to the virtue which she calls "constancy," a virtue about

which I shall say m o r e in a later chapter. In some ways constancy plays

a role in J a n e Austen analogous to that of phronesis in Aristotle; it is a

virtue the possession of which is a prerequisite for the possession of

other virtues. T h e second is the fact that what Aristotle treats as the

virtue of agreeableness (a virtue for which he says there is no name)

she treats as only the simulacrum of a g e n u i n e v i r t u e — t h e genuine

virtue in question is the o n e she calls amiability. For the man who prac-

tices agreeableness does so from considerations of honor and expedi-

ency, according to Aristotle; whereas J a n e Austen t h o u g h t it possible

and necessary for the possessor of that virtue to have a certain real

affection for people as such (It matters here that J a n e Austen is a

Christian.) R e m e m b e r that Aristotle himself had treated military

400 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

courage as a simulacrum of t r u e courage. T h u s we find h e r e yet

another t y p e of disagreement over the virtues; namely, o n e as to which

h u m a n qualities are g e n u i n e virtues and which m e r e simulacra.

In Benjamin Franklin's list we find almost all t h e types of d i f f e r -

ence f r o m at least o n e of t h e catalogues we have considered and one

more. Franklin includes v i r t u e s which are n e w to o u r consideration

such as cleanliness, silence and industry; he clearly considers the

drive to acquire itself a p a r t of virtue, whereas f o r most ancient

G r e e k s this is the vice of pleonexia; he treats s o m e virtues which

earlier ages had considered m i n o r as major; but he also redefines

s o m e familiar virtues. In the list of t h i r t e e n virtues which Franklin

compiled as part of his system of private moral accounting, he eluci-

dates each v i r t u e by citing a maxim o b e d i e n c e to which is the v i r t u e

in question. In the case of chastity the m a x i m is "Rarely use v e n e r y

but for health or o f f s p r i n g — n e v e r to dullness, weakness or t h e i n j u r

y

of your own or another's p e a c e or reputation." T h i s is clearly n o t

what earlier writers had m e a n t by "chastity."

We have t h e r e f o r e a c c u m u l a t e d a startling n u m b e r of differences

and incompatibilities in the live stated and implied accounts of the

virtues. So the question which 1 raised at t h e outset b e c o m e s m o r e

urgent. If d i f f e r e n t writers in d i f f e r e n t times and places, but all

within t h e history of W e s t e r n culture, i n c l u d e such d i f f e r e n t sets

and

types of items in their lists, what grounds have we f o r s u p p o s i n g that

they do i n d e e d aspire to list items of o n e and the same kind, that

t h e r e is any shared c o n c e p t at all? A second kind of c o n s i d e r a t i o n

reinforces the p r e s u m p t i o n of a negative answer to this question. It is

not just that each of t h e s e five writers lists d i f f e r e n t and d i f f e r i n g

kinds of items; it is also that each of these lists embodies, is the

expression of, a d i f f e r e n t theorv about what a v i r t u e is.

In t h e H o m e r i c p o e m s a v i r t u e is a quality the manifestation of

which enables s o m e o n e to do exactly what t h e i r well-defined social

role requires. T h e p r i m a r y role is that of t h e warrior king and t h a t

H o m e r lists t h o s e virtues which he does b e c o m e s intelligible at o n c e

when we recognize that t h e key virtues t h e r e f o r e m u s t be those

which enable a m a n to excel in combat and in the games. It follows

that we c a n n o t identify the H o m e r i c virtues until we have first i d e n -

tified the key social roles in H o m e r i c society and the r e q u i r e m e n t s of

each of t h e m . T h e c o n c e p t of what anyone filling such-and-such a role

After Virtue • 401

ought to do is prior to the c o n c e p t of a virtue; the latter c o n c e p t has

application only via t h e former.

On Aristotle's account matters are very different. Even though some

virtues are available only to certain types of people, nonetheless virtues

attach not to men as inhabiting social roles, but to man as such. It is the

telos of man as a species which determines what human qualities are

virtues. We need to r e m e m b e r however that although Aristotle treats

the acquisition and exercise of the virtues as means to an end, the rela-

tionship of means to end is internal and not external. T call a means

internal to a given end when the end cannot be adequately character-

ized independently of a characterization of the means. So it is with the

virtues and the telos which is the good life for man on Aristotle's account.

T h e exercise of the virtues is itself a crucial component of the good life

for man. This distinction between internal and external means to an end

is not drawn by Aristotle himself in the Nicomachean Ethics, as I noticed

earlier, but it is an essential distinction to be drawn if we are to u n d e r -

stand what Aristotle intended. T h e distinction is drawn explicitly by

Aquinas in the course of his defense of St. Augustine's definition of a

virtue, and it is clear that Aquinas understood that in drawing it he was

maintaining an Aristotelian point of view.

T h e N e w T e s t a m e n t ' s account of the virtues, even if it differs as

m u c h as it does in c o n t e n t f r o m Aristotle's—Aristotle would cer-

tainly not have admired Jesus Christ and he would have been h o r r i -

fied by St. P a u l — d o e s have the s a m e logical and c o n c e p t u a l

s t r u c t u r e as Aristotle's account. A v i r t u e is, as with Aristotle, a qual-

ity t h e exercise of which leads to the a c h i e v e m e n t of the h u m a n telos.

The good for man is of course a s u p e r n a t u r a l and not only a natural

good, but s u p e r n a t u r e r e d e e m s and c o m p l e t e s n a t u r e M o r e o

v e r the

relationship of virtues as means to the end which is h u m a n i n c o r p o -

ration in the divine k i n g d o m of t h e age to c o m e is internal and n o t

externa], just as it is in Aristotle. It is of c o u r s e this parallelism which

allows Aquinas to synthesize Aristotle and t h e N e w T e s t a m e n t . A

key f e a t u r e of this parallelism is t h e way in which the c o n c e p t of the

good life for man is prior to the c o n c e p t of a virtue in just the way in

which on t h e H o m e r i c account the c o n c e p t of a social role was prior.

O n c e again it is the way in which the f o r m e r concept is applied

which d e t e r m i n e s how the latter is to be applied. In both cases the

c o n c e p t of a v i r t u e is a secondary concept,

402 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

T h e i n t e n t of J a n e Austen's t h e o r y of t h e virtues is of a n o t h e r

kind. C. S. Lewis has rightly emphasized how p r o f o u n d l y Christian

her moral vision is and G i l b e r t Ryle has equally rightly emphasized

her inheritance from Shaftesbury and from Aristotle. In fact her

views c o m b i n e e l e m e n t s from H o m e r as well, since she is c o n c e r n

e d

with social roles in a way t h a t n e i t h e r t h e N e w T e s t a m e n t nor Aris-

t o t l e are. She is t h e r e f o r e i m p o r t a n t for the way in which she finds it

possible to c o m b i n e what are at first sight disparate theoretical

accounts of t h e virtues. But for t h e m o m e n t any a t t e m p t to assess t h e

significance of J a n e Austen's synthesis m u s t be delayed. Instead we

m u s t notice the quite d i f f e r e n t style of t h e o r y articulated in Ben-

jamin Franklin's a c c o u n t of t h e virtues.

Franklin's account, like Aristotle's, is teleological; b u t unlike Aris-

totle's, it is utilitarian. A c c o r d i n g to Franklin in his Autobiography t h e

virtues are means to an end, but he envisages t h e m e a n s - e n d s rela-

tionship as external r a t h e r than internal. T h e end to which t h e

cultivation of the virtues ministers is happiness, b u t happiness

u n d e r s t o o d as success, prosperity in Philadelphia and ultimately in

heaven. T h e virtues are to be useful and Franklin's account c o n t i n u -

ously stresses utility as a criterion in individual cases: " M a k e no

e x p e n c e b u t to do good to others or yourself; i.e. waste nothing,"

"Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself. Avoid trifling

conversation" and, as we have already seen, "Rarely u s e v e n e r y buc

for health or offspring. . ." W h e n Franklin was in Paris he was h o r r i -

fied by Parisian architecture: "Marble, porcelain and gilt are s q u a n -

dered w i t h o u t utility."

We thus have at least t h r e e very d i f f e r e n t conceptions of a v i r t u e

co confront: a virtue is a quality which enables an individual to dis-

charge his or her social role ( H o m e r ) ; a v i r t u e is a quality which

enables an individual to move toward the achievement of t h e specifi-

cally h u m a n telos, w h e t h e r natural or s u p e r n a t u r a l (Aristotle, t h e

N e w T e s t a m e n t and Aquinas); a v i r t u e is a quality which has utility

in achieving earthly and heavenly success (Franklin). Are we to

take t h e s e as t h r e e d i f f e r e n t rival accounts of t h e same thing? Or

are they instead accounts of three d i f f e r e n t things? Perhaps the moral

s t r u c t u r e s in archaic G r e e c e , in f o u r t h - c e n t u r y G r e e c e , and
in

e i g h t e e n t h - c e n t u r y P e n n s y l v a n i a were so d i f f e r e n t f r o m
each o t h e r

that we should creat t h e m as e m b o d y i n g q u i t e d i f f e r e n t concepts,

After Virtue • 403

whose difference is initially disguised f r o m us by the historical

accident of an inherited vocabulary which misleads us by linguistic

resemblance long after conceptual identity and similarity have

failed. O u r initial question has come back to us with r e d o u b l e d

force.

Yet although I have d w e l t u p o n the prima facie ease for h o l d i n g that

the differences and incompatibilities b e t w e e n d i f f e r e n t accounts at

least suggest that t h e r e is no single, central, core conception of the

virtues which m i g h t make a claim for universal allegiance, I o u g h t

also to point out that each of the live moral accounts which I have

sketched so s u m m a r i l y does embodv just such a claim. It is i n d e e d

just this feature of t h o s e accounts that makes t h e m of m o r e t h a n soci-

ological or antiquarian interest. Every o n e of these accounts claims

not only theoretical, but also an institutional hegemony. For

Odysseus the C y c l o p e s stand c o n d e m n e d because they lack agricul-

ture, an agora and themis. For Aristotle the barbarians stand con-

d e m n e d because they lack t h e pahs and are t h e r e f o r e incapable of

politics. For N e w T e s t a m e n t Christians t h e r e is no salvation outside

the apostolic church. And we know that Benjamin Franklin f o u n d the

virtues m o r e at h o m e in Philadelphia than in Paris and t h a t f o r J a n e

Austen the t o u c h s t o n e of t h e virtues is a certain kind of marriage and

i n d e e d a certain kind of naval officer (that is, a certain kind of English

naval officer).

T h e question can t h e r e f o r e now be posed directly: are we or are

we not able to disentangle f r o m these rival and various claims a u n i -

tary core c o n c e p t of t h e virtues of which we can give a m o r e c o m -

pelling account than any of t h e other accounts so far? T am going to

a r g u e that we can in fact discover such a core concept and that it

t u r n s out to provide t h e tradition of which I have written t h e history

w i t h its conceptual unity. It will indeed enable us to distinguish in a

clear way those beliefs about t h e virtues which genuinely belong to

the tradition f r o m those which do not. Unsurprisingly p e r h a p s it is a

complex concept, d i f f e r e n t parts of which derive f r o m d i f f e r e n t

stages in the d e v e l o p m e n t of the tradition. T h u s t h e c o n c e p t itself in

s o m e sense e m b o d i e s t h e history of which it is the o u t c o m e .

O n e of the f e a t u r e s of the concept of a v i r t u e which has e m e r g e d

with s o m e clarity from the a r g u m e n t so far is t h a t it always requires

f o r its application t h e a c c e p t a n c e for s o m e prior account of certain

404 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

f e a t u r e s of social and moral life in t e r m s of which it has to be defined

and explained. So in the H o m e r i c account t h e c o n c e p t of a v i r t u e is

s e c o n d a r y to chat of a social role, in Aristotle's a c c o u n t it is s e c o n d a

r y

to that of the good life for man conceived as t h e telos of h u m a n action

and in Franklin's m u c h later account it is s e c o n d a r y to that of utility.

W h a t is it in the account w h i c h I am about to give which provides in

a similar way the necessary background against which the c o n c e p t of

a v i r t u e has to be m a d e intelligible? It is in answering this question

that the complex, historical, multi-layered character of the core con-

cept of v i r t u e becomes clear. For there are no less than t h r e e stages

in t h e logical d e v e l o p m e n t of t h e c o n c e p t which have to be

identified

in order, if t h e core c o n c e p t i o n of a v i r t u e is to be u n d e r s t o o d ,
and

each of t h e s e stages has its own conceptual background. T h e first

stage r e q u i r e s a background a c c o u n t of w h a t I shall call a practice,

t h e second an account of what I have already characterized as the

narrative o r d e r of a single h u m a n life and the third an account a good

deal f u l l e r than 1 have given up to now of w h a t constitutes a moral

tradition. E a c h later stage p r e s u p p o s e s t h e earlier, but not vice versa.

Each e a r l i e r stage is both modified by and r e i n t e r p r e t e d in the light

of, but also provides an essential constituent of each later stage. T h e

progress in t h e d e v e l o p m e n t of the c o n c e p t is closely related to,

although it does not r e c a p i t u l a t e in any straightforward way, the his-

t o r y of t h e tradition of which it forms the core.

In t h e H o m e r i c a c c o u n t of the v i r t u e s — a n d in heroic societies

m o r e g e n e r a l l y — t h e exercise of a virtue exhibits qualities which are

r e q u i r e d for sustaining a social role and for exhibiting excellence in

some well-marked area of social practice: to excel is to excel at war

or in the games, as Achilles does, in sustaining a household, as P e n e l -

ope does, in giving counsel in the assembly, as N e s t o r does, in the

telling of a tale, as H o m e r himself does. W h e n Aristotle speaks of

excellence in h u m a n activity, he sometimes t h o u g h not always, refers

to s o m e well-defined t y p e of h u m a n practice: flute-playing, or war,

or geometry. I am going to suggest that this notion of a particular

t y p e of practice as p r o v i d i n g the arena in which the virtues are

exhibited and in terms of which they are to receive their primary, if

i n c o m p l e t e , definition is crucial to the whole e n t e r p r i s e of i d e n t i f

y -

ing a core c o n c e p t of t h e virtues. I hasten to add two caveats however.

T h e first is to p o i n t o u t t h a t my a r g u m e n t will n o t in any way

After Virtue • 405

imply that virtues are only exercised in the course of what I am call-

ing practices. T h e second is to warn that I shall be using the word

"practice" in a specially defined way which does not c o m p l e t e l y

agree with c u r r e n t o r d i n a r y usage, i n c l u d i n g my own previous use

of

that word. W h a t am I going to mean by it?

By a "practice" I am going to mean any c o h e r e n t and complex form

of socially established cooperative h u m a n activity through which

goods internal to that form of activity are realized in the course of try-

ing to achieve those standards of excellence which are appropriate to,

and partially definitive of, that form of activity, with the result t h a t

h u m a n powers to achieve excellence, and h u m a n conceptions of t h e

ends and goods involved, are systematically extended. T i c - t a c - t o e is

not an example of a practice in this sense, nor is throwing a football

with skill; but the game of football is, and so is chess. Bricklaying is not

a practice; architecture is. Planting turnips is not a practice; f a r m i n g

is. So are the enquiries of physics, chemistry and biology, and so is the

work of the historian, and so are painting and music. In t h e ancient

and medieval worlds the creation and sustaining of h u m a n c o m m u n i -

ties—of households, cities, nations—is generally taken to be a p r a c -

tice in the sense in which I have defined it. T h u s the range of practices

is wide: arts, sciences, games, politics in the Aristotelian sense, the

m a k i n g and sustaining of family life, all fall u n d e r the concept. But

the question of the precise range of practices is not at this stage of the

first importance. Instead let me explain s o m e of the key terms

involved in my definition, beginning with the notion of goods internal

to a practice.

C o n s i d e r the e x a m p l e of a highly intelligent seven-year-old child

w h o m I wish to teach to play chess, although the child has no p a r t i c -

u l a r desire to learn the game. T h e child does however have a very

s t r o n g desire for candy and little chance of obtaining it. I t h e r e f o r e

tell the child that if the child will play chess with me o n c e a week I

will give t h e child 50 cents worth of candy; m o r e o v e r I tell t h e child

that I will always play in such a way that it will be difficult, but not

impossible, for the child to win and that, if the child wins, t h e child

will receive an extra 50 cents w o r t h of candy. T h u s motivated the

child plays and plays to win. N o t i c e however that, so long as it is t h e

candy alone which provides t h e child with a good reason f o r playing

chess, the child has no reason not to cheat and every reason to cheat,

406 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

provided he or she can do so successfully. But, so we may hope, t h e r e

will c o m e a t i m e when t h e child will find in those goods specific to

chess, in the achievement of a certain highly particular kind of ana-

lytical skill, strategic imagination and competitive intensity, a n e w

set of reasons, reasons now not just for w i n n i n g on a particular o c c a -

sion, but for trying to excel in w h a t e v e r way t h e game of chess

d e m a n d s . N o w if the child cheats, he or she will be defeating not me,

b u t himself or herself.

T h e r e are thus two kinds of good possibly to be gained by playing

chess. On the one hand t h e r e are those goods externally and contin-

gently attached to chess-playing a n d . t o o t h e r practices by the acci-

dents of social c i r c u m s t a n c e — i n t h e case of the imaginary child

candy, in the case of real adults such goods as prestige, status and

money. T h e r e are always alternative ways for achieving such goods,

and t h e i r achievement is never to be had only by engaging in s o m e

p a r t i c u l a r kind of practice. On rhe other hand there are t h e goods

internal to the practice of chess which c a n n o t be had in any way but

by playing chess or s o m e o t h e r game of that specific kind. We call

t h e m internal for two reasons: first, as T have already suggested,

b e c a u s e we can only specify them in t e r m s of chess or s o m e other

game of t h a t specific kind and by m e a n s of examples f r o m such

games (otherwise the m e a g e r n e s s of our vocabulary for speaking of

such goods forces us into such devices as my own resort to writing of

"a certain highly particular kind of"); and s e c o n d l y because they can

only be identified and recognized by the e x p e r i e n c e of p a r t i c i p a t i n g

in the practice in question. T h o s e who lack the relevant e x p e r i e n c e

are i n c o m p e t e n t t h e r e b y as judges of internal goods.

T h i s is clearly the case with all the m a j o r examples of practices:

consider for e x a m p l e — e v e n if briefly and i n a d e q u a t e l y — t h e p r

a c -

tice of portrait painting as it developed in Western E u r o p e f r o m t h e

late m i d d l e ages to the e i g h t e e n t h century. T h e successful p o r t r a i t

p a i n t e r is able to achieve m a n y goods which are in the sense just

defined external to t h e practice of p o r t r a i t p a i n t i n g — f a m e , wealth,

social status, even a m e a s u r e of power and influence at courts u p o n

occasion. But those external goods are not to be c o n f u s e d with the

goods which are internal to the practice. T h e internal goods are those

which result from an e x t e n d e d a t t e m p t to show how Wittgenstein's

d i c t u m " T h e h u m a n body is the best p i c t u r e of the h u m a n soul"

After Virtue • 407

(.Investigations, p. 178e) m i g h t be m a d e to b e c o m e t r u e by t e a c h i n
g us

"to regard . . . t h e p i c t u r e on o u r wall as t h e object itself (the m e n ,

landscape and so on) depicted t h e r e " (p. 205e) in a quite new way.

W h a t is misleading about Wittgenstein's dictum as it stands is its

n e g l e c t of the t r u t h in G e o r g e Orwell's thesis "At fifty everyone has

t h e face he deserves." W h a t painters f r o m G i o t t o to R e m b r a n d t

learnt to show was how t h e face at any age may be revealed as the

f a c e that the subject of a portrait deserves.

Originally in medieval paintings of the saints the face was an icon;

the question of a r e s e m b l a n c e between the depicted face of C h r i s t or

St. Peter and the face t h a t Jesus or Peter actually possessed at s o m e

particular age did not even arise. T h e antithesis to this i c o n o g r a p h y

was the relative naturalism of certain fifteenth-century Flemish and

G e r m a n painting. T h e heavy eyelids, t h e coifed hair, t h e lines

around the m o u t h u n d e n i a b l y r e p r e s e n t s o m e particular w o m a n

,

either actual or envisaged. Resemblance has u s u r p e d the iconic rela-

tionship But with R e m b r a n d t t h e r e is, so to speak, synthesis: the nat-

uralistic portrait is now r e n d e r e d as an icon, but an icon of a n e w and

h i t h e r t o inconceivable kind. Similarly in a very d i f f e r e n t kind of

s e q u e n c e mythological faces in a certain kind of s e v e n t e e n t h -

c e n t u r y French painting b e c o m e aristocratic faces in the e i g h t e e n t h

century. Within each of these sequences at least two d i f f e r e n t kinds

of good internal to t h e painting of h u m a n faces and bodies are

achieved.

T h e r e is first of all the excellence of t h e products, both the excel-

lence in p e r f o r m a n c e by t h e painters and that of each portrait itself.

T h i s e x c e l l e n c e — t h e very verb "excel" suggests i t — h a s to be u n d

e r -

stood historically. T h e sequences of d e v e l o p m e n t find their p o i n t

and p u r p o s e in a progress toward and beyond a variety of t y p e s and

m o d e s of excellence. T h e r e are of c o u r s e sequences of decline as

well as of progress, and progress is rarely to be u n d e r s t o o d as

straightforwardly linear. But it is in participation in the a t t e m p t s to

sustain progress and to respond creatively to problems that t h e sec-

ond kind of good internal to t h e practices of portrait painting is to be

found. For what the artist discovers within the p u r s u i t of excellence

in portrait p a i n t i n g — a n d what is t r u e of portrait painting is t r u e of

t h e practice of t h e fine arts in general—is t h e good of a certain kind

of life. T h a t life may n o t constitute the whole of life for s o m e o n e

408 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

w h o is a p a i n t e r by a v e r y l o n g way or it may at least for a p e r i o d ,

G a u g u i n - l i k e , absorb him or her at t h e e x p e n s e of almost e v e r y t

h i n g

else. But it is the painter's living out of a g r e a t e r or lesser part of his

or h e r life as a painter that is the second kind of good internal to

painting. And j u d g m e n t u p o n t h e s e goods requires at the very least

t h e kind of c o m p e t e n c e that is only to be acquired either as a p a i n t e r

or as s o m e o n e willing to learn systematically w h a t the portrait

p a i n t e r has to teach.

A practice involves standards of excellence and obedience to rules

as well as the a c h i e v e m e n t of goods. To e n t e r into a practice is to

accept t h e a u t h o r i t y of those standards and t h e inadequacy of my

own p e r f o r m a n c e as judged by them. It is to sub|ect my own atti-

tudes, choices, p r e f e r e n c e s and tastes to the standards which c u r -

rently and partially define t h e practice. Practices of course, as I have

just noticed, have a history: games, sciences and arts all have histo-

ries. T h u s t h e standards are not themselves i m m u n e f r o m criticism,

b u t nonetheless we c a n n o t be initiated into a practice w i t h o u t

a c c e p t i n g t h e authority of the best standards realized so far. If, on

starting to listen to music, I do not accept my own incapacity to judge

correctly, I will never learn to hear, let alone to appreciate, Bartok's

last quartets. If, on starting to play baseball, I do n o t accept that

o t h e r s know better than I w h e n to t h r o w a fast ball and w h e n not, I

will never learn to a p p r e c i a t e good p i t c h i n g let alone to pitch. In the

realm of practices the a u t h o r i t y of both goods and standards o p e r a t e s

in such a way as to r u l e o u t all subjectivist and emotivist analyses of

j u d g m e n t . D e gustibus ^ r t d i s p u t a n d u m .

We are now in a position to notice an i m p o r t a n t difference between

what I have called internal and what I have called external goods. It is

characteristic of what I have called external goods that when achieved

they are always some individual's p r o p e r t y and possession. Moreover

characteristically they are such that the m o r e someone has of them, the

less there is for other people. T h i s is sometimes necessarily the case, as

with power and fame, and sometimes the case by reason of contingent

circumstance as with money. External goods are therefore characteris-

tically objects of competition in which t h e r e must be losers as well as

winners. Internal goods are indeed the o u t c o m e of competition to

excel, but it is characteristic of t h e m that their achievement is a good

After Virtue • 409

for the whole c o m m u n i t y who participate in the practice. So when

T u r n e r transformed the seascape in painting or W. G. G r a c e advanced

the art of batting in cricket in a quite new way their achievement

enriched the whole relevant community.

But what does all or any of this have to do with the c o n c e p t of the

virtues? It t u r n s o u t t h a t we are n o w in a position to f o r m u l a t e a first,

even if partial and tentative definition of a virtue: A virtue is an

acquired human quality the possession and exercise of which tends to enable us

to achieve those goods which are internal to practices and the lack of which

effectively prevents us from achieving any such goods. Later this definition

will n e e d amplification and a m e n d m e n t . But as a first approximation

to an adequate definition it already illuminates the place of the

virtues in h u m a n life. For it is not difficult to show for a whole range

of key virtues that w i t h o u t t h e m t h e goods internal to practices are

barred to us, but not just barred to us generally, barred in a very par-

ticular way.

It belongs to t h e c o n c e p t of a practice as I have outlined i t — a n d

as we are all familiar with it already in o u r actual lives, w h e t h e r we

are p a i n t e r s or physicists or quarterbacks or indeed just lovers of

good p a i n t i n g or first-rate experiments or a well-thrown p a s s — t h a t

its goods can only be achieved by s u b o r d i n a t i n g ourselves within the

practice in o u r relationship to other practitioners. We have to learn

to recognize what is d u e to whom; we have to be p r e p a r e d to take

w h a t e v e r s e l f - e n d a n g e r i n g risks are d e m a n d e d along the way;

and we

have to listen carefully to what we are told about our own i n a d e q u a -

cies and to reply with t h e same carefulness for the facts. In o t h e r

w o r d s we have to accept as necessary c o m p o n e n t s of any practice

with internal goods and standards of excellence t h e virtues of justice,

courage and honesty. For not to accept these, to be willing to cheat as

o u r imagined child was willing to cheat in his or her early days at

chess, so far bars us f r o m achieving the standards of excellence or the

goods internal to t h e practice that it r e n d e r s the practice pointless

except as a device f o r achieving external goods.

We can put t h e s a m e point in another way. E v e r y practice requires

a certain kind of relationship between those who participate in it.

N o w the virtues are those goods by r e f e r e n c e to which, w h e t h e r we

like it or not, we define o u r relationships to those other p e o p l e with

410 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

w h o m we share the kind of p u r p o s e s and standards which i n f o r m

practices. C o n s i d e r an e x a m p l e of how r e f e r e n c e to the virtues has

to

be m a d e in certain kinds of h u m a n relationship.

A, B, C, and D are friends in t h a t sense of friendship which Aris-

totle takes to be primary: they share in the p u r s u i t of certain goods. In

my terms they share in a practice. D dies in obscure circumstances, A

discovers how D died and tells the truth about it to B while lying to

C. C discovers the lie. W h a t A cannot then intelligibly claim is that he

stands in the same relationship of friendship to both B and C. By

telling t h e truth to one and lying to the other he has partially defined

a d i f f e r e n c e in the relationship. Of course it is o p e n to A to explain

this d i f f e r e n c e in a n u m b e r of ways; perhaps he was trying to spare C

pain or p e r h a p s he is simply cheating C. But s o m e difference in the

relationship now exists as a result of the lie. For their allegiance to

each o t h e r in the p u r s u i t of c o m m o n goods has been p u t in question.

J u s t as, so long as we share the standards and p u r p o s e s character-

istic of practices, we define o u r relationship to each other, w h e t h e r

we a c k n o w l e d g e it or not, by r e f e r e n c e to standards of t r u t h f u l n
e s s

and trust, so we define them too by r e f e r e n c e to standards of justice

and of courage. If A, a professor, gives B and C the grades that their

p a p e r s deserve, but grades O b e c a u s e he is attracted by D's blue eyes

or is r e p e l l e d by D's d a n d r u f f , he has defined his relationship to D

d i f f e r e n t l y f r o m his relationship to the o t h e r m e m b e r s of the class,

w h e t h e r he wishes it or not. J u s t i c e r e q u i r e s t h a t we treat o t h e r s

in

respect of m e r i t or desert according to u n i f o r m and impersonal stan-

dards; to d e p a r t f r o m the standards of justice in s o m e p a r t i c u l a r

instance defines o u r relationship with the relevant person as in s o m e

way special or distinctive.

T h e case with c o u r a g e is a little different. We hold courage to be

a v i r t u e b e c a u s e the care and c o n c e r n for individuals, c o m m u n i t i

e s

and causes which is so crucial to so m u c h in practices requires t h e

existence of such a virtue. If s o m e o n e says t h a t he cares for s o m e

individual, c o m m u n i t y or cause, b u t is unwilling to risk h a r m or d a n -

ger on his, h e r or its own behalf, he puts in question the genuineness

of his care and concern. Courage, the capacity to risk h a r m or d a n g e r

to oneself, has its role in h u m a n life because of this connection with

care and c o n c e r n . T h i s is not to say that a m a n c a n n o t g e n u i n e l y

care

and also be a coward. It is in p a r t to say that a man who g e n u i n e l y

After Virtue • 411

cares and has not the capacity for risking h a r m or d a n g e r has to

define himself, both to himself and to others, as a coward.

I take it then t h a t f r o m t h e standpoint of those types of relationship

w i t h o u t which practices cannot be sustained truthfulness, justice and

c o u r a g e — a n d p e r h a p s some o t h e r s — a r e g e n u i n e
excellences, are
virtues in the light of which we have to characterize ourselves and

others, whatever o u r private moral standpoint or o u r society's partic-

ular codes may be. For this recognition that we cannot escape the defi-

nition of our relationships in t e r m s of such goods is perfectly

compatible with the acknowledgment that different societies have

and have had d i f f e r e n t codes of truthfulness, justice and courage.

L u t h e r a n pietists b r o u g h t up their children to believe that o n e ought

to tell the truth to everybody at all times, whatever the circumstances

or consequences, and Kant was o n e of their children. Traditional

Bantu parents b r o u g h t up their children not to tell the truth to

u n k n o w n strangers, since they believed t h a t this could r e n d e r the

family vulnerable to witchcraft. In o u r c u l t u r e many of us have been

b r o u g h t up not to tell the t r u t h to elderly great-aunts who invite us to

a d m i r e their new hats. But each of these codes embodies an acknowl-

e d g m e n t of the v i r t u e of truthfulness. So it is also with varying codes

of justice and of courage.

Practices t h e n m i g h t flourish in societies with very d i f f e r e n t

codes; what they could not do is flourish in societies in which the

virtues were not valued, although institutions and technical skills

serving unified p u r p o s e s m i g h t well c o n t i n u e to flourish. (1 shall

have
m o r e to say about the contrast between institutions and technical

skills mobilized for a unified end, on t h e o n e hand, and practices on

t h e other, in a m o m e n t . ) For the kind of cooperation, the kind of

recognition of authority and of achievement, the kind of respect for

standards and t h e kind of risk-taking which are characteristically

involved in practices d e m a n d for example fairness in judging oneself

and o t h e r s — t h e kind of fairness absent in my e x a m p l e of the p r o f e s

-

sor, a ruthless t r u t h f u l n e s s without which fairness cannot find appli-

c a t i o n — t h e kind of t r u t h f u l n e s s absent in my example of A, B, C,

and D — a n d willingness to trust the j u d g m e n t s of those whose

a c h i e v e m e n t in the practice give them an a u t h o r i t y to judge which

p r e s u p p o s e s fairness and t r u t h f u l n e s s in those judgments, and f r o

m

t i m e to time the t a k i n g of s e l f - e n d a n g e r i n g and even a c h i e v e

m e n t -

412 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

e n d a n g e r i n g risks. It is no p a r t of my thesis t h a t great violinists can-

not he vicious or great chess-players m e a n - s p i r i t e d . W h e r e the

virtues are required, t h e vices also may flourish. Tt is just that the

vicious and m e a n - s p i r i t e d necessarily rely on the virtues of o t h e r s

for t h e practices in which t h e y engage to flourish and also d e n y

themselves t h e e x p e r i e n c e of achieving t h o s e internal goods which

may reward even not very good chess-players and violinists.

To situate the virtues any f u r t h e r within practices it is necessary

now to clarify a little f u r t h e r t h e n a t u r e of a practice by d r a w i n g two

i m p o r t a n t contrasts. T h e discussion so far 1 h o p e makes it clear t h a t

a practice, in t h e sense i n t e n d e d , is never just a set of technical skills,

even when directed toward s o m e unified p u r p o s e and even if t h e

exercise of t h o s e skills can on occasion be valued or enjoyed f o r their

own sake. W h a t is distinctive in a practice is in part t h e way in which

c o n c e p t i o n s of t h e relevant goods and ends which the technical skills

s e r v e — a n d every p r a c t i c e does require t h e exercise of technical

skills—are t r a n s f o r m e d and e n r i c h e d by these extensions of h u m a n

powers and by that regard f o r its own internal goods which are p a r -

tially definitive of e a c h p a r t i c u l a r practice or t y p e of practice. P r a c -

tices never have a goal or goals fixed for all t i m e — p a i n t i n g has no

such goal nor has p h y s i c s — b u t the goals themselves are t r a n s m u t e d

by t h e history of t h e activity. It t h e r e f o r e t u r n s o u t not to be acci-

dental t h a t every practice has its own history and a history which is

m o r e and o t h e r than that of t h e i m p r o v e m e n t of the relevant t e c h n

i -

cal skills. T h i s historical dimension is crucial in relation to the

virtues.

To e n t e r into a practice is to e n t e r into a relationship not only

with its c o n t e m p o r a r y practitioners, but also with those w h o have

p r e c e d e d us in t h e practice, particularly t h o s e whose a c h i e v e m e n t

s

e x t e n d e d the reach of the p r a c t i c e to its p r e s e n t point. It is thus the

achievement, and a fortiori the authority, of a tradition which I then

c o n f r o n t and f r o m which I have to learn. And for this learning and

t h e relationship to the past which ir embodies the virtues of justice,

c o u r a g e and t r u t h f u l n e s s are prerequisite in precisely t h e same way

and for precisely the same reasons as they are in sustaining p r e s e n t

relationships within practices.

Tt is not only of c o u r s e with sets of technical skills that practices

o u g h t to be contrasted. Practices m u s t not be confused with institu-

After Virtue • 413

tions. Chess, physics and m e d i c i n e are practices; chess clubs, labora-

tories, universities and hospitals are institutions. Institutions are

characteristically and necessarily c o n c e r n e d with what I have called

external goods. T h e y are involved in acquiring m o n e y and o t h e r

material goods; they are s t r u c t u r e d in t e r m s of power and status, and

they distribute money, power and status as reward. N o r could they do

otherwise if they are to sustain not only themselves, but also the

practices of which they are the bearers. For no practices can survive

for any length of time unsustained by institutions. Indeed so i n t i m a t e

is the relationship of practices to institutions—and c o n s e q u e n t l y of

the goods external to the goods internal to the practices in ques-

t i o n — t h a t institutions and practices characteristically form a single

causal order in which the ideals and the creativity of the practice are

always vulnerable to the acquisitiveness of the institution, in which

t h e cooperative care f o r c o m m o n goods of the practice is always vul-

nerable to the competitiveness of the institution. In this c o n t e x t the

essential function of t h e virtues is clear. W i t h o u t them, w i t h o u t jus-

tice, courage and t r u t h f u l n e s s , practices could not resist the c o r r u p t -

i n g power of institutions.

Yet if institutions do have c o r r u p t i n g power, the m a k i n g and sus-

taining of forms of h u m a n c o m m u n i t y — a n d t h e r e f o r e of institu-

tions—itself has all the characteristics of a practice, and m o r e o v e r of

a practice which stands in a peculiarly close relationship to the exer-

cise of t h e virtues in two i m p o r t a n t ways. T h e exercise of the v i r t u e s

is itself apt to r e q u i r e a highly d e t e r m i n a t e attitude to social and

political issues; and it is always within s o m e particular c o m m u n i t y

with its own specific institutional forms that we learn or fail to learn
to exercise the virtues. T h e r e is. of c o u r s e a crucial d i f f e r e n c e

between the way in which the relationship between moral character

and political c o m m u n i t y is envisaged f r o m the s t a n d p o i n t of liberal

individualist m o d e r n i t y and the way in which that relationship was

envisaged from the standpoint of t h e type of ancient and medieval

tradition of t h e virtues which I have sketched. For liberal individual-

ism a c o m m u n i t y is simply an arena in which individuals each p u r -

sue their own self-chosen conception of t h e good life, and political

institutions exist to provide t h a t degree of o r d e r which makes such

s e l f - d e t e r m i n e d activity possible. G o v e r n m e n t and law are, or o u

g h t

to be, neutral b e t w e e n rival conceptions of the good life for man, and

414 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

hence, although it is t h e task of g o v e r n m e n t to p r o m o t e law-

abidingness, it is on the liberal view no p a r t of the legitimate f u n c -

tion of g o v e r n m e n t to inculcate any o n e m o r a l outlook.

By contrast, on the particular ancient and medieval view which 1

have sketched political c o m m u n i t y not only r e q u i r e s the exercise of

t h e virtues for its own sustenance, b u t it is o n e of t h e tasks of parental

a u t h o r i t y to make children grow up so as to be v i r t u o u s adults. T h e

classical s t a t e m e n t of this analogy is by Socrates in the Crito. It does

not of c o u r s e follow from an acceptance of t h e Socratic view of

political c o m m u n i t y and political authority t h a t we ought to assign

to the m o d e r n state t h e moral f u n c t i o n which Socrates assigned to

t h e city and its laws. I n d e e d the power of t h e liberal individualist

s t a n d p o i n t partly derives f r o m t h e evident fact that the m o d e r n state

is i n d e e d totally unfitted to act as moral e d u c a t o r of any community.

But t h e history of how t h e m o d e r n state e m e r g e d is of course itself a

moral history. If my account of t h e complex relationship of virtues to

practices and to institutions is correct, it follows that we shall be

u n a b l e to write a t r u e history of practices and institutions unless t h a t

history is also one of the virtues and vices. For the ability of a p r a c -

tice to recain its integrity will d e p e n d on t h e way in which t h e virtues

can be and are exercised in sustaining t h e institutional forms which

are t h e social bearers of the practice. T h e integrity of a practice

causally requires t h e exercise of t h e v i r t u e s by at least some of t h e

individuals who e m b o d y it in t h e i r activities; and conversely t h e cor-

r u p t i o n of institutions is always in p a r t at least an effect of the vices.

T h e virtues are of c o u r s e themselves in turn fostered by certain

t y p e s of social institution and e n d a n g e r e d by others. T h o m a s J e f f e

r -

son t h o u g h t that only in a society of small f a r m e r s could t h e virtues

flourish; and A d a m Ferguson with a good deal m o r e sophistication

saw the institutions of m o d e r n commercial society as e n d a n g e r i n g at

least s o m e traditional virtues. It is Ferguson's t y p e of sociology

which is t h e empirical c o u n t e r p a r t of t h e c o n c e p t u a l account of the

virtues which I have given, a sociology which aspires to lay bare the

empirical, causal connection between virtues, practices and institu-

tions. For this kind of c o n c e p t u a l account has s t r o n g empirical i m p l i -

cations; it provides an explanatory s c h e m e which can be cested in

p a r t i c u l a r cases. M o r e o v e r my thesis has empirical c o n t e n t in

a n o t h e r way; it does entail t h a t w i t h o u t t h e v i r t u e s t h e r e could

be a

After Virtue • 415

recognition only of what I have called external goods and not at all of

internal goods in t h e context of practices. And in any society which

recognized only external goods competitiveness would be the d o m i -

n a n t and even exclusive feature. We have a brilliant portrait of such

a society in Hobbes's account of the state of nature; and Professor

Turnbull's r e p o r t of the fate of the Ik suggests that social reality does

in the most h o r r i f y i n g way confirm both my thesis and Hobbes's.

Virtues then stand in a d i f f e r e n t relationship to external and to

internal goods. t h e possession of the virtues—-and not only of their

s e m b l a n c e and simulacra—is necessary to achieve the latter; yet the

possession of the virtues may perfectly well h i n d e r us in achieving

external goods. 1 need to emphasize at this point that external goods

genuinely are goods. N o t only are they characteristic objects of

h u m a n desire, whose allocation is what gives point to the virtues of

justice and of generosity, but no one can despise them altogether

w i t h o u t a certain hypocrisy. Yet notoriously the cultivation of t r u t h -

fulness, justice and courage will often, t h e world being what it c o n -

tingently is, bar us f r o m being rich or f a m o u s or powerful. T h u s

although we may h o p e that we can not only achieve the standards of

excellence and the internal goods of certain practices by possessing

the virtues and b e c o m e rich, famous and powerful, the virtues are

always a potential s t u m b l i n g block to this c o m f o r t a b l e ambition. We

should t h e r e f o r e expect that, if in a p a r t i c u l a r society the p u r s u i t of

external goods w e r e to b e c o m e d o m i n a n t , the concept of the v i r t u e

s

might suffer first attrition and then p e r h a p s something near total

e f f a c e m e n t , although simulacra m j g h t abound

T h e time has c o m e to ask the question of how far this partial

account of a core c o n c e p t i o n of the v i r t u e s — a n d I need to e m p h a -

size that all that 1 have offered so far is t h e first stage of such an
a c c o u n t — i s faithful to the tradition which 1 delineated. H o w far, for

example, and in what ways is it Aristotelian? It i s — h a p p i l y — n o t

Aristotelian in two ways in which a good deal of the rest of the tradi-

tion also dissents f r o m Aristotle. First, although this account of t h e

virtues is teleological, it does not r e q u i r e any allegiance to Aristotle's

metaphysical biology. And secondly, just because of the multiplicity

of h u m a n practices and the c o n s e q u e n t multiplicity of goods in t h e

p u r s u i t of which the virtues m a y be exercised——goods which will

o f t e n be contingently i n c o m p a t i b l e and which will t h e r e f o r e make

416 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

rival claims u p o n o u r allegiance—conflict will not spring solely f r o m

flaws in individual character. But it was just on these two m a t t e r s that

Aristotle's account of t h e virtues s e e m e d m o s t vulnerable; h e n c e if it

t u r n s o u t to be t h e case that this socially teleological account can

s u p p o r t Aristotle's general a c c o u n t of t h e virtues as well as does his

own biologically teleological account, these differences from Aris-

totle himself may well be regarded as s t r e n g t h e n i n g r a t h e r than

w e a k e n i n g t h e case for a generally Aristotelian standpoint.

T h e r e are at least t h r e e ways in which the account that T have

given if clearly Aristotelian. First it requires for its c o m p l e t i o n a

cogent elaboration of just those distinctions and concepts which

Aristotle's account requires: voluntariness, t h e distinction between

t h e intellectual virtues and the virtues of character, the relationship

of both to natural abilities and to the passions and the s t r u c t u r e of

practical reasoning. On every o n e of these topics s o m e t h i n g very like

Aristotle's view has to be d e f e n d e d , if my own a c c o u n t is to be p l a u -

sible.

Secondly my account can a c c o m m o d a t e an Aristotelian view of

p l e a s u r e and e n j o y m e n t , whereas it is interestingly irreconcilable

with any utilitarian view and m o r e particularly with Franklin's

a c c o u n t of the virtues. We can approach these questions by c o n s i d e r -

ing how to reply to s o m e o n e who, having considered my account of

t h e d i f f e r e n c e s between goods internal to and goods external to a

practice e n q u i r e d into which class, if either, does pleasure or enjoy-

m e n t fall? T h e answer is, " S o m e types of pleasure into one, s o m e into

t h e other."

S o m e o n e who achieves excellence in a practice, who plays chess

or football well or who carries t h r o u g h an e n q u i r y in physics or an

e x p e r i m e n t a l m o d e in p a i n t i n g with success, characteristically

enjoys his a c h i e v e m e n t and his activity in achieving. So does s o m e -

o n e who, although not breaking t h e limit of achievement, plays or

thinks or acts in a way that leads toward such a breaking of limit. As

Aristotle says, t h e e n j o y m e n t of the activity and the e n j o y m e n t of

a c h i e v e m e n t are not t h e e n d s at which t h e agent aims, but t h e e n j o

y -

m e n t s u p e r v e n e s u p o n the successful activity in such a way that t h e

activity achieved and the activity enjoyed are o n e and the same state.

H e n c e to aim at t h e o n e is to aim at the other; and h e n c e also it is

easy to c o n f u s e the p u r s u i t of excellence with the p u r s u i t of enjoy-

After Virtue • 417

m c n t in this specific sense. T h i s p a r t i c u l a r confusion is harmless

enough; what is not harmless is the c o n f u s i o n of e n j o y m e n t in this

specific sense with o t h e r f o r m s of pleasure.

For certain kinds of pleasure are of course external goods along

with prestige, status, power and money. N o t all pleasure is the e n j o y -

m e n t s u p e r v e n i n g u p o n achieved activity; s o m e is the pleasure of

psychological or physical states i n d e p e n d e n t of all activity. S u c h

states—for example that p r o d u c e d on a n o r m a l palate by the closely

successive and t h e r e b y blended sensations of Colchester oyster,

cayenne p e p p e r and Veuve C l i q u o t — m a y be sought as external

goods, as external reward which may be purchased by m o n e y or

received in virtue of prestige. H e n c e the pleasures are categorized

neatly and a p p r o p r i a t e l y by the classification into internal and e x t e r -

nal goods.

It is just this classification which can find no place within

Franklin's account of t h e virtues which is f r a m e d entirely in t e r m s of

external relationships and external goods. T h u s although by this

stage of the a r g u m e n t it is possible to claim that my a c c o u n t does

c a p t u r e a conception of the virtues which is at the core of the partic-

ular ancient and medieval tradition which I have delineated, it is

equally clear t h a t t h e r e is m o r e than o n e possible conception of the

v i r t u e s and t h a t Franklin's standpoint and indeed any utilitarian

s t a n d p o i n t is such that to accept it will entail rejecting the tradition

and vice versa.

O n e crucial point of incompatibility was noted long ago by D H.

Lawrence. W h e n Franklin asserts, "Rarely use venery b u t for health

or offspring . . . ," L a w r e n c e replies, " N e v e r are venery." It is of t h e

character of a v i r t u e that in o r d e r that it be effective in p r o d u c i n g t h e

internal goods which are the reward of t h e virtues it should be exer-

cised w i t h o u t regard to consequences. For it turns out to be the case

t h a t — a n d this is in part at least one m o r e empirical factual c l a i m —

although the virtues are just those qualities which tend to lead to t h e

a c h i e v e m e n t of a certain class of goods, nonetheless unless we p r a c -

tice t h e m irrespective of whether in any particular set of contingent

circumstances they will p r o d u c e those goods or not, we c a n n o t pos-

sess t h e m at all. We c a n n o t be g e n u i n e l y c o u r a g e o u s or t r u t h f
u l and

be so only on occasion. Moreover, as we have seen, cultivation of the

virtues always m a y and often does h i n d e r the achievement of those

418 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

external goods which are the mark of worldly success. T h e road to

success in Philadelphia and the road to heaven m a y not coincide

after all.

F u r t h e r m o r e we are now able to specify o n e crucial difficulty for

any version of u t i l i t a r i a n i s m — i n addition to those which t noticed

earlier. Utilitarianism c a n n o t a c c o m m o d a t e the distinction b e t w e e n

goods internal to and goods external to a practice. N o t only is that

distinction marked by n o n e of t h e classical utilitarians—it cannot be

f o u n d in Bentham's writings nor in those of either of the Mills or of

S i d g w i c k — b u t internal goods and external goods are not c o m m e n -

surable with each other. H e n c e the notion of s u m m i n g g o o d s — a n d a

fortiori in t h e light of w h a t I have said a b o u t kinds of pleasure and

e n j o y m e n t the notion of s u m m i n g h a p p i n e s s — i n t e r m s of o n
e single

f o r m u l a or conception of utility, w h e t h e r it is Franklin's or B e n t h a m '

s
or Mill's, makes no sense. N o n e t h e l e s s we o u g h t to note t h a t

although this distinction is alien to J. S. Mill's t h o u g h t , it is plausible

and in no way patronizing to s u p p o s e t h a t s o m e t h i n g like this is t h e

distinction which he was t r y i n g to make in Utilitarianism when he

distinguished between "higher" and "lower" pleasures. At t h e m o s t

we can say " s o m e t h i n g like this"; for J. S. Mill's u p b r i n g i n g had

given

him a limited view of h u m a n life and powers, had unfitted him, f o r

example, f o r appreciating games just because of t h e way it had fitted

him f o r appreciating philosophy. N o n e t h e l e s s the notion t h a t t h e

p u r s u i t of excellence in a way that extends h u m a n powers is at t h e

heart of h u m a n life is instantly recognizable as at h o m e in n o t only

J. S. Mill's political and social t h o u g h t , but also in his and Mrs. T a y -

lor's life. W e r e I to choose h u m a n exemplars of certain of the virtues

as I u n d e r s t a n d them, t h e r e would of course be many names to n a m e ,

those of St. Benedict and St. Francis of Assisi and St. T h e r e s a and

those of Frederick Engels and E l e a n o r M a r x and Leon T r o t s k y

a m o n g t h e m . But that of J o h n Stuart Mill would have to be t h e r e as

certainly as any other.

T h i r d l y my account is Aristotelian in t h a t it links evaluation and

explanation in a characteristically Aristotelian way. From an Aris-

toteli an s t a n d p o i n t to identify certain actions as manifesting or fail-

ing to m a n i f e s t a v i r t u e or virtues is never only to evaluate; it is also

to take the first step toward explaining why t h o s e actions r a t h e r than

s o m e o t h e r s were p e r f o r m e d . H e n c e f o r an Aristotelian quite as

After Virtue • 419

m u c h as for a Platonist the fate of a city or an individual can he

explained by citing the injustice of a tyrant or the courage of its

d e f e n d e r s . Indeed w i t h o u t allusion to the place that justice and injus-

tice, courage and cowardice play in h u m a n life very little will be g e n -

u i n e l y explicable. It follows that many of the explanatory projects of

the modern social sciences, a methodological canon of which is t h e

separation of "the facts"—this conception of "the facts" is t h e o n e

which I delineated in C h a p t e r 1 — f r o m all evaluation, are b o u n d to

fail. For the fact that s o m e o n e was or failed to be courageous or just

cannot be recognized as "a fact" by those who accept that m e t h o d -

ological canon. T h e a c c o u n t of the virtues which I have given is c o m -

pletely at one with Aristotle's on this p o i n t But now the question

may be raised: y o u r account may be in m a n y respects Aristotelian,

but is it not in s o m e respects false? C o n s i d e r t h e following i m p o r t a n

t

objection.
1 have defined the virtues partly in t e r m s of their place in prac-

tices. But surely, it may be suggested, s o m e practices—-that is, s o m e

c o h e r e n t h u m a n activities which answer to the description of what I

have called a p r a c t i c e — a r e evil. So in discussions by s o m e moral

p h i l o s o p h e r s of this t y p e of account of the virtues it has been sug-

gested that torture and sado-masochistic sexual activities m i g h t be

examples of practices. But how can a disposition be a v i r t u e if it is the

kind of disposition which sustains practices and s o m e practices issue

in evil? My answer to this objection falls into two parts.

First T want to allow that t h e r e may be practices—in the sense in

which 1 u n d e r s t a n d the c o n c e p t — w h i c h simply are evil. 1 am far

f r o m convinced that t h e r e are, and I do not in fact believe that either

t o r t u r e or sado-masochistic sexuality answer to t h e description of a

practice which my account of the virtues employs. But I do n o t want

to rest my case on this lack of conviction, especially since it is plain

that as a m a t t e r of contingent fact many t y p e s of practice may on

particular occasions be productive of evil. For the range of practices

includes the arts, the sciences and certain types of intellectual and

athletic game. And it is at once obvious t h a t any of these may u n d e r

certain conditions be a source of evil: t h e desire to excel and to win

can corrupt, a man may be so engrossed by his painting that he n e -

glects his family, what was initially an h o n o r a b l e resort to war can

issue in savage c r u e l t y But what follows f r o m this?

420 • Alasclair Mac ntyre

It certainly is not the case that my a c c o u n t entails either t h a t we

o u g h t to excuse or c o n d o n e such evils or that whatever flows f r o m a

v i r t u e is right. I do have to allow that c o u r a g e s o m e t i m e s sustains

injustice, that loyalty has been known to s t r e n g t h e n a m u r d e r o u s

aggressor and t h a t generosity has s o m e t i m e s weakened the capacity

to do good. But to d e n y this would be to fly in t h e face of just t h o s e

empirical facts which I invoked in criticizing Aquinas' a c c o u n t of the

u n i t y of t h e virtues. T h a t t h e virtues need initially to be defined and

explained with r e f e r e n c e to t h e notion of a practice thus in no way

entails approval of all practices in all circumstances. T h a t t h e

v i r t u e s — a s t h e objection itself p r e s u p p o s e d — a r e defined not in

t e r m s of good and right practices, b u t of practices, does not entail or

imply that practices as actually carried t h r o u g h at particular times

and places do not stand in need of moral criticism. And the resources

for such criticism are not lacking. T h e r e is in t h e first place no i n c o n -

sistency in appealing to t h e r e q u i r e m e n t s of a v i r t u e to criticize a

practice, j u s t i c e may be initially defined as a disposition which in its

particular way is necessary to sustain practices; it does not follow that

in p u r s u i n g the r e q u i r e m e n t s of a practice violations of justice are

not to be c o n d e m n e d . M o r e o v e r I already p o i n t e d o u t in C h a p t
e r 12

that a m o r a l i t y of virtues requires as its c o u n t e r p a r t a c o n c e p t i o n

of

moral law. Its r e q u i r e m e n t s too have to be m e t by practices. But, it

may be asked, does not all this imply that m o r e n e e d s to be said about

the p l a c e of practices in s o m e larger moral context? Does n o t this at

least suggest that t h e r e is m o r e to the core c o n c e p t of a v i r t u e than

can be spelled out in t e r m s of practices? 1 have after all e m p h a s i z e d

that the s c o p e of any virtue in h u m a n life extends beyond t h e p r a c -

tices in t e r m s of which it is initially defined. W h a t t h e n is the place of

the v i r t u e s in the larger arenas of h u m a n life?

1 stressed earlier t h a t any account of t h e virtues in t e r m s of p r a c -

tices could only be a partial and first account. W h a t is required to

c o m p l e m e n t it? T h e most n o t a b l e d i f f e r e n c e so far b e t w e e n

my

a c c o u n t and any a c c o u n t t h a t could be called Aristotelian is t h a t

although I have in no way restricted the exercise of the virtues to the

context of practices, it is in t e r m s of practices that I have located

their point and function. W h e r e a s Aristotle locates t h a t p o i n t and

function in t e r m s of t h e notion of a t y p e of whole h u m a n life which

can be called good. And it does seem that t h e question " W h a t would

After Virtue • 421

a h u m a n heing lack who lacked the virtues?" m u s t be given a kind of

answer which goes beyond anything which 1 have said so far. For such

an individual would n o t merely fail in a variety of particular ways in

respect of the kind of excellence which can he achieved t h r o u g h p a r -

ticipation in practices and in respect of the kind of h u m a n relation-

ship required to sustain such excellence. His own life viewed as a whole

would perhaps be defective; it would not be the kind of life which

s o m e o n e would describe in trying to answer the question " W h a t is

the best kind of life for this kind of man or w o m a n to live?" And that

question cannot be answered without at least raising Aristotle's own

question. " W h a t is the good life for man?" C o n s i d e r three ways in

which h u m a n life i n f o r m e d only by the c o n c e p t i o n of the v i r t u e s

sketched so far would be defective.

It would be pervaded, first of all, by too many conflicts and too much

arbitrariness. I argued earlier that it is a merit of an account of the

virtues in terms of a multiplicity of goods that it allows for the pos-

sibility of tragic conflict in a way in which Aristotle's does not. But it

may also p r o d u c e even in t h e life of s o m e o n e who is v i r t u o u s and

disciplined too many occasions when o n e allegiance points in one

direction, another in another. T h e claims of o n e practice may be

incompatible with a n o t h e r in such a way that o n e may find oneself

oscillating in an arbitrary way, rather than making rational choices.

So it seems to have been with T E. L a w r e n c e . C o m m i t m e n t to sus-

taining the kind of c o m m u n i t y in which the virtues can flourish m a y

be incompatible with the devotion which a particular practice-—of

the arts, for e x a m p l e — r e q u i r e s . So t h e r e may be tensions b e t w e e

n

the claims of family life and those of the a r t s — t h e problem, that

G a u g u i n solved or failed to solve by fleeing to Polynesia, or between

t h e claims of politics and those of the a r t s — t h e problem that Lenin

solved or failed to solve by refusing to listen to Beethoven.

If the life of the virtues is continuously f r a c t u r e d by choices in

which o n e allegiance entails the apparently arbitrary r e n u n c i a t i o n of

another, it may seem that the goods internal to practices do after all

derive their authority f r o m o u r individual choices; for when d i f f e r e n t

goods s u m m o n in d i f f e r e n t and in i n c o m p a t i b l e directions, "I"

have

to choose between their rival claims. T h e m o d e r n self with its crite-

rionless choices apparently reappears in t h e alien context of what

was claimed to be an Aristotelian world. T h i s accusation might be

422 • AlasdairMac': tyre

r e b u t t e d in part by r e t u r n i n g to t h e question of why both goods and

virtues do have authority in o u r lives and r e p e a t i n g what was said

earlier in t h i s chapter. But this reply would only be partly successful;

the distinctively m o d e r n notion of choice would indeed have r e a p -

p e a r e d , e v e n if with a m o r e limited scope for its exercise than it has

usually claimed.

S e c o n d l y without an overriding c o n c e p t i o n of the telos of a whole

h u m a n life, conceived as a unity, o u r c o n c e p t i o n of certain individ-

ual v i r t u e s has to remain partial and i n c o m p l e t e . C o n s i d e r two

examples. Justice, on an Aristotelian view, is defined in terms of giv-

ing each person his or her d u e or desert. To deserve well is to have

c o n t r i b u t e d in some substantial way to the a c h i e v e m e n t of t h o s e

goods, t h e sharing of which and the c o m m o n p u r s u i t of which p r o -

vide foundations for h u m a n c o m m u n i t y . But the goods internal to

practices, including the goods internal to the practice of m a k i n g and

sustaining forms of c o m m u n i t y , n e e d to be o r d e r e d and evaluated in

s o m e way if we are to assess relative desert. T h u s any substantive

application of an Aristotelian c o n c e p t of justice requires an u n d e r -

s t a n d i n g of goods and of t h e good that goes heyond the multiplicity

of goods which i n f o r m practices. As with justice, so also with

patience. Patience is the v i r t u e of waiting attentively w i t h o u t c o m -

plaint, but n o t of waiting thus for anything at all. To treat patience as

a v i r t u e presupposes s o m e a d e q u a t e answer to the question: waiting

for what? Within the context of practices a partial, although for m a n y

p u r p o s e s adequate, answer can be given: the patience of a craftsman

with r e f r a c t o r y material, of a t e a c h e r with a slow pupil, of a politi-

cian in negotiations, are all species of patience. But what if t h e m a t e -

rial is just too refractory, t h e pupil too slow, the negotiations too

frustrating? Ought we always at a certain point just to give up in the

interests of the practice itself? T h e medieval e x p o n e n t s of the v i r t u e

of p a t i e n c e claimed t h a t there are certain types of situation in which

the v i r t u e of patience requires t h a t T do n o t ever give up on s o m e

p e r s o n or task, situations in which, as they would have p u t it, 1 am

required to embody in my attitude to that p e r s o n or task s o m e t h i n g

of the p a t i e n t attitude of G o d toward his creation. But this could only

be so if patience served some overriding good, s o m e telos which war-

ranted p u t t i n g other goods in a s u b o r d i n a t e place. T h u s it turns o u t

t h a t t h e content of the v i r t u e of p a t i e n c e d e p e n d s u p o n how we

After Virtue • 423

o r d e r various goods in a hierarchy and a fortiori on w h e t h e r we are

able rationally so to o r d e r these particular goods.

T have suggested so far that unless t h e r e is a telos which transcends

the limited goods of practices by constituting the good of a whole

h u m a n life, the good of a h u m a n life conceived as a unity, it will both

be the case t h a t a certain subversive arbitrariness will invade the

moral life and that we shall be u n a b l e to specify the context of certain

virtues adequately. T h e s e two considerations are reinforced by a

third: that t h e r e is at least o n e v i r t u e recognized by the tradition

which cannot be specified at all except with reference to the whole-

ness of a h u m a n l i f e — t h e v i r t u e of integrity or constancy. "Purity of

heart," said Kierkegaard, "is to will one thing." T h i s notion of single-

ness of p u r p o s e in a whole life can have no application unless that of

a whole life does.

Tt is clear t h e r e f o r e that my preliminary account of the virtues in

terms of practices c a p t u r e s much, but very far f r o m all, of what the

Aristotelian tradition t a u g h t about the virtues. It is also clear t h a t to

give an account that is at once more fully adequate to t h e tradition

and rationally defensible, it is necessary to raise a question to which

the Aristotelian tradition presupposed an answer, an answer so

widely shared in t h e p r e - m o d e r n world that it never had to be for-

m u l a t e d explicitly in any detailed way. T h i s question is: is it ration-

ally justifiable to conceive of each h u m a n life as a unity, so t h a t we

may try to specify each such life as having its good and so t h a t we
may u n d e r s t a n d the virtues as having their f u n c t i o n in enabling an

individual to make of his or her life one kind of unity r a t h e r than

another?

C H A P T E R 21

N E L N O D D I N G S

Born in 1929, N e l Noddings was one of rhe first to advance some-

thing that might be classified as a feminist ethic. Like Carol Gilligan,

N o d d i n g s argues that the veritable obsession with universal prin-

ciples in ethics reflects a strong male bias—as does the tendency to

use unrealistic and abstract moral dilemmas as vehicles for develop-

ing ethical theories. Instead, Noddings, who retired as the L e e j a c k s

Professor of Child Education at Stanford, reasons that natural caring

relationships are the foundation of our sense of right and wrong. For

Noddings, the ethical ideal is not to adhere to principles of the sort

pressed by Utilitarians, Kantians, or social contract theorists, but

instead to maintain the attitude of care chat is central to h u m a n rela-

tionships.

C A R I N G : A F E M I N I N E A P P R O A C H TO

E T H I C S A N D M O R A L E D U C A T I O N

FROM N A T U R A L TO ETHICAL C A R I N G

David H u m e long ago contended that morality is founded upon and

rooted in feeling—that the "final sentence" on matters of morality,

"that which renders morality an active virtue"—" . . . this final sen-

tence depends on some internal sense or feeling, which nature has

made universal in the whole species. For what else can have an influ-

ence of this nature?"

What is the nature of this feeling that is-"universal in the whole

species?" I want to suggest that morality as an "active virtue" requires

two feelings and not just one. T h e first is the sentiment of natural

caring. T h e r e can be no ethical sentiment without the initial,

enabling sentiment. In situations where we act on behalf of the

other because we want to do so, we are acting in accord with natural

caring. A mother's caretaking efforts in behalf of her child are not

usually considered ethical but natural. Even maternal animals

take care of their offspring, and we do not credit them with ethical

behavior.

T h e second sentiment occurs in response to a remembrance of the

first. Nietzsche speaks of love and memory in the context of Chris-

tian love and Eros, but what he says may safely be taken out of con-

text to illustrate the point I wish to make here:

426 • Ne! Noddings

T h e r e is something so ambiguous and suggestive about the

word love, something that speaks to m e m o r y and to hope,

that even the lowest intelligence and the coldest heart still

feel something of the glimmer of this word. T h e cleverest

woman and the most vulgar man recall the relatively least

selfish m o m e n t s of their whole life, even if Eros has taken

only a low flight with them.

T h i s m e m o r y of o u r own best m o m e n t s of caring and b e i n g cared

f o r sweeps over us as a f e e l i n g — a s an "T m u s t " — i n response to the

plight of t h e other and o u r conflicting desire to serve o u r own i n t e r -

ests. T h e r e is a transfer of feeling analogous to transfer of learning. In

the intellectual domain, when I read a c e r t a i n kind of m a t h e m a t i c a l

puzzle, I m a y react by thinking, " T h a t is like t h e sailors, monkey, and

c o c o n u t s problem," and then, " D i o p h a n t i n e equations" or " m o d u l

o

a r i t h m e t i c " or "congruences." Similarly, w h e n I e n c o u n t e r an o t h e

r

and feel t h e natural p a n g conflicted with my own desires—"I m u s t —

I do not want t o " — I recognize the feeling and r e m e m b e r w h a t has

followed it in my own best m o m e n t s . I have a p i c t u r e of t h o s e

m o m e n t s in which I was cared for and in which I cared, and 1 may

reach toward this m e m o r y and guide my c o n d u c t by it if I wish to

do so.
Recognizing that ethical caring requires an e f f o r t t h a t is not

n e e d e d in natural caring does not c o m m i t us to a position t h a t ele-

vates ethical caring over natural caring. Kant has identified t h e e t h i -

cal with that which is d o n e out of d u t y and not o u t of love, and that

distinction in itself s e e m s right. But an ethic built on caring strives to

maintain t h e caring attitude and is thus d e p e n d e n t u p o n , and n o t

s u p e r i o r to, natural caring. T h e source of ethical behavior is, then, in

twin s e n t i m e n t s — o n e that feels directly for the o t h e r and o n e t h a t

feels for and with t h a t best self, who may accept and sustain the ini-

tial feeling r a t h e r than reject it.

We shall discuss t h e ethical ideal, that vision of best self, in s o m e

d e p t h . W h e n we c o m m i t ourselves to obey t h e "I m u s t " even at its

weakest and most fleeting, we are u n d e r t h e g u i d a n c e of this ideal. It

is n o t just any picture. Rather, it is o u r best p i c t u r e of ourselves car-

ing and b e i n g cared for. It m a y even be colored by acquaintance with

Caring. A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education • I'll

o n e superior to us in caring, but, as I shall describe it, it is both con-

strained and attainable. Ft is limited by what we have already d o n e

and by what we are c a p a b l e of, and it does not idealize the impossible

so that we may escape into ideal abstraction.

Now, clearly, in pointing to H u m e ' s "active virtue" and to an ethi-

cal ideal as the source of ethical behavior, I seem to be advocating an

ethic of virtue. T h i s is certainly t r u e in part. M a n y philosophers rec-

ognize the need for a discussion of virtue as the energizing factor in

moral behavior, even when they have given their best intellectual

effort to a careful explication of their positions on obligation and

justification. W h e n we discuss the ethical ideal, we shall be talking

about "virtue," but we shall not let "virtue" dissipate into "the virtues"

described in abstract categories. T h e holy man living abstemiously on

top of t h e mountain, praying thrice daily, and d e n y i n g himself h u m a n

intercourse may display "virtues," hut they are n o t t h e virtues of one-

caring. T h e virtue described by the ethical ideal of one-caring is built

up in relation. It reaches out to the other and grows in response to the

other.

Since o u r discussion of v i r t u e will he e m b e d d e d in an exploration

of moral activity we might do well to start by asking w h e t h e r or

u n d e r what circumstances we are obliged to respond to t h e initial "I

must." Does it make sense to say that I am obliged to heed that which

comes to me as obligation?

OBLIGATION

T h e r e are m o m e n t s for all of us when we care q u i t e naturally. We just

do care; no ethical effort is required. "Want" and "ought" are indis-

tinguishable in such cases. I want to do what I or others might judge

I o u g h t to do. But can t h e r e be a " d e m a n d " to care? T h e r e can be,

surely, no d e m a n d f o r the initial impulse that arises as a feeling, an

i n n e r voice saying "1 m u s t do something," in response to t h e need of

the cared-for. T h i s i m p u l s e arises naturally, at least occasionally, in

the absence of pathology. We cannot d e m a n d t h a t o n e have this

impulse, hut we shrink f r o m one who n e v e r has it. O n e who n e v e r

428 • Ne! Noddings

feels t h e pain of another, w h o never confesses t h e internal "I m u s t "

t h a t is so familiar to m o s t of us, is beyond o u r n o r m a l p a t t e r n of

u n d e r s t a n d i n g . H e r case is pathological, and we avoid her.

But even if I feel the initial "I must," I may reject it. I may reject it

instantaneously by shifting f r o m "I must do something" to "Something

must be done," and removing myself f r o m the set of possible agents

through w h o m the action should be accomplished. I may reject it

because I feel that there is nothing 1 can do. If 1 do either of these things

without reflection u p o n w h a t I might do in behalf of the cared-for, then

I do not care. C a r i n g requires me to respond to the initial impulse with

an act of commitment: I c o m m i t myself either to overt action on behalf

of the cared-for (I pick up my crying infant) or I commit myself to

thinking about what I might do. In the latter case, as we have seen, I may
or may not act overtly in behalf of the cared-for. I may abstain f r o m

action if I believe that anything I might do would tend to work against

the best interests of the cared-for. But the test of my caring is not wholly

in how things turn out; the primary test lies in an examination of what I

considered, how fully I received the other, and whether the free pursuit

of his projects is partly a result of the completion of my caring in him.

But am I obliged to e m b r a c e the "I must"? In this form, the question

is a bit odd, for the "I must" carries obligation with it. It comes to us as

obligation. But accepting and affirming the "I must" are different f r o m

feeling it, and these responses are what I am pointing to when I ask

whether I am obliged to embrace the "I must." T h e question nags at us;

it is a question that has been asked, in a variety of forms, over and over

by moralists and moral theorists. Usually, the question arises as part of

the broader question of justification. We ask something of the sort: W h y

m u s t I (or should I) do what suggests itself to reason as "right" or as

needing to be done for the sake of some other? We might prefer to sup-

p l e m e n t "reason" with " a n d / o r feeling." T h i s question is, of course, not

the only thorny question in moral theory, but it is one that has plagued

theorists who see clearly that there is no way to derive an "I ought"

statement f r o m a chain of facts. I may agree readily that "things would

be better"—that is, that a certain state of affairs commonly agreed to be

desirable might be attained—if a certain chain of events were to take

place. But there is still n o t h i n g in this intellectual chain that can pro-

duce the "I ought." I may choose to remain an observer on the scene.

N o w I am suggesting t h a t the "I m u s t " arises directly and prior to

Caring A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education • 429

consideration of what it is that I might do. T h e initial feeling is t h e "I

must." W h e n it comes to me indistinguishable f r o m the "I want," I

p r o c e e d easily as one-caring. But often it comes to me conflicted. It

may be barely perceptible, and it may be followed almost s i m u l t a n e -

ously by resistance. W h e n s o m e o n e asks me to get s o m e t h i n g for him

or merely asks for my attention, the "I m u s t " may be lost in a clamor

of resistance. N o w a second s e n t i m e n t is required if I am to behave

as one-caring. I care about myself as o n e - c a r i n g and, although I do

not care naturally for t h e person who has asked s o m e t h i n g of m e — a t

least not at this m o m e n t — I feel the g e n u i n e moral sentiment, the "I

ought," that sensibility to which I have c o m m i t t e d myself.

Let me try to make plausible my contention that the moral i m p e r -

ative arises directly. And, of course, I m u s t try to explain how caring

and what I am calling t h e "moral imperative" are related. W h e n my

i n f a n t cries in the night, I not only feel t h a t I m u s t do something but

I want to do something. Because I love this child, because I am

b o n d e d to him, I want to remove his pain as I would want to r e m o v e

my own. T h e "I m u s t " is not a dutiful imperative b u t o n e that accom-

panies t h e "I want." If I w e r e tied to a chair, for example, and wanted

desperately to get free, I might say as I struggled, "I must do s o m e -

thing; I m u s t get o u t of these bonds." But this "must" is not yet t h e

moral or ethical "ought." It is a "must" born of desire

T h e most u l t i m a t e situations of caring are, thus, natural. I do not

feel t h a t taking care of my own child is "moral" but, rather, natural. A

w o m a n who allows h e r own child to die of neglect is often consid-

ered sick rather than i m m o r a l ; that is, we feel t h a t e i t h e r she or the

situation into which she has been t h r u s t m u s t be pathological. O t h e r -

wise, the impulse to respond, to n u r t u r e the living infant, is over-

whelming. We share the impulse with o t h e r creatures in the animal

kingdom. W h e t h e r we want to consider this response as "instinctive"

is problematic, because certain patterns of response may be implied

by t h e t e r m ahd because suspension of reflective consciousness

seems also to be implied (and I am not suggesting that we have no

choice), but I have no difficulty in considering it as innate. I n d e e d , I

am claiming that t h e i m p u l s e to act in behalf of t h e present o t h e r is

itself innate. It lies latent in each of us, awaiting gradual d e v e l o p m e n t

in a succession of c a r i n g relations. I am suggesting that o u r inclina-

tion toward and interest in morality derives f r o m caring. In caring,

430 • Ne! Noddings

we accept the natural i m p u l s e to act on behalf of t h e p r e s e n t other.

We are engrossed in t h e other. We have received him and feel his

pain or happiness, b u t we are not compelled by this impulse. We have

a choice; we may accept w h a t we feel, or we may reject it If we have

a s t r o n g desire to be moral, we will not reject it, and this s t r o n g desire

to be moral is derived, reflectively, f r o m t h e m o r e f u n d a m e n t a l and

natural desire to be and to r e m a i n related. To reject the feeling when

it arises is either to be in an internal state of imbalance or to c o n -

tribute-willfully to t h e d i m i n u t i o n of the ethical ideal.

But s u p p o s e in a p a r t i c u l a r case that the "I must" does not arise, or

t h a t it w h i s p e r s faintly and disappears, leaving distrust, r e p u g n a n c e ,

or hate. Why, then, should I behave morally toward the object of my

dislike? W h y should I n o t a c c e i t feelings o t h e r than t h o s e c h a r a c t

e r -

istic of c a r i n g and, thus, achieve an internal state of balance t h r o u g h

hate, anger, or malice?

T h e answer to this is, I think, t h a t t h e g e n u i n e moral s e n t i m e n t

(our second s e n t i m e n t ) arises f r o m an evaluation of the caring rela-

tion as good, as better than, s u p e r i o r to, o t h e r f o r m s of relatedness. I

feel t h e moral "I must" when I recognize that my response will either

e n h a n c e or diminish my ethical ideal. It will serve either to increase

or decrease the likelihood of g e n u i n e caring. My response affects me

as o n e - c a r i n g . In a given situation with s o m e o n e I am not fond of, I

m a y be able to find all sorts of reasons why I should not respond to

his need. I may be too busy. He may be undiscerning. T h e m a t t e r

may be, on objective analysis, u n i m p o r t a n t . But, b e f o r e I decide, I

m u s t t u r n away f r o m this analytic chain of t h o u g h t and back to t h e

c o n c r e t e situation. H e r e is this person with this perceived need to

which is attached this i m p o r t a n c e . I m u s t p u t justification aside t e m -

porarily. Shall I respond? H o w do I feel as a duality about the "I" w h o

will not respond?

I am obliged, then, to accept the initial "I must" w h e n it o c c u r s

and even to fetch it out of recalcitrant s l u m b e r when it fails to awake

spontaneously. T h e source of my obligation is t h e value I place on

the relatedness of caring. T h i s value itself arises as a p r o d u c t of

actual caring and b e i n g c a r e d - f o r and my reflection on the goodness

of t h e s e concrete caring situations.

N o w , w h a t sort of "goodness" is it t h a t attaches to the caring rela-

tion? It c a n n o t be a fully moral goodness, for we have already

Caring. A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education • I'll

described forms of caring t h a t are natural and require no moral

effort. But it c a n n o t be a fully nonmoral goodness either, for it would

then join a class of goods m a n y of which are widely separated from

t h e moral good. It is, perhaps, properly described as a " p r e m o r a l

good," one that lies in a region with the moral good and shades over

into it. We c a n n o t always decide with c e r t a i n t y whether o u r caring

response is natural or ethical. Indeed, t h e decision to respond ethi-

cally as o n e - c a r i n g may cause the lowering of barriers that p r e v i -

ously prevented r e c e p t i o n of the other, and natural caring may

follow.

I have identified the source of o u r obligation and have said t h a t we

are obligated to accept, and even to call forth, t h e feeling "I must."

But what exactly m u s t I do? C a n my obligation be set forth in a list or

hierarchy of principles? So far, it seems t h a t I am obligated to m a i n -

tain an attitude and, thus, to m e e t the o t h e r as o n e - c a r i n g and, at t h e

same time, to increase my own v i r t u e as one-caring. If I am advocat-

ing an ethic of virtue, do not all the usual dangers lie in w a i t

hypocrisy, self-righteousness, withdrawal f r o m the public domain?

We shall discuss t h e s e dangers as the idea of an ethical ideal is devel-

oped m o r e fully.

L e t me say here, however, why it seems p r e f e r a b l e to place an e t h -

ical ideal above p r i n c i p l e as a g u i d e to moral action. It has been tra-

ditional in moral p h i l o s o p h y to insist that moral principles m u s t be,

by their very n a t u r e as moral principles, universifiable. If I am obli-

gated t o d o Z u n d e r certain conditions, t h e n u n d e r sufficiently simi-

lar conditions you also are obligated to do X. But the p r i n c i p l e of

universifiability seems to d e p e n d , as N i e t z s c h e p o i n t e d out, on a

c o n c e p t of "sameness." In o r d e r to accept t h e principle, we should

have to establish that h u m a n p r e d i c a m e n t s exhibit sufficient s a m e -

ness, and this we cannot do w i t h o u t abstracting away f r o m c o n c r e t e

situations those qualities that seem to reveal t h e sameness. In d o i n g

this, we often lose the very qualities or factors that gave rise to t h e

moral question in t h e situation. T h a t condition which makes t h e

situation d i f f e r e n t and thereby induces g e n u i n e moral p u z z l e m e n t

c a n n o t be satisfied by the application of principles developed in sit-

uations of sameness.

T h i s does not m e a n t h a t we c a n n o t receive any g u i d a n c e f r o m an

a t t e m p t to discover principles that seem to be universifiable. We can,

432 • Ne! Noddings

u n d e r this sort of plan, arrive at t h e d o c t r i n e of "prima facie d u t y "

described by W. D. Ross. Ross himself, however, admits that this doc-

trine yields no real g u i d a n c e for moral c o n d u c t in c o n c r e t e situa-

tions. It guides us in abstract moral thinking; it tells us, theoretically,

what to do, "all o t h e r things b e i n g equal." But o t h e r things are rarely

if ever equal. A and B, struggling with a moral decision, are two d i f -

f e r e n t persons with d i f f e r e n t factual histories, d i f f e r e n t projects and

aspirations, and d i f f e r e n t ideals. It may i n d e e d be right, morally

right, for A to do X and B to do n o t - X We may, that is, c o n n e c t

"right" and "wrong" to faithfulness to t h e ethical ideal. T h i s d o e s n o t

cast us into relativism, because the ideal contains at its heart a c o m -

p o n e n t t h a t is universal: M a i n t e n a n c e of the caring relation.

Before t u r n i n g to a discussion of "right" and "wrong" and their

usefulness in an ethic of caring, we might try to clear up the p r o b l e m

earlier m e n t i o n e d as a d a n g e r in any ethic of virtue: the t e m p t a t i o n

to w i t h d r a w f r o m the p u b l i c domain. It is a real danger. Even though

we rejected t h e sort of virtue exhibited by the h e r m i t - m o n k on the

m o u n t a i n t o p , that rejection may have been o n e of personal choice. It

still r e m a i n s possible t h a t an ethic of caring is c o m p a t i b l e with t h e

monk's choice, and that such an ethic even induces withdrawal. We

are n o t going to be able to divide cases clearly. T h e m o n k who w i t h -

draws only to serve G o d is clearly u n d e r the guidance of an e t h i c

that differs f u n d a m e n t a l l y f r o m the ethic of caring. T h e source of his

ethic is not the source of ours, and he m i g h t d e n y t h a t any f o r m of

h u m a n relatedness could be a source for moral behavior. But if, when

a n o t h e r i n t r u d e s u p o n his privacy, he receives the o t h e r as o n e -

caring, we c a n n o t charge him with violating o u r ethic. Further, as we

saw in our discussion of t h e one-caring, t h e r e is a legitimate d r e a d of

t h e p r o x i m a t e s t r a n g e r — o f that person who may ask m o r e than we

feel able to give. We saw t h e r e that we c a n n o t care for everyone. C a r -

ing itself is r e d u c e d to m e r e talk about caring when we a t t e m p t to do

so. We m u s t acknowledge, then, that an e t h i c of caring implies a limit

on our obligation.

O u r obligation is limited and delimited by relation. We are n e v e r

free, in the h u m a n d o m a i n , to abandon o u r p r e p a r e d n e s s to care;

but,

practically, if we are m e e t i n g those in o u r i n n e r circles adequately as

o n e s - c a r i n g and receiving those linked to o u r inner circles by f o r m a l

chains of relation, we shall limit t h e calls u p o n o u r obligation quite

Caring. A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education • I'll

naturally. We are not obliged to s u m m o n t h e "I must" if t h e r e is no

possibility of c o m p l e t i o n in t h e o t h e r T am n o t obliged to care for

starving children in Africa, because t h e r e is no way for this caring to

be completed in t h e o t h e r unless I a b a n d o n t h e caring to which 1 am

obligated. I may still choose to do s o m e t h i n g in the direction of car-

ing, but T am n o t obliged to do so. W h e n we discuss o u r obligation to

animals, we shall see that this is even m o r e sharply limited by rela-

tion. We cannot r e f u s e obligation in h u m a n affairs by m e r e l y r e f u s -

ing to e n t e r relation; we are, by v i r t u e of o u r m u t u a l humanity,

already and p e r p e t u a l l y in potential relation. Instead, we limit our

obligation by e x a m i n i n g the possibility of c o m p l e t i o n . In connection

with animals, however, we may find it possible to refuse relation itself

on t h e grounds of a species-specific impossibility of any form of rec-

iprocity in caring.

Now, this is very important, and we should try to say clearly what

governs o u r obligation. On the basis of what has been developed so

far, t h e r e seem to be two criteria: t h e existence of or potential for

p r e s e n t relation, and t h e d y n a m i c potential for growth in relation,

i n c l u d i n g the potential for increased reciprocity and, perhaps, m u t u -

ality. T h e first criterion establishes an absolute obligation and t h e

second serves to p u t o u r obligations into an o r d e r of priority.

If t h e o t h e r toward w h o m we shall act is capable of r e s p o n d i n g as

c a r e d - f o r and t h e r e are no objective conditions that p r e v e n t o u r

receiving this response—if, that is, o u r caring can be c o m p l e t e d in

t h e o t h e r — t h e n we m u s t m e e t that o t h e r as one-caring. If we do not

care naturally, we m u s t call u p o n o u r capacity for ethical caring.

W h e n we are in relation or when t h e o t h e r has addressed us, we m u s t

r e s p o n d as one-caring. T h e imperative in relation is categorical.

W h e n relation has n o t yet been established, or when it may p r o p e r l y

be refused (when no f o r m a l chain or natural circle is present), t h e

imperative is m o r e like that of t h e hypothetical: I m u s t if I wish to (or

am able to) move into relation.

T h e second criterion asks us to look at the n a t u r e of potential

relation and, especially, at t h e capacity of t h e c a r e d - f o r to respond.

T h e potential for r e s p o n s e in animals, for example, is nearly static;

they cannot respond in mutuality, n o r can t h e n a t u r e of their

response change substantially. But a child's potential for increased

r e s p o n s e is e n o r m o u s . If t h e possibility of relation is d y n a m i c — i
f the

434 • Ne! Noddings

relation may clearly grow with respect to r e c i p r o c i t y — t h e n t h e pos-

sibility and degree of my obligation also grows. If response is i m m i -

nent, so also is my obligation. T h i s criterion will help us to

distinguish between o u r obligation to m e m b e r s of t h e n o n h u m a n

animal world and, say, t h e h u m a n fetus. We m u s t keep in mind, h o w -

ever, t h a t the second criterion binds us in p r o p o r t i o n to the probabil-

ity of increased response and to t h e i m m i n e n c e of that response.

Relation itself is f u n d a m e n t a l in obligation.

I shall give an example of thinking guided by these criteria, but let us

pause for a m o m e n t and ask what it is we are trying to accomplish. I am

working deliberately toward criteria that will preserve our deepest and

most t e n d e r h u m a n feelings. T h e caring of m o t h e r for child, of h u m a

n

adult for human infant, elicits the tenderest feelings in most of us.

Indeed, for many w o m e n , this feeling of nurturance lies at the very

heart of what we assess as good. A philosophical position that has diffi-

culty distinguishing between o u r obligation to human infants and, say,

pigs is in some difficulty straight off. It violates our most deeply cher-

ished feeling about h u m a n goodness. T h i s violation does not, of course,

make t h e position logically wrong, but it suggests that especially strong

grounds will be needed to support it. In the absence of such strong

grounds—-and I shall argue in a later chapter that they are absent—we

might prefer to establish a position that captures rather than denies o u r

basic feelings. We might observe that man (in contrast to woman) has

continually turned away from his inner self and feeling in pursuit of

both science and ethics. W i t h respect to strict science, this turning out-

ward may be defensible; with respect to ethics it has been disastrous.

O n e u n d e r the g u i d a n c e of an ethic of caring is t e m p t e d to r e t r e a t

to
a m a n a g e a b l e world. H e r public life is limited by h e r insistence u p o n

m e e t i n g the other as one-caring. So long as this is possible, she m a y

reach outward and enlarge h e r circles of caring. W h e n this r e a c h i n g

o u t destroys or drastically r e d u c e s h e r actual caring, she retreats and

renews her contact with those who address her. If t h e r e t r e a t

b e c o m e s a flight, an avoidance of the call to care, her ethical ideal is

diminished. Similarly, if t h e r e t r e a t is away f r o m h u m a n beings and

toward o t h e r objects of caring—ideas, animals, h u m a n i t y - a t - l a r g e ,

G o d — h e r ethical ideal is virtually shattered. T h i s is not a j u d g m e n t ,

for we can u n d e r s t a n d and s y m p a t h i z e with o n e who makes such a

Caring. A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education • I'll

choice. It is m o r e ' m t h e n a t u r e of a perception: we see clearly what

has been lost in the choice.

O u r ethic of c a r i n g — w h i c h we might have called a " f e m i n i n e

ethic"—begins to look a bit m e a n in contrast to the masculine ethics

of universal love or universal justice. But universal love is illusion.

U n d e r t h e illusion, s o m e y o u n g people retreat t o the church t o w o r -

ship that which they cannot actualize; s o m e write lovely p o e t r y

extolling universal love; and some, in terrible disillusion, kill to

establish t h e very principles which should have e n t r e a t e d them n o t

to kill. T h u s are lost both principles and persons.

R I G H T A N D W R O N G

H o w are we to make j u d g m e n t s of right and w r o n g u n d e r this ethic?

First, it is i m p o r t a n t to u n d e r s t a n d t h a t we are not primarily i n t e r -

ested in judging but, rather, in h e i g h t e n i n g moral p e r c e p t i o n and

sensitivity But "right" and "wrong" can be useful.

Suppose a m o t h e r observes her y o u n g child pulling t h e kitten's

tail or picking it up by t h e ears. She may exclaim, "Oh, no, it is not

nice to h u r t the kitty," or, "You must not h u r t t h e kitty." Or she may

simply say, "Stop. S e e — y o u are h u r t i n g t h e kitty," and she may t h e n

take t h e kitten in h e r own h a n d s and show the child how to h a n d l e it.

She holds the kitten gently, stroking it, and saying, "See? Ah, ah, kitty,

nice k i t t y . . . . " W h a t t h e m o t h e r is s u p p o s i n g in this interaction is

t h a t the realization that his act is h u r t i n g t h e kitten, s u p p l e m e n t e d

by

t h e knowledge of how to avoid inflicting hurt, will suffice to c h a n g e

t h e child's behavior. If she believes this, she has no need for t h e state-

ment, "It is w r o n g to h u r t the kitty." She is not t h r e a t e n i n g sanctions

b u t drawing dual attention to a m a t t e r of fact (the hurting) and h e r

own c o m m i t m e n t (I will n o t hurt). Beyond this, she is supposing t h a t

her child, w e l l - c a r e d - f o r himself, does n o t want to inflict pain.

Now, I am not claiming through use of this illustration that moral

s t a t e m e n t s are m e r e expressions of approval or disapproval, although

they do serve an expressive function. A.J. Ayer, who did make a claim

of this sort before m o d i f y i n g his position somewhat, uses an illustra-

tion very like the one just given to s u p p o r t an emotivist position. But

436 • Ne! Noddings

even if it w e r e possible to take a purely analytic stance with respect

to moral theory, as Ayer suggests he has done, that is certainly not

w h a t I i n t e n d to do. O n e who labels moral statements as expressions

of approval or disapproval, and takes t h e m a t t e r to be finished with

that, misses t h e very h e a r t of morality. He misses t h e c o m m i t m e n t to

behave in a fashion c o m p a t i b l e with caring. T h u s he misses both f e e l -

ing and content. I may, after all, express my approval or disapproval

on m a t t e r s that are not moral. T h u s it is clear that when 1 make a

moral j u d g m e n t I am doing m o r e than simply expressing approval or

disapproval. I am both expressing my own c o m m i t m e n t to behave in

a way c o m p a t i b l e with caring and appealing to the h e a r e r to consider

what he is doing. I may say first to a child, "Oh! D o n ' t h u r t the kitty!"

And I may then add, "It is w r o n g to h u r t the kitty." T h e word is n o t

necessary, strictly speaking, b u t I may find it useful.

W h a t do I m e a n by this? I certainly m e a n to express my own c o m -

m i t m e n t , and I show this best by daily example. But I may m e a n to

say m o r e than this. I m a y explain to the child that not only do I feel

this way b u t that o u r family does, that o u r c o m m u n i t y does, t h a t o u r

c u l t u r e does. H e r e I m u s t be very careful. O u r c o m m u n i t y may say

o n e t h i n g and do quite another. Such contradiction is even m o r e

likely at t h e level of " o u r culture." But I express myself doubly in

words and in acts, and I may search out e x a m p l e s in the larger cul-

ture to c o n v i n c e the child that significant o t h e r s do feel this way. T h e

o n e - c a r i n g is c a r e f u l t o distinguish between acts that violate caring,

acts that she herself holds wrong, and those acts that "some p e o p l e "

hold to be wrong. She n e e d n o t be c o n d e s c e n d i n g in this instruction.

She is herself so r e l u c t a n t to universalize beyond the d e m a n d s of car-

ing that she cannot say, "It is wrong," to e v e r y t h i n g that is illegal,

c h u r c h - f o r b i d d e n , or c o n t r a r y to a prevailing etiquette. But she can

raise the question, a t t e m p t to justify the alien view, express her own

objections, and s u p p o r t t h e child in his own exploration.

Emotivists are partly right, I think, w h e n they suggest that we

might effectively substitute a s t a t e m e n t describing the fact or event

that triggers o u r feeling or attitude for s t a t e m e n t s such as "It is

w r o n g to do X" W h e n I say to my child, "It is w r o n g to h u r t the

kitty," I mean (if I am n o t t h r e a t e n i n g sanctions) to i n f o r m him that

he is h u r t i n g the kitten and, further, that I believe that if he perceives

he is d o i n g so, he will stop. I am c o u n t i n g on his gradually d e v e l o p -

Caring. A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education • I'll

ing ability to feel pain in the other to i n d u c e a decision to stop. To

say, "It is w r o n g to cause pain needlessly," contributes nothing hy way

of knowledge and can hardly be t h o u g h t likely to change the attitude

or behavior of o n e w h o might ask, " W h y is it wrong?" If I say to

s o m e o n e , "You are h u r t i n g the cat," and he replies, "I know i t — s o

what? I like h u r t i n g cats," I feel "zero at the bone." Saying to him, "It

is w r o n g to h u r t cats," adds little unless I i n t e n d to threaten sanctions.

If 1 mean to equate "It is w r o n g to h u r t cats" with " T h e r e will be a

s u r e and specific p u n i s h m e n t for h u r t i n g cats," then it would be m o r

e

honest to say this. O n e either feels a sort of pain in response to t h e

pain of others, or one does not feel it. If he does feel it, he does n o t

need to be told that causing pain is wrong. If he does not feel it in a

particular case, he may r e m e m b e r the f e e l i n g — a s one r e m e m b e r s

the sweetness of love on hearing a certain p i e c e of m u s i c — a n d allow

himself to be moved by this r e m e m b r a n c e of feeling. For o n e who

feels nothing, directly or by r e m e m b r a n c e , we m u s t prescribe r e e d u -

cation or exile, Thus, at the foundation of moral b e h a v i o r — a s we

have already p o i n t e d o u t — i s feeling or sentiment. But, further, there

is c o m m i t m e n t to r e m a i n open to that feeling, to r e m e m b e r it, and
to

p u t one's t h i n k i n g in its service. Tt is t h e particular c o m m i t m e n t

u n d e r l y i n g g e n u i n e expressions of moral j u d g m e n t — a s well as

the

special c o n t e n t — t h a t t h e emocivist misses.

T h e one-caring, clearly, applies "right" and "wrong" most confi-

d e n t l y to her own decisions. This does not, as we have insisted

before, make h e r a relativist. T h e caring a t t i t u d e that lies at the h e a r t

of all ethical b e h a v i o r is universal. As t h e m o t h e r in chapter two, who

had to decide w h e t h e r or not to leave h e r sick child, decided on the

basis of a caring evaluation of the conditions and feelings of those

involved, so in general the o n e - c a r i n g evaluates her own acts with

respect to how faithfully they c o n f o r m to what is known and felt

t h r o u g h the receptivity of caring. But she also uses "right" and

" w r o n g " instructively and respectfully to r e f e r to the j u d g m e n t s of

significant others, If she agrees because the m a t t e r at hand can be

assessed in light of caring, she adds h e r personal c o m m i t m e n t and

example; if she has d o u b t s — b e c a u s e t h e r u l e appealed to seems

irrelevant or a m b i g u o u s in the light of c a r i n g — s h e still acknowl-

edges the j u d g m e n t b u t adds h e r own dissent or demurrer. H e r eye is

on the ethical d e v e l o p m e n t of the cared-for and, as she herself w i t h -

438 • Nel Noddings

holds j u d g m e n t until she has heard the "whole story," she wants t h e

c a r e d - f o r to e n c o u n t e r others, receive t h e m , and reflect on what he

has received. Principles and rules are a m o n g the beliefs he will

receive, and she wants him to consider these in the light of caring.

But is this all we can say about right and wrong? Is t h e r e not a firm

f o u n d a t i o n in morality for our legal judgments? Surely, we m u s t be

allowed to say, for example, t h a t stealing is w r o n g and is, t h e r e f o r e ,

p r o p e r l y forbidden by law. Because it is so o f t e n w r o n g — a n d so eas-

ily d e m o n s t r a t e d to be w r o n g — u n d e r an ethic of caring, we may

accede t h a t such a law has its r o o t s p a r t l y in morality. We may legally

punish one who has stolen, but we may n o t pass moral j u d g m e n t on

him until we know why he stole. An ethic of caring is likely to be

stricter in its judgment, b u t m o r e supportive and corrective in fol-

lowing up its judgment, than ethics otherwise g r o u n d e d . For the o n e -

caring, stealing is almost always wrong:

Ms. A talks with h e r y o u n g son. But, Mother, the boy pleads, suppose

I want to make you happy and I steal something you want from a big chain

store. / haven't hurt anyone, have P Yes, you have, responds his mother, and

she points to the p r e d i c a m e n t of the store managers who may be

accused of p o o r stewardship and to the higher prices suffered by

their neighbors. Well, suppose 1 steal from a rich, rich person? He can replace

what I take easily, and... Wait, says Ms. A. Is someone suffering? Are you

stealing to relieve that suffering, and will you make certain that what you steal

is used to relieve it?.. . But can't 1 steal to make someone happy? h e r son p e r -

sists. Slowly, patiently, Ms. A explains the position of one-caring.

Each one w h o comes u n d e r our gaze m u s t be m e t as one-caring. W h e n

I want to please X and I t u r n toward Y as a means for satisfying my

desire to please X, I must now m e e t Y as one-caring. I do n o t judge

him for being r i c h — f o r treasuring what I, perhaps, regard with indif-

ference. I may not cause him pain by taking or destroying what he

possesses. But what i f l steal from a bad guy—someone who stole to get what

he has?Ms. A smiles at her y o u n g son, struggling to avoid his ethical

responsibi lity: Unless he is an immediate threat to you or someone else, you

must meet htm, too, as one-caring

T h e lessons in "right" and "wrong" are hard lessons—not swiftly

accomplished by setting up as an objective the l e a r n i n g of s o m e p r i n -

ciple. We do n o t say: It is w r o n g to steal. Rather, we consider why it

was w r o n g or may be w r o n g in this case to steal. We do not say: It is

Caring. A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education • I'll

w r o n g to kill. By setting up such a principle, we also imply its excep-

tions, and then we may too easily act on authorized exceptions. T h e

o n e - c a r i n g wants to consider, and wants h e r child to consider, the act

itself in full context. She will send him into the world skeptical, vul-

nerable, courageous, disobedient, and t e n d e r l y receptive. T h e

"world" may not d e p e n d u p o n him to obey its rules or fulfill its

wishes, but you, the individual he e n c o u n t e r s , may d e p e n d u p o n him

to m e e t you as one-caring.

T H E PROBLEM OF JUSTIFICATION

Since I have chided the emotivist for not digging beneath the expres-

sive layer of moral s e n t i m e n t to the n a t u r e of the feeling itself and

the c o m m i t m e n t to act in accord with t h e feeling, o n e might ask

w h e t h e r I should not dig b e n e a t h the c o m m i t m e n t . W'hy should I

be

c o m m i t t e d to not causing pain? Now, clearly, in o n e sense, I c a n n o t

answer this better than we already have. W h e n the "Why?" refers to

motivation, we have seen that t h e o n e - c a r i n g receives the o t h e r and

acts in t h e other's behalf as she would for herself; that is, she acts with

a similar motive energy. Further, I have claimed that, w h e n natural

caring fails, the motive e n e r g y in behalf of the other can be s u m -

m o n e d out of caring for t h e ethical self. We have discussed both nat-

ural caring and ethical caring. Ethical caring, as I have described it,

d e p e n d s not u p o n r u l e or principle but u p o n t h e d e v e l o p m e n t of

an
ideal self. It does not d e p e n d u p o n just any ideal of self, b u t the ideal

developed in c o n g r u e n c e with one's best r e m e m b r a n c e of caring and

b e i n g cared-for.

So far, in r e c o m m e n d i n g the ethical ideal as a guide to ethical

conduct, I have suggested that traditional approaches to the p r o b l e m

of justification are mistaken. W h e n t h e ethical theorist asks, "Why-

should I behave thus-and-so?" his question is likely to be aimed at

justification r a t h e r than motivation and at a logic t h a t resides o u t s i d e

t h e person. He is asking for reasons of t h e sort we expect to find in

logical demonstration. He may expect us to claim that moral judg-

m e n t s can be tested as claims to facts can be tested, or that moral

j u d g m e n t s are derived f r o m divine c o m m a n d m e n t , or that moral

440 • Ne! Noddings

t r u t h s are intuitively a p p r e h e n d e d . O n c e started on this line of dis-

cussion, we may find ourselves arguing abstractly about the status of

relativism and absolutism, egoism and altruism, and a host of o t h e r

positions that, I shall claim, are largely irrelevant to moral conduct.

T h e y are matters of considerable intellectual interest, but they are

distractions if our p r i m a r y interest is in ethical conduct.

M o r a l s t a t e m e n t s c a n n o t be justified in the way that s t a t e m e n t s

of
fact can be justified. T h e y are not truths. T h e y are derived not f r o m

facts or principles but f r o m t h e caring attitude. I n d e e d , we might say

that moral statements c o m e out of the moral view or attitude, which,

as I have described it, is the rational attitude built u p o n natural car-

ing. W h e n we p u t it this way, we see that t h e r e can be no justification

f o r taking t h e moral v i e w p o i n t — t h a t in truth, the moral v i e w p o i n

t is

prior to any notion of justification.

But there is a n o t h e r difficulty in answering the request for justifi-

cation. Consideration of problems of justification requires us to con-

centrate on moral judgments, on moral statements. H e n c e we are led

to an exploration of the language and reasoning used to discuss moral

c o n d u c t and away f r o m an assessment of the concrete events in which

we m u s t choose w h e t h e r and how to behave morally. Indeed, we are

often led far beyond what we feel and intuitively judge to be right in a

search for s o m e simple and absolute guide to moral goodness.

For an e t h i c of caring, t h e p r o b l e m of justification is not c o n c e n -

trated upon justified action in general. We are n o t "justified"—we are

obligated—to do what is required to maintain and e n h a n c e caring. We

m u s t "justify" not-caring; that is, we m u s t explain why, in the interest

of caring for ourselves as ethical selves or in the interest of others for

w h o m we care, we may behave as o n e s - n o t - c a r i n g toward this p a r t i
c -

u l a r other. In a related problem, we must justify doing what this o t h e r

would not have us do to him as p a r t of o u r g e n u i n e effort to care for

him. But even in these cases, an ethic of caring does not emphasize

justification. As one-caring, I am n o t seeking justification for my

action; I am not s t a n d i n g alone before s o m e tribunal. W h a t I seek is

c o m p l e t i o n in t h e o t h e r — t h e sense of being c a r e d - f o r and, I

hope,

the r e n e w e d c o m m i t m e n t of the c a r e d - f o r to t u r n about and act

as

o n e - c a r i n g in t h e circles and chains within which he is defined. T h u s ,

I am n o t justified b u t s o m e h o w fulfilled and c o m p l e t e d in my own

life and in t h e lives of those I have thus influenced.

Caring. A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education • I'll

It sounds all very nice, says my male colleague, but can you claim

to be doing "ethics"? After all, ethics is the study of justified a c t i o n . . . .

Ah, yes. But, after "after-all," I am a woman, and I was not party to that

definition. Shall we say then that I am talking about "how to meet the

o t h e r morally?" Is this part of ethics? Is ethics part of this?

W O M E N A N D MORALITY: VIRTUE

M a n y of us in education are keenly aware of the distortion that

results from u n d u e emphasis on moral j u d g m e n t s and justification.

L a w r e n c e Kohlberg's theory, for example, is widely held to be a

m o d e l for moral education, b u t it is actually only a hierarchical

description of moral reasoning. It is well known, further, t h a t the

description may not be accurate. In particular, the fact t h a t w o m e n

seem often to be "stuck" at stage three might call t h e accuracy of the

description into question. But perhaps the description is accurate

within the domain of m o r a l i t y conceived as moral justification. If it

is, we m i g h t well explore the possibility that f e m i n i n e n o n c o n f o r -

m i t y to the Kohlberg model counts against the justification/judgment

p a r a d i g m and not against w o m e n as moral thinkers.

Women, perhaps the majority of women, prefer to discuss moral

problems in terms of concrete situations. T h e y approach moral prob-

lems not as intellectual problems to be solved by abstract reasoning but

as concrete h u m a n problems to be lived and to be solved in living. T h e i r

approach is founded in caring. Carol Gilligan describes the approach:

. . . women nor only define themselves in a context of

h u m a n relationship but also judge themselves in terms of

their ability to care. Woman's place in man's life cycle has

been that of nurturer, caretaker, and helpmate, the weaver

of those networks of relationships on which she in t u r n

relies. ' •

Faced with a hypothetical moral dilemma, women often ask for

m o r e information. It is not the case, certainly, that w o m e n cannot

arrange principles hierarchically and derive conclusions logically. It is

442 • Ne! Noddings

m o r e likely that they see this process as peripheral to or even i r r e l e -

vant to moral conduct. T h e y want m o r e information, T think, in o r d e r

to form a picture. Ideally, they need to talk to the participants, to see

their eyes and facial expressions, to size up the whole situation. M o r a l

decisions are, after all, m a d e in situations; they are qualitatively dif-

ferent from t h e solution of geometry problems. Women, like act-

deontologists in general, give reasons f o r their acts, but the reasons

point to feelings, needs, situational conditions, and their sense of p e r -

sonal ideal rather than universal principles and their application.

As we h a v e seen, caring is n o t in itself a virtue. T h e g e n u i n e e t h i -

cal c o m m i t m e n t to maintain oneself as c a r i n g gives rise to the d e v e l -

o p m e n t and exercise of virtues, b u t t h e s e m u s t be assessed in t h e

c o n t e x t of caring situations. Tt is not, f o r example, patience itself t h a t

is a v i r t u e but patience with respect to s o m e infirmity of a p a r t i c u l a r

c a r e d - f o r or patience in i n s t r u c t i n g a c o n c r e t e c a r e d - f o r t h a
t is vir-
tuous. We must not reify virtues and turn o u r caring toward t h e m . If

we do this, o u r ethic turns inward and is even less u s e f u l than an e t h i c

of principles, which at least remains indirectly in contact with t h e

acts we are assessing. T h e fulfillment of v i r t u e is both in me and in

the other.

A consideration of caring and an ethic built u p o n it give n e w

m e a n i n g to what Kohlherg assesses as "stage t h r e e " morality. At this

stage, p e r s o n s behave morally in o r d e r to be t h o u g h t o f — o r to think

of t h e m s e l v e s as—"good boys" or "good girls." Clearly, it makes a

d i f f e r e n c e w h e t h e r one chooses to be good or to be t h o u g h t of as

good. O n e who chooses to be good may not be "stuck," as K o h l b e r g

suggests, in a stage of moral reasoning. Rather, she may have chosen

an alternative r o u t e to moral conduct.

It should be clear that my description of an ethic of caring as a

f e m i n i n e e t h i c does not i m p l y a claim to speak for all w o m e n n o r to

e x c l u d e m e n . As we shall see in the next chapter, t h e r e is reason to

believe that w o m e n are s o m e w h a t better e q u i p p e d f o r caring t h a n

men are. T h i s is partly a result of the c o n s t r u c t i o n of psychological

d e e p s t r u c t u r e s in the m o t h e r - c h i l d relationship. A girl can i d e n t

i f y

with t h e o n e caring for her and thus maintain relation while e s t a b -

lishing identity. A boy must, however, find his identity with t h e

absent o n e — t h e f a t h e r — a n d thus disengage himself from the inti-

mate relation of caring.

Caring. A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education • I'll

T h e r e are many w o m e n who will d e p l o r e my insistence on locat-

ing the source of caring in h u m a n relations. T h e longing for s o m e -

thing beyond is l o v e l y — a l l u r i n g — a n d it persists. It seems to me

quite natural that m e n , m a n y of whom are separated from the inti-

macy of caring, should create gods and seek security and love in wor-

ship. But what ethical need have w o m e n for God? I do not m e a n to

suggest t h a t w o m e n can brush aside an actually existing G o d but, if

t h e r e is such a G o d , t h e h u m a n role in Its m a i n t e n a n c e m u s t be

triv-

ial. We can only c o n t e m p l a t e the universe in awe and wonder, s t u d y

it conscientiously, and live in it conservatively. W o m e n , it s e e m s to

me, can accept the G o d of Spinoza and Einstein. W h a t I m e a n to sug-

gest is that w o m e n have no need of a conceptualized G o d , one

w r o u g h t in the image of man. All the love and goodness c o m m a n d e d

by such a G o d can be generated f r o m t h e love and goodness found in

the warmest and best h u m a n relations.

Let me say a little m o r e here, because I know the position is a hard

one for m a n y — e v e n for m a n y I love. In o u r earlier discussion of

Abraham, we saw a f u n d a m e n t a l and d e e p l y cut chasm between male

and f e m a l e views. We see this d i f f e r e n c e illustrated again in the N e w

T e s t a m e n t of Luke 16, we hear the story of a rich man who ignored

t h e suffering of Lazarus, a beggar. After death, Lazarus finds p e a c e

and glory, but the rich man finds eternal t o r m e n t . He cries to Abra-

ham for mercy:

Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus,

that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my

tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.

But Abraham said, Son, r e m e m b e r that thou in thy life-

time receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil

things: but now he is comforted and thou art tormented.

And beside all this, between us and you there is a great

gulf fixed: so that they which would pass from, hence to

you cannot; neither can they pass to us, that would come

from thence.

But what prevents their passage? T h e j u d g m e n t a l love of the harsh

f a t h e r establishes t h e chasm. T h i s is riot the love of the mother, for

even in despair she would cast herself across the chasm to relieve the

444 • Ne! Noddings

s u f f e r i n g of h e r child. If he calls her, she will respond. Even the

wickedest, if he calls, she must m e e t as one-caring. Now, I ask again,

what ethical need has w o m a n for God?

In the stories of A b r a h a m , we hear the tragedy i n d u c e d hy the tra-

ditional, masculine approach to ethics. W h e n Kierkegaard d e f e n d s

him in an agonized and obsessive search for "something beyond" to

which he can r e p e a t e d l y declare his devotion, he reveals the e m p t i -

ness at the h e a r t of his own c o n c r e t e existence. If Abraham is lost, he,

Kierkegaard, is lost. He observes: "So either there is a paradox, t h a t

the individual as the individual stands in an absolute relation to the

a b s o l u t e / o r A b r a h a m is lost."

W o m a n , as one-caring, pities and fears both A b r a h a m and

Kierkegaard. N o t only are they lost, b u t t h e y would take all of us

with t h e m into the lonely wilderness of abstraction.

CHAPTER 22

T H O M A S N A G E L

You are driving along and have a sudden urge to call your brother.

You reach for your cellphone but have trouble hitting the speed dial.

Suddenly you realize that you have been cruising the highway at 65

mph while looking down at your phone for about thirty seconds. If

the driver in front of you had slammed on his brakes, you probably
would have killed him and yourself But he did not hit the brakes

and, in a few minutes, the twinge of guilt has vanished and you are

chatting away with your brother. But why shouldn't you feel as guilty

as a negligent driver who did cause an accident? It was only luck that

saved you.

Whether Utilitarians or Kantians, most philosophers believe that

luck has little to do with the moral life. Bernard Williams ( 1 9 2 9 -

2003) and T h o m a s Nagel (b. 1937) are the exceptions. In this chapter

from Nagel's Mortal Questions, the N e w York University professor

counters the Kantian claim that it is only our intentions that define

us as moral agents. Nagel shows that sheer happenstance can radi-

cally impact our ordinary appraisals of others and ourselves. This

insight about luck presents a problem, in that most philosophers

believe that what is outside our control is outside the purview of

ethics.

M O R T A L Q U E S T I O N S

M O R A L LUCK

Kant believed that good or bad luck should influence neither o u r

moral judgment of a person and his actions, nor his moral assessment

of himself.

The good will is not good because of what it effects, or

accomplishes or because of its adequacy to achieve some

proposed end; it is good only, because of its willing, i.e.,

it is good of itself. And, regarded for itself, it is to be

esteemed incomparably higher than anything which could

be brought about by it in favor of any inclination or even

of the sum total of all inclinations. Even if it should hap-

pen that, by a particularly unfortunate fate or by the nig-

gardly provision of a stepmotherly nature, this will should

be wholly lacking in power to accomplish its purpose,

and if even the greatest effort should not avail it to achieve

anything of its end, and if there remained only the good

will (not as a mere wish but as the summoning of all

the means in our power), it would sparkle like a jewel in its

own right, as something that had its full worth in itself.

Mortal Ques tions • 44 7

Usefulness or fruitlessness can neither diminish nor aug-

m e n t this worth.

He would p r e s u m a b l y have said the same about a bad will: w h e t h e r

it accomplishes its evil purposes is morally irrelevant. And a c o u r s e

of action that would be c o n d e m n e d if it had a bad o u t c o m e c a n n o t be

vindicated if by luck it turns out well. T h e r e c a n n o t be moral risk.

T h i s view seems to be wrong, but it arises in response to a f u n d a -

mental problem about moral responsibility to which we possess no

satisfactory solution.

T h e p r o b l e m develops o u t of t h e o r d i n a r y conditions of moral

j u d g m e n t . Prior to reflection it is intuitively plausible that p e o p l e

c a n n o t be morally assessed for what is not their fault, or for w h a t is

d u e to factors beyond their control. Such j u d g m e n t is d i f f e r e n t f r o m

the evaluation of s o m e t h i n g as a good or bad thing, or state of affairs.

T h e latter may be p r e s e n t in addition to moral judgment, but when

we blame s o m e o n e for his actions we are n o t m e r e l y saying it is bad

t h a t they h a p p e n e d , or bad t h a t he exists: we are judging him, saying

he is bad, which is d i f f e r e n t f r o m his being a bad thing. T h i s kind of

j u d g m e n t takes only a certain kind of object. W i t h o u t being able to

explain exactly why, we fee] that the appropriateness of moral assess-

m e n t is easily u n d e r m i n e d by t h e discovery that t h e act or attribute,

no m a t t e r how good or bad, is not u n d e r t h e person's control. W h i l e

o t h e r evaluations remain, this o n e seems to lose its footing. So a clear

absence of control, p r o d u c e d by involuntary movement, physical

force, or ignorance of t h e circumstances, excuses what is d o n e f r o m

moral judgment. But what we do d e p e n d s in many m o r e ways than

t h e s e on what is not u n d e r o u r c o n t r o l — w h a t is n o t p r o d u c e d
by a

good or a bad will, in Kant's phrase. And external influences in this

b r o a d e r range are n o t usually thought to excuse what is d o n e f r o m

moral judgment, positive or negative.

Let me give a few examples, beginning with the type of case Kant

has in mind. W h e t h e r we succeed or fail in what we try to do nearly

always depends to some extent on factors beyond o u r control. T h i s is

t r u e of murder, altruism, revolution, the sacrifice of certain interests

for the sake of others—almost any morally i m p o r t a n t act. W h a t has

been done, and what is morally judged, is partly determined by exter-

448 • Thomas Nagel

nal factors. However jewel-like the good will may be in its own right,

there is a morally significant difference between rescuing s o m e o n e

f r o m a burning building and d r o p p i n g him from a twelfth-storey win-

dow while trying to rescue him. Similarly, there is a morally significant

difference between reckless driving and manslaughter. But w h e t h e r a

reckless driver hits a pedestrian depends on the presence of the pedes-

trian at the point where he recklessly passes a red light. W h a t we do is

also limited by the opportunities and choices with which we are faced,

and these are largely d e t e r m i n e d by factors beyond o u r control. S o m e -

o n e who was an officer in a concentration c a m p might have led a quiet

and harmless life if the Nazis had never c o m e to power in Germany.

And s o m e o n e who led a quiet and harmless life in Argentina might

have b e c o m e an officer in a concentration camp if he had not left G e r -

many for business reasons in 1930.

I shall say m o r e later about these and other examples. I i n t r o d u c e

t h e m here to illustrate a general point. W h e r e a significant aspect of

what s o m e o n e does d e p e n d s on factors beyond his control, yet we

c o n t i n u e to treat him in that respect as an object of moral j u d g m e n t ,

it can be called moral luck. Such luck can be good or bad. And the

p r o b l e m posed by this p h e n o m e n o n , which led Kant to d e n y its pos-

sibility, is that the broad range of external influences here identified

seems on close e x a m i n a t i o n to u n d e r m i n e moral assessment as

surely as does the n a r r o w e r range of familiar excusing conditions. If

the c o n d i t i o n of control is consistently applied, it threatens to e r o d e

most of t h e moral assessments we find it n a t u r a l to make. T h e things

f o r which people are morally judged are d e t e r m i n e d in m o r e ways

than we at first realize by what is beyond their control. And when the

s e e m i n g l y natural r e q u i r e m e n t of fault or responsibility is applied in

light of t h e s e facts, it leaves few pre-reflective m o r a l j u d g m e n t s

intact. Ultimately, n o t h i n g or almost n o t h i n g about what a p e r s o n

does seems to be u n d e r his control.

W h y n o t conclude, then, t h a t the condition of control is f a l s e —

that it is an initially plausible hypothesis r e f u t e d by clear c o u n t e r -

examples? O n e could in that case look instead for a m o r e refined

condition which picked o u t t h e kinds of lack of control that really

u n d e r m i n e certain moral judgments, w i t h o u t yielding the u n a c c e p t -

able conclusion derived f r o m the b r o a d e r condition, that most or all

o r d i n a r y m o r a l j u d g m e n t s are illegitimate.

Mortal Ques tions • 44 7

W h a t rules out this escape is that we are dealing not with a t h e o -

retical conjecture b u t with a philosophical problem. T h e condition

of control does not suggest itself merely as a generalization from cer-

tain clear cases. It s e e m s correct in the f u r t h e r cases to which it is

extended beyond t h e original set. W h e n we u n d e r m i n e moral assess-

m e n t by considering n e w ways in which control is absent, we are n o t

just discovering w h a t would follow given the general hypothesis, b u t

are actually being p e r s u a d e d that in itself t h e absence of control is

relevant in these cases too. T h e erosion of moral judgment e m e r g e s

not as t h e absurd c o n s e q u e n c e of an over-simple theory, but as a nat-

ural c o n s e q u e n c e of the o r d i n a r y idea of moral assessment, w h e n it

is applied in view of a m o r e complete and precise account of the

facts. It would t h e r e f o r e be a mistake to a r g u e f r o m the u n a c c e p t -

ability of the conclusions to the need for a d i f f e r e n t account of the

conditions of mora! responsibility. T h e view that moral luck is p a r a -

doxical is not a mistake, ethical or logical, but a perception of o n e of

t h e ways in which t h e intuitively acceptable conditions of moral

j u d g m e n t threaten to u n d e r m i n e it all.

It resembles the situation in another area of philosophy, the t h e -

ory of knowledge. T h e r e too conditions which seem perfectly n a t u -

ral, and which grow o u t of the o r d i n a r y p r o c e d u r e s for challenging

and d e f e n d i n g claims to knowledge, t h r e a t e n to u n d e r m i n e all

such

claims if consistently applied. Most skeptical arguments have this

quality: they do not d e p e n d on the imposition of arbitrarily stringent

standards of knowledge, arrived at by misunderstanding, but appear

to grow inevitably f r o m the consistent application of o r d i n a r y stan-

dards. T h e r e is a substantive parallel as well, for epistemological

skepticism arises f r o m consideration of the respects in which o u r

beliefs and their relation to reality d e p e n d on factors beyond o u r

control. E x t e r n a l and internal causes p r o d u c e o u r beliefs. We may

subject these processes to scrutiny in an e f f o r t to avoid error, b u t o u r

conclusions at this next level also result, in part, f r o m influences

which we do not control directly. T h e same will be t r u e no m a t t e r

how far we carry the investigation. O u r beliefs are always, ultimately,

d u e to factors outside our control, and the impossibility of e n c o m -

passing those factors w i t h o u t being at the m e r c y of others leads us to

d o u b t w h e t h e r we know anything. It looks as though, if any of o u r

beliefs are true, it is p u r e biological luck rather than knowledge.

450 • Thomas Nagel

M o r a l luck is like this because while t h e r e are various respects in

which t h e natural objects of moral assessment are o u t of o u r control

or influenced by w h a t is o u t of o u r control, we c a n n o t reflect on these

facts w i t h o u t losing o u r grip on t h e judgments.

T h e r e are roughly f o u r ways in which t h e natural objects of m o r a l

assessment are disturbingly subject to luck. O n e is t h e p h e n o m e n o n

of constitutive l u c k — t h e kind of p e r s o n you are, w h e r e this is not

just a question of what you deliberately do, b u t of y o u r inclinations,

capacities, and t e m p e r a m e n t . A n o t h e r category is luck in one's cir-

c u m s t a n c e s — t h e kind of p r o b l e m s and situations o n e faces. T h e

other two have to do with the causes and effects of action: luck in

how o n e is d e t e r m i n e d by a n t e c e d e n t circumstances, and luck in t h

e

way one's actions and projects t u r n out. All of t h e m p r e s e n t a c o m -

m o n p r o b l e m . T h e y are all o p p o s e d by t h e idea that one c a n n o t

be
m o r e culpable or estimable for a n y t h i n g than o n e is f o r that fraction

of it which is u n d e r one's control. It seems irrational to take or dis-

p e n s e credit or blame for m a t t e r s over which a person has no control,

or for t h e i r influence on results over which he has partial control.

Such things may create the conditions for action, b u t action can be

judged only to the extent t h a t it goes beyond these conditions and

does n o t just result f r o m t h e m .

Let us first consider luck, good and bad, in t h e way things t u r n out.

Kant, in t h e a b o v e - q u o t e d passage, has o n e e x a m p l e of this in m i n

d ,

b u t the category covers a wide range. It includes t h e truck driver w h o

accidentally r u n s over a child, t h e artist w h o a b a n d o n s his wife and

five children to devote himself to painting,* and o t h e r cases in which

the possibilities of success and failure are even greater. T h e driver, if

he is entirely w i t h o u t fault, will feel terrible about his role in t h e

event, b u t will not have to r e p r o a c h himself. T h e r e f o r e this e x a m p l

e

' S u c h a case, m o d e l e d on t h e life of G a u g u i n , is discussed by B e r n

a r d Williams in

" M o r a l L u c k , " Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, s u p p l e m e n t a

r y vol. L (1976), 1 1 5 - 3 5

(to w h i c h the original v e r s i o n of this essay was a reply). He p o i n t s o u t

t h a t t h o u g h s u c -
cess or f a i l u r e c a n n o t be p r e d i c t e d in advance, G a u g u i n ' s m o s t
basic r e t r o s p e c t i v e f e e l -

ings a b o u t t h e decision will be d e t e r m i n e d by t h e d e v e l o p m e n t

of his talent. My

d i s a g r e e m e n t with W i l l i a m s is t h a t his a c c o u n t fails to explain

w h y such r e t r o s p e c t i v e

a t t i t u d e s can be called moral. If success does n o t p e r m i t G a u g u i n to

justify h i m s e l f to

o t h e r s , b u t still d e t e r m i n e s his m o s t basic feelings, that shows o n l y

t h a t his m o s t basic

Mortal Ques tions • 44 7

of agent-regret* is not yet a case of moral bad luck. However, if t h e

driver was guilty of even a m i n o r degree of negligence—failing to

have his brakes checked recently,- for e x a m p l e — t h e n if that negli-

g e n c e contributes to the death of the child, he will not merely feel

terrible. He will blame himself for the death. And what makes this an

e x a m p l e of moral luck is that he would have to blame himself only

slightly for the negligence itself if no situation arose which required

h i m to brake suddenly and violently to avoid hitting a child. Yet t h e

negligence is the same in both cases, and t h e driver has no control over

w h e t h e r a child will run into his path.

T h e same is t r u e at h i g h e r levels of negligence. If s o m e o n e has

had too m u c h to drink and his car swerves on to the sidewalk, he can
c o u n t himself morally lucky if there are no pedestrians in its path. If

t h e r e were, he would be to blame for their deaths, and would p r o b a -

bly be prosecuted for manslaughter. But if he hurts no one, although

his recklessness is exactly the same, he is guilty of a far less serious

legal offense and will certainly reproach himself and be r e p r o a c h e d

by others m u c h less severely. To cake a n o t h e r legal example, the

p e n a l t y for attempted m u r d e r is less than t h a t for successful m u r -

d e r — h o w e v e r similar the intentions and motives of the assailant may

be in the two cases. His d e g r e e of culpability can d e p e n d , it would

seem, on whether t h e victim h a p p e n e d to be wearing a b u l l e t - p r o o f

vest, or whether a bird flew into the path of the b u l l e t — m a t t e r s

beyond his control.

Finally, t h e r e are cases of decision u n d e r u n c e r t a i n t y — c o m m o n

in public and in private life. Anna Karenina goes off with Vronsky,

G a u g u i n leaves his family, C h a m b e r l a i n signs t h e M u n i c h agree-

m e n t , the Decembrists p e r s u a d e the troops u n d e r their c o m m a n d to

revolt against the czar, t h e American colonies declare their i n d e -

p e n d e n c e f r o m Britain, you i n t r o d u c e two people in an a t t e m p t at

f e e l i n g s n e e d n o t be moral. It d o e s not show that m o r a l i t y is

subject to luck. If t h e

r e s t r o s p e c t i v e j u d g m e n t w e r e m o r a l , it w o u l d i m p l y t h e t
r u t h of a h y p o t h e t i c a l j u d g
merit m a d e in advance, of the f o r m "If I leave my family and b e c o m e a
great painter, I

will be justified by success; if 1 d o n ' t b e c o m e a great painter, t h e act will

be u n f o r g i v -

able."

' W i l l i a m s ' s t e r m (ibid).

452 • Thomas Nagel

m a t c h - m a k i n g . It is t e m p t i n g in all such cases to feel that s o m e

deci-

sion m u s t be possible, in the light of what is known at the time, which

will make reproach u n s u i t a b l e no m a t t e r how things turn out. But

this is not true; when s o m e o n e acts in such ways he takes his life, or

his moral position, into his hands, because how things t u r n out d e t e r -

mines what he has done. It is possible also to assess the decision f r o m

t h e p o i n t of view of what could be known at the time, b u t this is not

the end of t h e story. If the Decembrists had s u c c e e d e d in o v e r t h r o w -

ing N i c h o l a s I in 1825 and establishing a constitutional regime, they

would be heroes. As it is, not only did they fail and pay for it, but t h e y

bore s o m e responsibility for t h e terrible p u n i s h m e n t s meted o u t to

t h e troops w h o had b e e n p e r s u a d e d to follow them. If the American

Revolution had been a bloody failure resulting in greater repression,

then J e f f e r s o n , Franklin and Washington would still have m a d e a

n o b l e attempt, and m i g h t not even have r e g r e t t e d it on their way to

the scaffold, but they would also have had to blame themselves f o r

what they had helped to bring on their compatriots. (Perhaps p e a c e -

ful efforts at reform would eventually have succeeded.) If H i t l e r had

n o t o v e r r u n E u r o p e and e x t e r m i n a t e d millions, but instead had

died

of a h e a r t attack after o c c u p y i n g the S u d e t e n l a n d , C h a m b e r l a

i n ' s

action at M u n i c h would still have u t t e r l y betrayed the Czechs, b u t it

would not be t h e great moral disaster that has m a d e his n a m e a

household w o r d *

In m a n y cases of difficult choice t h e o u t c o m e c a n n o t be f o r e s e e n

with certainty. O n e kind of assessment of t h e choice is possible in

advance, b u t a n o t h e r kind m u s t await the o u t c o m e , because the out-

c o m e d e t e r m i n e s w h a t has been done. T h e same degree of culpabil-

ity or estimability in intention, motive, or c o n c e r n is compatible with

a wide range of judgments, positive or negative, d e p e n d i n g on w h a t

h a p p e n e d beyond the point of decision. T h e mens rea which could

have existed in the absence of any c o n s e q u e n c e s does not exhaust t h e

g r o u n d s of moral judgment. Actual results influence culpability or

esteem in a large class of u n q u e s t i o n a b l y ethical cases ranging f r o m

n e g l i g e n c e through political choice.

' F o r a fascinating but morally repellent discussion of t h e topic of justification
by his-

tory, see M a u r i c e M e r l e a u - P o n t y , Humanismeet 'femur (Paris:

Gallimard, 1947), trans-

lated as Humanism ant! Terror (Boston- Beacon Press, 1969)

Mortal Ques tions • 44 7

T h a t these are g e n u i n e moral j u d g m e n t s r a t h e r than expressions

of t e m p o r a r y attitude is evident from t h e fact that o n e can say in

advance how the moral verdict will d e p e n d on t h e results. If one n e g -

ligently leaves the hath r u n n i n g with the baby in it, o n e will realize,

as o n e b o u n d s up the stairs toward the b a t h r o o m , that if the baby has

d r o w n e d one has d o n e s o m e t h i n g awful, whereas if it has not o n e has

merely been careless. S o m e o n e who l a u n c h e s a violent revolution

against an authoritarian r e g i m e knows that if he fails he will be

responsible for m u c h s u f f e r i n g that is in vain, but if he succeeds he

will be justified by t h e o u t c o m e . I do not m e a n that any action can be

retroactively justified by history. C e r t a i n things are so bad in t h e m -

selves, or so risky, that no results can make t h e m all right. N e v e r t h e -

less, when moral j u d g m e n t does d e p e n d on the outcome, it is

objective and timeless and n o t d e p e n d e n t on a change of s t a n d p o i n t

p r o d u c e d by success or failure. T h e j u d g m e n t after the fact follows

f r o m an hypothetical j u d g m e n t that can be m a d e beforehand, and it

can be m a d e as easily by s o m e o n e else as by the agent.

From the point of view which makes responsibility d e p e n d e n t on

control, all this seems absurd. I-Iow is it possible to be m o r e or less

culpable d e p e n d i n g on w h e t h e r a child gets into the path of one's car,

or a bird into the path of one's bullet? P e r h a p s it is t r u e that w h a t is

d o n e d e p e n d s on m o r e than t h e agent's state of m i n d or intention.

T h e p r o b l e m then is, why is it not irrational to base moral assessment

on what people do, in this broad sense? It a m o u n t s to holding t h e m

responsible for the c o n t r i b u t i o n s of fate as well as for their o w n —

provided they have m a d e s o m e contribution to begin with If we look

at cases of negligence or attempt, the p a t t e r n s e e m s to be that over-

all culpability corresponds to the p r o d u c t of mental or intentional

fault and the seriousness of t h e outcome. Cases of decision u n d e r

u n c e r t a i n t y are less easily explained in this way, for it seems that t h e

overall j u d g m e n t can even shift f r o m positive to negative d e p e n d i n g

on t h e outcome. But h e r e too it seems rational to subtract the effects

of o c c u r r e n c e s s u b s e q u e n t to t h e choice, that were merely possible

at

the time, and c o n c e n t r a t e moral assessment on the actual decision in

light of the probabilities. If the object of moral j u d g m e n t is th <z person,

t h e n to hold him accountable for what he has d o n e in the b r o a d e r

sense is akin to strict liability, which may have its legal uses b u t seems

irrational as a moral position.

454 • Thomas Nagel

T h e result of such a line of t h o u g h t is to p a r e down each act to its

morally essential core, an i n n e r act of p u r e will assessed by motive

and intention. A d a m Smith advocates such a position in The Theory of

Amoral Sentiments, b u t notes t h a t it r u n s c o n t r a r y to o u r actual judg-

ments.

Rut how well soever we may seem to be persuaded of the

truth of this equitable maxim, when we consider it after

this manner, in abstract, yet when we c o m e to particular

cases, the actual consequences which happen to proceed

from any action, have a very great effect upon our senti-

ments concerning its merit or demerit, and almost always

either enhance or diminish our sense of both. Scarce, in any

one instance, perhaps, will our sentiments be found, after

examination, to be entirely regulated by this rule, which we

all acknowledge ought entirely to regulate them.

J o e l Feinberg points o u t f u r t h e r that restricting the domain of moral

responsibility to the i n n e r world will n o t i m m u n i z e it to luck. Factors

beyond t h e agent's control, like a coughing fit, can interfere with his
decisions as surely as t h e y can with the path of a bullet f r o m his gun.

N e v e r t h e l e s s the t e n d e n c y to cut down the s c o p e of moral assess-

m e n t is pervasive, and does n o t limit itself to t h e influence of effects.

Tt a t t e m p t s to isolate t h e will f r o m the o t h e r direction, so to speak, by

s e p a r a t i n g o u t constitutive luck: L e t us consider that next.

Kant was particularly insistent on the moral irrelevance of quali-

ties of t e m p e r a m e n t and p e r s o n a l i t y that are n o t u n d e r the

control of

the will. Such qualities as s y m p a t h y or coldness might provide t h e

b a c k g r o u n d against w h i c h o b e d i e n c e to moral r e q u i r e m e n t s
is m o r e

or less difficult, b u t they could not be objects of moral assessment

themselves, and might well i n t e r f e r e with confident assessment of its

p r o p e r o b j e c t — t h e d e t e r m i n a t i o n of t h e will by the motive of

duty.

T h i s rules o u t moral j u d g m e n t of m a n y of the virtues and vices,

which are states of c h a r a c t e r that influence choice but are certainly

not e x h a u s t e d by dispositions to act deliberately in certain ways. A

person may be greedy, envious, cowardly, cold, u n g e n e r o u s , u n k i n d ,

vain, or conceited, b u t behave perfectly by a m o n u m e n t a l effort of

Mortal Ques tions • 44 7

will. To possess these vices is to be unable to help having certain

feelings u n d e r certain circumstances, and to have strong s p o n t a -

neous impulses to act badly. Even if one controls the impulses, o n e

still has the vice. An envious person hates the greater success of

others. He can be morally c o n d e m n e d as envious even if he c o n g r a t -

ulates them cordially and does nothing to d e n i g r a t e or spoil their

success. Conceit, likewise, need not be displayed. It is fully p r e s e n t in

s o m e o n e who cannot help dwelling with secret satisfaction on t h e

s u p e r i o r i t y of his own achievements, talents, beauty, intelligence, or

virtue. To s o m e extent such a quality may be t h e p r o d u c t of earlier

choices; to s o m e extent it may be a m e n a b l e to change by c u r r e n t

actions. But it is largely a matter of constitutive bad fortune. Yet

p e o p l e are morally c o n d e m n e d for such qualities, and e s t e e m e d for

o t h e r s equally beyond control of the will: they are assessed for w h a t

they are like.

To Kant this seems incoherent because v i r t u e is enjoined on

everyone and t h e r e f o r e must in principle be possible for everyone. It

may be easier for s o m e than for others, b u t it must be possible to

achieve it by m a k i n g t h e right choices, against whatever t e m p e r a -

m e n t a l b a c k g r o u n d * O n e may want to have a generous spirit, or

regret not having one, but it makes no sense to c o n d e m n oneself or

anyone else for a quality which is not within the control of the will.
C o n d e m n a t i o n implies that you should not be like that, n o t that it is

u n f o r t u n a t e that you are.

Nevertheless, Kant's conclusion remains intuitively u n a c c e p t a b l e .

We may be p e r s u a d e d that these moral j u d g m e n t s are irrational, but

they r e a p p e a r involuntarily as soon as the a r g u m e n t is over. T h i s is

the p a t t e r n t h r o u g h o u t the subject.

T h e third category to consider is luck in one's circumstances, and

I shall m e n t i o n it briefly. T h e things we are called u p o n to do, the

*"If n a t u r e has p u t little s y m p a t h y in t h e heart of a m a n , and if he, t h

o u g h an h o n e s t

m a n , is by t e m p e r a m e n t cold and i n d i f f e r e n t to t h e s u f f e r i n g
s of others, p e r h a p s

b e c a u s e he is p r o v i d e d with s p e c i a l gifts of p a t i e n c e and f o r t i

t u d e and expects or even

r e q u i t e s t h a t o t h e r s s h o u l d have t h e s a m e — a n d such a m a n w
o u l d certainly n o t be t h e

m e a n e s t p r o d u c t of n a t u r e — w o u l d n o t he find in h i m s e l f a s
o u r c e f r o m which to give

h i m s e l f a f a r h i g h e r w o r t h t h a n he could have got by h a v i n g a g o

o d - n a t u r e d t e m p e r a -

m e n t ? " (Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, first section, e l e v e n t

h p a r a g r a p h ) .

456 • Thomas Nagel

m o r a l tests we face, are i m p o r t a n t l y d e t e r m i n e d by factors beyond

o u r control. It may be t r u e of s o m e o n e that in a dangerous situation

he would behave in a cowardly or heroic fashion, but if the situation

never arises, he will never have the chance to distinguish or disgrace

himself in this way, and his moral record will be different.'*

A conspicuous e x a m p l e of this is political. O r d i n a r y citizens of

N a z i G e r m a n y had an o p p o r t u n i t y to behave heroically by o p p o s i

n g

the regime. T h e y also had an o p p o r t u n i t y to behave badly, and m o s t

of t h e m are culpable for h a v i n g failed this test. But it is a test to

which the citizens of o t h e r countries w e r e not subjected, with the

result that even if they, or s o m e of them, would have behaved as

badly as the G e r m a n s in like circumstances, they simply did not and

t h e r e f o r e are not similarly culpable. H e r e again one is morally at the

m e r c y of fate, and it may seem irrational u p o n reflection, b u t o u r

o r d i n a r y moral attitudes would be u n r e c o g n i z a b l e w i t h o u t it. We

judge p e o p l e f o r what they actually do or fail to do, not just for what

t h e y would have d o n e if circumstances had been different.1

T h i s f o r m of moral d e t e r m i n a t i o n by the actual is also p a r a d o x i -

cal, h u t we can begin to see how d e e p in t h e c o n c e p t of responsibil-

ity the p a r a d o x is e m b e d d e d . A person can be morally responsible

only f o r what he does; but w h a t he does results f r o m a great deal that

he does n o t do; t h e r e f o r e he is not morally responsible for w h a t he is

*Cf. Thomas Gray, "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard".

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

An unusual example of circumstantial moral luck is provided by the kind of

moral

dilemma with which someone can be faced through 110 fault of his own, but
which

leaves him with nothing to do which is not wrong. See chapter5; and Bernard
Williams,

"Ethical Consistency," Proceeding. R of the Aristotelian Society, supplementary

vol. XXXIX

(J965), reprinted in Problems of the . ^ ( C a m b r i d g e : Cambridge

University Press, 1973),

pp. 166-86.

^Circumstantial luck can extend to aspects of the situation other than individual
behav-

ior. For example, during the Vietnam War even US. citizens who had opposed
their

country's actions vigorously from the start often felt compromised hy its crimes.
H e r e

they were not even responsible; there was probably nothing they could do to stop
what

was happening, so the feeling of being implicated may seem unintelligible. But it
is

nearly impossible to view the crimes of one's own country in the same way that
one

views the crimes of another country, no matter how equal one's lack of power to
stop

them in the two cases O n e ts a citizen of one of them, and has a connexion with
its

Mortal Ques tions • 44 7

and is not responsible for. (This is not a contradiction, but it is a par-

adox.)

It should be obvious that there is a c o n n e c t i o n between t h e s e

p r o b l e m s about responsibility and control and an even m o r e familiar

p r o b l e m , that of f r e e d o m of the will. T h a t is the last type of moral

luck I want to take up, t h o u g h 1 can do no m o r e within the scope of

this essay than indicate its connection with the o t h e r types.

If o n e cannot be responsible for consequences of one's acts d u e to

factors beyond one's control, or for antecedents of one's acts that are

p r o p e r t i e s of t e m p e r a m e n t noc subject to one's will, or for the cir-

cumstances that pose one's moral choices, then how can one be

responsible even for t h e s t r i p p e d - d o w n acts of the will itself, if they

are the p r o d u c t of a n t e c e d e n t circumstances outside of the will's

control?

T h e area of g e n u i n e agency, and t h e r e f o r e of legitimate moral

j u d g m e n t , seems to shrink u n d e r this s c r u t i n y to an extensionless

point. E v e r y t h i n g seems to result f r o m the c o m b i n e d influence of

factors, antecedent and posterior to action, that are not within t h e

agent's control. Since he cannot be responsible for them, he c a n n o t

be responsible for their r e s u l t s — t h o u g h it may remain possible to

take up the aesthetic or o t h e r evaluative analogues of the moral atti-

t u d e s t h a t are thus displaced.

It is also possible, of course, to brazen it o u t and refuse to accept

the results, which i n d e e d seem u n a c c e p t a b l e as soon as we stop

t h i n k i n g about the arguments. Admittedly, if certain s u r r o u n d i n g

circumstances had been different, then no u n f o r t u n a t e consequences

would have followed f r o m a wicked intention, and no seriously cul-

pable act would have been performed; b u t since the circumstances

w e r e not different, and the agent in fact s u c c e e d e d in p e r p e t r a t i n g

a

particularly cruel m u r d e r , that is what he did, and that is what he is

responsible for. Similarly, we may admit t h a t if certain a n t e c e d e n t

circumstances had been different, the agent would never have devel-

oped into the sort of person w h o would do such a thing; but since he

did develop (as t h e inevitable result of those a n t e c e d e n t c i r c u m -

actions (even if only through taxes that cannot be withheld)—that one dries not
have

with the other's. This makes it possible to be ashamed of one's country, and to
feel a vic-

tim of moral bad luck that one was an American in the 1960s.

458 • Thomas Nagel

stances) into the sort of swine he is, and into t h e person who c o m -

mitted such a murder, that is what he is b l a m e a b l e for. In both cases

one is responsible for what one actually d o e s — e v e n if what one

actually does d e p e n d s in i m p o r t a n t ways on what is not within one's

control. T h i s compatibilist account of o u r moral j u d g m e n t s would

leave room for t h e ordinary conditions of r e s p o n s i b i l i t y — t h e

absence of coercion, ignorance, or involuntary m o v e m e n t — a s part

of the d e t e r m i n a t i o n of what s o m e o n e has d o n e — b u t it is u n d e

r -

stood not to exclude the influence of a great deal that he has not

d o n e *

T h e only thing w r o n g with this solution is its failure to explain

how skeptical p r o b l e m s arise. For they arise not from the imposition

of an arbitrary external r e q u i r e m e n t , but from the n a t u r e of m o r a l

j u d g m e n t itself. S o m e t h i n g in the ordinary idea of what s o m e o n e

does m u s t explain how it can seem necessary to subtract f r o m it

a n y t h i n g that m e r e l y h a p p e n s — e v e n though the ultimate c o n s e

-

q u e n c e of such subtraction is that nothing remains. And s o m e t h i n g

in the o r d i n a r y idea of knowledge m u s t explain why it seems to

be u n d e r m i n e d by any influences on belief not within the control

of the s u b j e c t — s o that knowledge seems impossible w i t h o u t an

impossible f o u n d a t i o n in a u t o n o m o u s reason But let us leave

e p i s t e m o l o g y aside and c o n c e n t r a t e on action, character, and moral

assessment.

T h e p r o b l e m arises, I believe, because the self which acts and is

the object of moral j u d g m e n t is threatened with dissolution by the

absorption of its acts and impulses into the class of events. M o r a l

j u d g m e n t of a person is j u d g m e n t not of what happens to him, but of

him. It does not say merely that a certain event or state of affairs is

f o r t u n a t e or u n f o r t u n a t e or even terrible. It is not an evaluation of a

state of the world, or of an individual as part of the world. We are not

thinking just that it would be better if he w e r e different, or did not

" T h e corresponding position in epistemology would be that knowledge

consists of true

beliefs formed in certain ways, and that it does not require all aspects of the
process to

be u n d e r the knower's control, actually or potentially. Both the correctness of

these

beliefs and the process by which they are arrived at would therefore be
importantly

subject to luck. T h e N o b e l Prize is not awarded ro people who tui n out to be

wrong, no

matter how brilliant their reasoning

Mortal Ques tions • 44 7

exist, or had not d o n e s o m e of t h e things he has done. We are judging

him, r a t h e r than his existence or characteristics. T h e effect of con-

centrating on the i n f l u e n c e of what is not u n d e r his control is to make

this responsible self seem to disappear, swallowed up by the o r d e r of

m e r e events.

W h a t , however, do we have in mind rhat a person must be to be t h e

object of these moral attitudes? W h i l e t h e c o n c e p t of agency is easily

u n d e r m i n e d , it is very difficult to give it a positive characterization.

T h a t is familiar f r o m t h e literature on F r e e Will.

T believe that in a sense the problem has no solution, because

s o m e t h i n g in the idea of agency is i n c o m p a t i b l e with actions being

events, or p e o p l e being things. But as t h e external d e t e r m i n a n t s of

what s o m e o n e has d o n e are gradually exposed, in their effect on

consequences, character, and choice itself, it b e c o m e s gradually clear

that actions are events and people things. Eventually n o t h i n g

remains which can be ascribed to the responsible self, and we are left

with n o t h i n g but a p o r t i o n of the larger s e q u e n c e of events, which

can be d e p l o r e d or celebrated, but not blamed or praised.

T h o u g h 1 cannot define the idea of t h e active self t h a t is thus

u n d e r m i n e d , it is possible to say s o m e t h i n g about its sources. T h e r

e

is a close connexion between o u r feelings a b o u t ourselves and o u r

feelings about others. G u i l t and indignation, shame and c o n t e m p t ,

p r i d e and admiration are internal and external sides of the same

moral attitudes. We are u n a b l e to view ourselves simply as p o r t i o n s

of t h e world, and f r o m inside we have a r o u g h idea of t h e b o u n d a r y

b e t w e e n what is us and what is not, what we do and what h a p p e n s

to us, what is our personality and what is an accidental handicap.

We apply the same essentially internal c o n c e p t i o n of the self to

others. About ourselves we fee! pride, shame, guilt, r e m o r s e — a n d

agent-regret. We do not regard o u r actions and o u r characters

merely as f o r t u n a t e or u n f o r t u n a t e e p i s o d e s — t h o u g h they
may also

be that. We cannot simply take an external evaluative view of

o u r s e l v e s — o f what we most essentially are and what we do. And this

remains t r u e even w h e n we have seen that we are not r e s p o n -

sible f o r o u r own existence, or o u r nature, or t h e choices we have to

make, or t h e circumstances that give o u r acts the consequences

they have. T h o s e acts remain ours and we r e m a i n ourselves, despite

460 • Thomas Nagel

the persuasiveness of the reasons that seem to a r g u e us out of

existence.

It is this internal view that we extend to others in moral judg-

m e n t — w h e n we judge them r a t h e r than their desirability or utility.

We extend to others the refusal to limit ourselves to external evalua-

tion, and we accord to t h e m selves like our own. But in both cases this

comes up against the b r u t a l inclusion of h u m a n s and e v e r y t h i n g

a b o u t t h e m in a world f r o m which they c a n n o t be separated and of

which they are n o t h i n g but contents. T h e external view forces itself

on us at the same t i m e that we resist it. O n e way this occurs is

t h r o u g h the gradual erosion of what we do by the subtraction of w h a t

h a p p e n s *

T h e inclusion of c o n s e q u e n c e s in the c o n c e p t i o n of what we have

d o n e is an a c k n o w l e d g m e n t that we are parts of t h e world, b u t t h e

paradoxical character of moral luck which e m e r g e s from this

a c k n o w l e d g m e n t shows that we are u n a b l e to o p e r a t e with such a

view, f o r it leaves us with no o n e to be. T h e same thing is revealed in

the a p p e a r a n c e t h a t d e t e r m i n i s m obliterates responsibility. O n c e

we

see an aspect of w h a t we or s o m e o n e else does as s o m e t h i n g t h a t h a

p -

pens, we lose o u r grip on t h e idea that it has been d o n e and that we

can judge the d o e r and not just the h a p p e n i n g . T h i s explains why t h e

absence of d e t e r m i n i s m is no m o r e hospitable to the c o n c e p t of

agency than is its p r e s e n c e — a point that has been noticed often.

E i t h e r way the act is viewed externally, as part of the course of

events.

T h e p r o b l e m of moral luck cannot be u n d e r s t o o d w i t h o u t an

a c c o u n t of the internal c o n c e p t i o n of agency and its special c o n n e c -

tion with the moral attitudes as opposed to o t h e r types of value. I do

not have such an account. T h e d e g r e e to which the p r o b l e m has a

solution can he d e t e r m i n e d only by seeing w h e t h e r in s o m e d e g r e e

the incompatibility b e t w e e n this c o n c e p t i o n and the various ways in

which we do not control what we do is only apparent. I have n o t h i n g

to offer on that topic either. But it is not e n o u g h to say m e r e l y that

' S e e P. F. Strawson's discussion of t h e conflict b e t w e e n t h e objective a t t

i t u d e a n d p e r -

sonal reactive attitudes in " F r e e d o m and R e s e n t m e n t , " Proceedings

of the British Academy,

1962, r e p r i n t e d in Studies in the Philosophy of Thought and Action, ed. P.

F. S t i a w s o n ( L o n -

d o n : O x f o r d University Press, 1968), and in P. F. S t r a w s o n , Freedom

and Resentment and

Other Essays ( L o n d o n : M e t b u e n , 1974).

Mortal Questions • 461

our basic moral attitudes toward ourselves and others are d e t e r -

m i n e d by what is actual; for they are also t h r e a t e n e d by the sources

of t h a t actuality, and by the externa! view of action which forces

itself on us when we see how everything we do belongs to a world

that we have not created.

CHAPTER 23

SUSAN W O L F

W h a t is so good ahout being a moral saint? N o t much, says Susan

Wolf, professor of philosophy at the University of N o r t h Carolina,

Chapel Hill. Wolf divides moral saints into two kinds: the loving

ones, for whom happiness abides in making others happy, and the

rational saints who, out of a sense of duty, sacrifice their happiness

for the happiness of others. According to Wolf, commitment to moral

perfection prevents these super-earnest souls from cultivating n o n -

moral talents such as cooking or tennis skills. In Wolf's judgment,

moral paragons would be one-dimensional bores, and that, she

believes, exhibits something crucial about the limitations of purely

moral ideals

M O R A L SAINTS*

I don't know whether there are any moral saints. But if there are, I am

glad that neither I nor those about whom I care most are among
them. By moral saint I mean a person whose every action is as

morally good as possible, a person, that is, who is as morally worthy

as can be. T h o u g h I shall in a moment acknowledge the variety of

types of person that might be thought to satisfy this description, it

seems to me that n o n e of these types serve as unequivocally com-

pelling personal ideals. In other words, 1 believe that moral perfec-

tion, in the sense of moral saintliness, does not constitute a model of

personal well-being toward which it would be particularly rational

or good or desirable for a h u m a n being to strive.

Outside the context of moral discussion, this will strike many as

an obvious point. But, within that context, the point, if it be granted,

will be granted with some discomfort. For within that context it is

generally assumed that one ought to be as morally good as possible

and that what limits t h e r e are to morality's hold on us are set by fea-

tures of human nature of which we ought not to be proud. If, as I

believe, the ideals that are derivable from common sense and pbilo-

*J have benefited f r o m the c o m m e n t s of many people who have heard or

read an earlier

draft of this paper. I wish particularly to thank Douglas MacLean, Robert

Nozick,

M a r t h a N u s s b a u m , and t h e Society for Ethics and Legal Philosophy.

464 • Susan Wolf

sopbically p o p u l a r m o r a l theories d o n o t s u p p o r t t h e s e
assumptions,

then s o m e t h i n g has to change. E i t h e r we must c h a n g e our moral t h e

-

ories in ways that will make t h e m yield m o r e palatable ideals, or, as T

shall argue, we m u s t change our c o n c e p t i o n of what is involved in

affirming a moral theory.

In this paper, I wish to e x a m i n e t h e notion of a moral saint, first, to

u n d e r s t a n d what a m o r a l saint would be like and w h y such a being

would be unattractive, and, second, to raise s o m e questions about t h e

significance of this paradoxical figure for moral philosophy. 1 shall

look first at the model(s) of moral sainthood that might be e x t r a p o -

lated f r o m the m o r a l i t y or moralities of c o m m o n sense. T h e n I shall

consider w h a t relations these have to conclusions t h a t can be d r a w n

f r o m utilitarian and Kantian moral theories. Finally, I shall speculate

on the implications of these considerations for moral philosophy.

M O R A L SAINTS A N D C O M M O N SENSE

C o n s i d e r first what, pretheoretically, would c o u n t for u s — c o n t e m -

p o r a r y m e m b e r s of Western c u l t u r e — a s a moral saint. A necessary

condition of moral sainthood would be that one's life be d o m i n a t e d

by a c o m m i t m e n t to i m p r o v i n g t h e welfare of others or of society as

a whole. As to what role this c o m m i t m e n t m u s t play in t h e individ-

ual's motivational system, two contrasting accounts suggest t h e m -

selves to me which might equally be t h o u g h t to qualify a p e r s o n f o r

moral sainthood.

First, a moral saint might be s o m e o n e whose concern for o t h e r s

plays t h e role that is played in most of o u r lives by m o r e selfish, or, at

any rate, less morally w o r t h y concerns. For t h e moral saint, t h e p r o -

m o t i o n of t h e welfare of o t h e r s might play t h e role that is played for

most of us by the e n j o y m e n t of material comforts, t h e o p p o r t u n i t y to

engage in t h e intellectual and physical activities of o u r choice, and

t h e love, respect, and c o m p a n i o n s h i p of p e o p l e w h o m we love,

respect, and enjoy. T h e h a p p i n e s s of the m o r a l saint, then, would

truly lie in the happiness of others, and so he would d e v o t e himself

to o t h e r s gladly, and with a whole and o p e n heart.

On t h e o t h e r hand, a moral saint might be s o m e o n e for w h o m t h e

Moral Saints • 465

basic ingredients of happiness are not unlike t h o s e of most of the rest

of us. W h a t makes him a moral saint is r a t h e r that he pays little or no

attention to his own happiness in light of the overriding i m p o r t a n c e

he gives to the w i d e r c o n c e r n s of morality. In other words, this p e r -

son sacrifices his own interests to t h e interests of others, and feels t h e

sacrifice as such.
Roughly, these two models may be distinguished according to

w h e t h e r one thinks of t h e moral saint as b e i n g a saint out of love or

one thinks of the moral saint as being a saint out of d u t y (or some

other intellectual appreciation and recognition of moral principles).

We may refer to t h e first m o d e l as the m o d e l of the Loving Saint; to

t h e second, as the m o d e l of t h e Rational Saint.

T h e two models differ considerably with respect to the qualities

of t h e motives of t h e individuals who c o n f o r m to them. But this dif-

f e r e n c e would have limited effect on the saints' respective public

personalities. T h e shared c o n t e n t of what t h e s e individuals are m o t i -

vated to b e — n a m e l y , as morally good as possible—would piay the

d o m i n a n t role in t h e d e t e r m i n a t i o n of their characters: Of course,

just as a variety of large-scale projects, f r o m t e n d i n g the sick to polit-

ical campaigning, may be equally and maximally morally worthy, so

a variety of c h a r a c t e r s are compatible with the ideal of moral

sainthood. O n e moral saint may be m o r e or less jovial, m o r e or

less garrulous, m o r e or less athletic than another. But, above all, a

moral saint must have and cultivate those qualities which are apt to

allow him to treat o t h e r s as justly and kindly as possible. He will

have t h e standard moral virtues to a n o n s t a n d a r d degree. He will

be patient, considerate, e v e n - t e m p e r e d , hospitable, charitable in

t h o u g h t as well as in deed. He will be very r e l u c t a n t to make negative

j u d g m e n t s of o t h e r people. He will be careful not to favor s o m e

p e o p l e over others on the basis of p r o p e r t i e s they could not help b u t

have.

P e r h a p s what I have already said is e n o u g h to make some p e o p l e

begin to regard t h e absence of moral saints in their lives as a blessing.

For t h e r e comes a point in t h e listing of virtues that a moral saint is

likely to have w h e r e o n e m i g h t naturally begin to w o n d e r w h e t h e r

t h e moral saint isn't, after all, too g o o d — i f n o t too good for his own

good, at least too good for his own well-being. For t h e moral virtues,

given that they are, by hypothesis, all p r e s e n t in t h e same individual,

466 • Susan Wolf

and to an e x t r e m e degree, are apt to crowd o u t the n o n m o r a ] virtues,

as well as m a n y of the interests and personal characteristics that we

generally think c o n t r i b u t e to a healthy, well-rounded, richly devel-

oped character.

In o t h e r words, if t h e moral saint is devoting all his time to f e e d -

ing t h e h u n g r y or healing the sick or raising m o n e y for Oxfam, then

necessarily he is not reading Victorian novels, playing the oboe, or

i m p r o v i n g his backhand. Although no one of the interests or tastes in

t h e category c o n t a i n i n g t h e s e latter activities could be claimed to be

a necessary e l e m e n t in a life well lived, a life in which none of t h e s e

possible aspects of character are developed may seem to be a life

strangely barren.

T h e reasons why a moral saint cannot, in general, encourage t h e

discovery and d e v e l o p m e n t of significant n o n m o r a l interests and

skills are not logical but practical reasons. T h e r e are, in addition, a

class of n o n m o r a l characteristics that a moral saint cannot encourage

in himself for reasons that are not just practical. T h e r e is a more sub-

stantial tension between having any of these qualities u n a s h a m e d l y

and being a moral saint. T h e s e qualities might be described as going

against t h e moral grain. For example, a cynical or sarcastic wit, or a

sense of h u m o r that appreciates this kind of wit in others, requires

that one take an attitude of resignation and pessimism toward t h e

flaws and vices to be found in the world. A moral saint, on the o t h e r

hand, has reason to take an attitude in opposition to this—he should

try to look for the best in people, give them the benefit of the d o u b t

as long as possible, try to improve regrettable situations as long as

t h e r e is any h o p e of success. T h i s suggests that, although a moral

saint m i g h t well enjoy a good episode of Father Knows Best, he may not

in good conscience be able to laugh at a M a r x Brothers movie or

enjoy a play by G e o r g e Bernard Shaw.

An interest in something like g o u r m e t cooking will be, for differ-

ent reasons, difficult for a moral saint to rest easy with. For it seems

to me that no plausible argument can justify the use of h u m a n

resources involved in producing a pate de canard en croute against pos-

sible alternative beneficent ends to which these resources might be

put. If t h e r e is a justification for the institution of haute cuisine, it is

o n e which rests on the decision not to justify every activity against

Moral Saints • 476

morally beneficial alternatives, and this is a decision a moral saint

will never make. Presumably, an interest in high fashion or interior

design will fare m u c h t h e same, as will, very possibly, a cultivation of

the finer arts as well.

A moral saint will have to be very, very nice. It is i m p o r t a n t that he

not be offensive. T h e w o r r y is that, as a result, he will have to be dull-

witted or humorless or bland.

This worry is confirmed when we consider what sorts of characters,

taken and refined both from life and from fiction, typically form o u r

ideals. O n e would h o p e they would be figures who are morally g o o d —

and by this I mean m o r e than just not morally b a d — b u t one would

hope, too, that they are not just morally good, but talented or accom-

plished or attractive in n o n m o r a l ways as well. We may make ideals out

of athletes, scholars, artists—more frivolously, out of cowboys, private

eyes, and rock stars. We may strive for Katharine H e p b u r n ' s grace, Paul

N e w m a n ' s "cool"; we are attracted to the high-spirited passionate

nature of Natasha Rostov; we admire the keen perceptiveness of L a m -

bert Strether. T h o u g h there is certainly nothing immoral about the

ideal characters or traits I have in mind, they cannot be superimposed

upon the ideal of a moral saint. For although it is a part of m a n y of

these ideals that the characters set high, and not merely acceptable,

moral standards for themselves, it is also essential to their power and

attractiveness that the moral strengths go, so to speak, alongside of spe-

cific, independently admirable, nonmoral ground projects and d o m i -

nant personal traits.

W h e n one does finally turn one's eyes toward lives that are d o m i -

nated by explicitly moral c o m m i t m e n t s , moreover, o n e finds oneself

relieved at the discovery of idiosyncrasies or eccentricities not q u i t e

in line with the p i c t u r e of moral perfection. O n e prefers the blunt,

tactless, and opinionated Betsy T r o t w o o d to t h e unfailingly kind and

patient Agnes Copperfield; o n e prefers the mischievousness and t h e

sense of irony in C h e s t e r t o n ' s Father Brown to t h e i n n o c e n c e and

undiscriminating love of St. Francis.

It seems that, as we look in o u r ideals f o r p e o p l e who achieve n o n -

moral varieties of personal excellence in c o n j u n c t i o n with or colored

by some version of high moral tone, we look in o u r paragons of moral

excellence for p e o p l e whose moral achievements occur in c o n j u n c -

46S Susan Wolf

d o n with or colored by some interests or traits- that have low moral

tone. In o t h e r words, t h e r e seems to be a limit to how m u c h morality

we can stand.

O n e might suspect that the essence of the problem is simply that

there is a limit to how much of any single value, or any single type of

value, we can stand. O u r objection then would not be specific to a life in

which one's dominant concern is morality, but would apply to any life

that can be so completely characterized by an extraordinarily d o m i n a n t

concern. T h e objection in that case would reduce to the recognition

that such a life is incompatible with well-roundedness. If that were the

objection, one could fairly reply that well-roundedness is no m o r e

s u p r e m e a virtue than the totality of moral virtues embodied by the

ideal it is being used to criticize. But I think this misidentifies the objec-

tion. For the way in which a concern for morality may dominate a life,

or, m o r e to the point, the way in which it may dominate an ideal of life'

is not easily imagined by analogy to the d o m i n a n c e an aspiration to

b e c o m e an Olympic swimmer or a concert pianist might have.

A p e r s o n who is passionately c o m m i t t e d to o n e of these latter

c o n c e r n s m i g h t d e c i d e that h e r a t t a c h m e n t to it is s t r o n g e n
o u g h to

be w o r t h t h e sacrifice of h e r ability to maintain and p u r s u e a signifi-

cant p o r t i o n of what else life m i g h t offer which a p r o p e r devotion to

her d o m i n a n t passion would require. But a desire to be as morally

good as possible is n o t likely to take the f o r m of o n e desire a m o n g

o t h e r s which, because of its peculiar psychological strength, requires

one to forego the p u r s u i t of o t h e r weaker and separately less

d e m a n d i n g desires. Rather, the desire to be as morally good as pos-

sible is apt to have t h e c h a r a c t e r n o t j u s t o f a stronger, hut of a h i g h e

r

desire, which does n o t m e r e l y successfully c o m p e t e with one's o t h e r

desires b u t which r a t h e r s u b s u m e s or d e m o t e s t h e m . T h e
sacrifice of

o t h e r interests for the interest in morality, then, will have t h e c h a r a c -

ter, not of a choice, b u t of an imperative.

Moreover, t h e r e is s o m e t h i n g odd about the idea of m o r a l i t y itself,

or moral goodness, s e r v i n g as the object of a d o m i n a n t passion in t h e

way that a m o r e c o n c r e t e and specific vision of a goal (even a c o n -

c r e t e moral goal) might be imagined to serve. M o r a l i t y itself does n o t

seem to be a suitable object of passion. T h u s , when one reflects, for

example, on t h e Loving Saint easily and gladly giving up his fishing

trip or his stereo or his h o t f u d g e s u n d a e at the d r o p of the moral hat,

Moral Saints • 469

one is apt to w o n d e r not at how much he loves morality, but at how

little he loves these o t h e r things. O n e thinks that, if he can give t h e s e

up so easily, he does not know what it is to truly love them. T h e r e

seems, in other words, to be a kind of joy which t h e Loving Saint,

either by n a t u r e or by practice, is incapable of experiencing. T h e

Rational Saint, on t h e other hand, might retain strong n o n m o r a l and

c o n c r e t e d e s i r e s — h e simply denies himself the o p p o r t u n i t y to

act

on them. But this is no less troubling. T h e Loving Saint one might

suspect of missing a p i e c e of perceptual machinery, of being blind to

some of what the world has to offer. T h e Rational Saint, who sees it

but foregoes it, one suspects of having a d i f f e r e n t p r o b l e m — a p a t h o

-

logical fear of damnation, perhaps, or an e x t r e m e form of self-hatred

that interferes with his ability to enjoy the enjoyable in life.

In other words, the ideal of a life of m o r a l sainthood disturbs n o t

simply because it is an ideal of a life in which morality u n d u l y d o m -

inates. T h e n o r m a l person's direct and specific desires for objects,

activities, and events that conflict with t h e a t t a i n m e n t of moral p e r -

fection are not simply sacrificed but removed, suppressed, or s u b -

sumed. T h e way in which morality, unlike o t h e r possible goals, is apt

to d o m i n a t e is particularly disturbing, for it s e e m s to require e i t h e r

t h e lack or the denial of the existence of an identifiable, personal self.

T h i s distinctively t r o u b l i n g feature is not, I think, absolutely

u n i q u e to the ideal of the moral saint, as I have been using that

phrase. It is shared by t h e conception of the p u r e aesthete, by a cer-

tain kind of religious ideal, and, somewhat paradoxically, by t h e

model of the thorough-going, self-conscious egoist. It is not a coinci-

d e n c e t h a t the ways of c o m p r e h e n d i n g the world of which t h e s e

ideals are the e x t r e m e e m b o d i m e n t s are s o m e t i m e s described as

"moralities" themselves. At any rate, they c o m p e t e with what we

ordinarily mean by "morality." N o r is it a coincidence that these

ideals are naturally described as fanatical. But it is easy to see that

these other types of perfection cannot serve as satisfactory personal

ideals; for the realization of these ideals would be straightforwardly

immoral. It may c o m e as a surprise to s o m e t h a t t h e r e may in addi-

tion be such a t h i n g as a moral fanatic.

S o m e will object that I am being unfair to " c o m m o n - s e n s e m o r a l -

i t y " — t h a t it does not really require a moral saint to be either a dis-

g u s t i n g goody-goody or an obsessive ascetic. Admittedly, t h e r e is no

470 • Susan Wolf

logical inconsistency b e t w e e n h a v i n g any of t h e personal c h a r a c t e r

-

istics I have m e n t i o n e d and being a moral s a i n t It is n o t m o r a l l y

w r o n g to notice the faults and shortcomings of o t h e r s or to recognize

and appreciate n o n m o r a l talents and skills. N o r is it immoral to be an

avid Celtics fan or to have a passion for caviar or to be an excellent

cellist. With enough imagination, we can always contrive a suitable

history and set of circumstances t h a t will e m b r a c e such characteris-

tics in o n e or a n o t h e r specific fictional story of a perfect moral saint.

If one t u r n e d onto the path of moral sainthood relatively late in

life, o n e m a y have already developed interests t h a t can be t u r n e d to

moral purposes. It may be that a good golf game is just what is n e e d e d

to s e c u r e that big donation to O x f a m Perhaps the cultivation of one's

exceptional artistic talent will turn out to be the way one can make

one's greatest contribution to society. F u r t h e r m o r e , one might

s t u m b l e u p o n joys and skills in t h e very service of morality. If, because

the children are short a ninth player for t h e team, one's generous offer

to serve reveals a natural fielding arm or if one's part in the campaign

against n u c l e a r power requires accepting a lobbyist's, invitation to

lunch at Le Lion d'Or, t h e r e is no moral gain in d e n y i n g the satisfac-

tion o n e gets from these activities. T h e moral saint, then, may, by

h a p p y accident, find himself with n o n m o r a l virtues on which he can

capitalize morally or which make psychological d e m a n d s to which he

has no choice but to attend. T h e point is that, for a moral saint, the

existence of these interests and skills can be given at best the status of

h a p p y accidents—they c a n n o t be encouraged for their own sakes as

distinct, i n d e p e n d e n t aspects of t h e realization of h u m a n good.

It m u s t be r e m e m b e r e d t h a t f r o m the fact that t h e r e is a tension

b e t w e e n h a v i n g any of t h e s e qualities and being a moral saint it does

not follow t h a t having any of these qualities is immoral. For it is n o t

part of c o m m o n - s e n s e morality that one o u g h t to be a moral saint.

Still, if s o m e o n e just h a p p e n e d to want to be a moral saint, he or she

would n o t have or e n c o u r a g e these qualities, and, on t h e basis of o u r

c o m m o n - s e n s e values, this counts as a reason not to want to be a

moral saint.

O n e might still w o n d e r what kind of reason this is, and what kind

of conclusion this p r o p e r l y allows us to draw. For the fact that t h e

m o d e l s of moral saints are unattractive does n o t necessarily m e a n

that they are u n s u i t a b l e ideals. P e r h a p s they are unattractive b e c a u s

e

Moral Saints • 471

they make us feel u n c o m f o r t a b l e — t h e y highlight o u r own weak-

nesses, vices, and flaws. If so, the fault lies not in the characters of t h e

saints, but in those of o u r unsaintly selves.

To be sure, s o m e of t h e reasons behind t h e disaffection we feel for

t h e model of moral sainthood have to do with a reluctance to criti-

cize ourselves and a r e l u c t a n c e to c o m m i t t i n g ourselves to trying to

give up activities and interests that we h e a r t i l y enjoy. T h e s e consid-

erations might p r o v i d e an excuse for the fact t h a t we are not moral

saints, b u t they do not provide a basis f o r criticizing sainthood as a

possible ideal. Since these considerations rely on an appeal to the

egoistic, hedonistic side of our natures, to use t h e m as a basis for crit-

icizing the ideal of t h e moral saint would be at best to beg the ques-

tion and at worst to glorify features of ourselves that ought to be

c o n d e m n e d .

T h e fact that the moral saint would be w i t h o u t qualities which we

have and which, indeed, we like to have, does n o t in itself provide

reason to c o n d e m n the ideal of the moral saint. T h e fact that some of

t h e s e qualities are good qualities, however, and that they are qualities

we ought to like, does provide reason to discourage this ideal and to

o f f e r o t h e r ideals in its place. In other words, some of t h e qualities

the moral saint necessarily lacks are virtues, albeit n o n m o r a l virtues,

in t h e unsaintly characters who have t h e m . T h e feats of G r o u c h o

Marx, Reggie Jackson, and t h e head chef at L u t e c e are impressive

accomplishments t h a t it is not only permissible but positively a p p r o -

p r i a t e to recognize as such. In general, the a d m i r a t i o n of and striving

toward achieving any of a great variety of f o r m s of personal excel-

l e n c e are character traits it is valuable and desirable for p e o p l e to

have. In advocating t h e d e v e l o p m e n t of these varieties of excellence,

we advocate n o n m o r a l reasons for acting, and in thinking that it is

good for a person to strive for an ideal t h a t gives a substantial role to

the interests and values that correspond to these virtues, we implic-

itly acknowledge the goodness of ideals i n c o m p a t i b l e with that of t h e

moral saint. Finally, if we think that it is axgood, or even better f o r a

p e r s o n to strive for o n e of these ideals than it is f o r him or her to

strive for and realize t h e ideal of the moral saint, we express a con-

viction that it is good n o t to be a moral saint.

472 • Susan Wolf

MORAL SAINTS A N D M O R A L T H E O R I E S

T have tried so far to p a i n t a p i c n i r e — o r , rather, two p i c t u r e s — o f

what a moral saint might be like, drawing on w h a t I take to be the

attitudes and beliefs about morality prevalent in contemporary,

c o m m o n - s e n s e thought. T o m y suggestion that c o m m o n - s e n s e

morality generates c o n c e p t i o n s of moral saints that are unattractive

or otherwise unacceptable, it is o p e n to s o m e o n e to reply, "so m u c h

the worse f o r c o m m o n - s e n s e morality." A f t e r all, it is often claimed

th at the goal of mora] p h i l o s o p h y is to c o r r e c t and i m p r o v e u p o n

c o m m o n - s e n s e morality, and I have as yet given no attention to the

question of what c o n c e p t i o n s of moral sainthood, if any, are g e n e r -

ated f r o m the leading moral theories of o u r time.

A quick, breezy reading of utilitarian and Kantian writings will

suggest t h e images, respectively, of the Loving Saint and the Rational

Saint. A utilitarian, with his emphasis on happiness, will certainly

prefer the Loving Saint to the Rational one, since the Loving Saint

will himself be a h a p p i e r p e r s o n than the Rational Saint. A Kantian,

with his emphasis on reason, on the o t h e r hand, will find at least as

m u c h to praise in the latter as in t h e former. Still, both models, d r a w n

as they are f r o m c o m m o n sense, appeal to an i m p u r e m i x t u r e of util-

itarian and Kantian intuitions. A m o r e careful examination of t h e s e

moral t h e o r i e s raises questions about w h e t h e r either model of moral

sainthood would really be advocated by a believer in the explicit

doctrines associated with e i t h e r of these views.

Certainly, the utilitarian in no way denies the value of self-

realization. He in no way disparages the d e v e l o p m e n t of interests,

talents, and other p e r s o n a l l y attractive traits t h a t I have claimed t h e

moral saint would be without. Indeed, since just these f e a t u r e s

e n h a n c e the happiness both of t h e individuals who possess t h e m and

of those with w h o m they associate, the ability to p r o m o t e these fea-

t u r e s both in oneself and in others will have considerable positive

weight in utilitarian calculations. .

T h i s implies that the utilitarian would n o t s u p p o r t moral saint-

hood as a universal ideal. A world in which everyone, or even a large

n u m b e r of people, achieved moral s a i n t h o o d — e v e n a world in

which they strove to achieve i t — w o u l d probably contain less h a p p i -

ness than a world in which p e o p l e realized a diversity of ideals

Mora! Saints • 413

involving a variety of personal and perfectionist values. M o r e p r a g -

matic considerations also suggest that, if the utilitarian wants to

influence m o r e p e o p l e to achieve m o r e good, then he would do b e t -

ter to e n c o u r a g e them to p u r s u e h a p p i n e s s - p r o d u c i n g goals

that are

m o r e attractive and m o r e within a normal person's reach.

T h e s e considerations still leave open, however, the question of

what kind of an ideal the c o m m i t t e d utilitarian should privately

aspire to himself. Utilitarianism requires him to want to achieve the

greatest general happiness, and this would seem to c o m m i t him to

t h e ideal of the moral saint.

O n e m i g h t try to u s e t h e claims 1 m a d e earlier as a basis for an

a r g u m e n t that a utilitarian should choose to give up utilitarianism. If,

as 1 have said, a moral saint would be a less h a p p y person both to be

and to be around than m a n y o t h e r possible ideals, perhaps o n e could

create m o r e total happiness by not trying too hard to p r o m o t e the

total happiness. But this a r g u m e n t is simply u n c o n v i n c i n g in light of

t h e empirical circumstances of our world. T h e gain in happiness that

would accrue to oneself and one's neighbors by a m o r e well-

r o u n d e d , richer life than that of t h e moral saint would be p a t h e t i -

cally small in comparison to the a m o u n t by which o n e could increase

the general happiness if o n e devoted oneself explicitly to the care of

the sick, the d o w n t r o d d e n , t h e starving, and the homeless. Of course,

there may be psychological limits to the e x t e n t to which a person can

devote himself to such things without going crazy. But the utilitar-

ian's individual limitations would not thereby b e c o m e a positive f e a -

ture of his personal ideals.

T h e unattractiveness of the moral saint, then, ought not rationally

convince t h e utilitarian to a b a n d o n his utilitarianism. It may, h o w -

ever, convince him to take efforts not to w e a r his saintly moral aspi-
rations on his sleeve. If it is not too difficult, the utilitarian will try

not to make those around him u n c o m f o r t a b l e . He will not want to

appear "holier than thou"; he will not want to inhibit others' ability

to enjoy themselves. In practice, this m i g h t make the perfect utilitar-

ian a less nauseating c o m p a n i o n than the moral saint I earlier p o r -

trayed. But insofar as this kind of r e a s o n i n g p r o d u c e s a m o r e

bearable public personality, it is at the cost of giving him a personal-

ity that m u s t be evaluated as hypocritical and c o n d e s c e n d i n g when

his private t h o u g h t s and attitudes are taken into account.

414 • Susan Wolf

Still, the criticisms I have raised against the saint of c o m m o n - s e n s e

morality should make some difference to the utilitarian's conception

of an ideal which neither requires him to abandon his utilitarian p r i n -

ciples n o r forces him to fake an interest he does not have or a j u d g m e n t

he does not make. For it may be that a limited and carefully m o n i t o r e d

allotment of time and energy to be devoted to the pursuit of some

nonmoral interests or to the d e v e l o p m e n t of s o m e nonmoral talents

would make a person a b e t t e r contributor to the general welfare than

he would he if he allowed himself no indulgences of this sort. T h e

e n j o y m e n t of such activities in no way compromises a c o m m i t m e n t to

utilitarian principles as long as the involvement with these activities is

conditioned by a willingness to give them up whenever it is recognized

that they cease to be in the general interest

T h i s will go s o m e way in mitigating the p i c t u r e of the loving saint

that an u n d e r s t a n d i n g of utilitarianism will on first impression sug-

gest. But I think it will not go very far. For t h e limitations on. t i m e and

e n e r g y will have to be r a t h e r severe, and the need to m o n i t o r will

restrict not only the extent but also the quality of one's a t t a c h m e n t to

these interests and traits. T h e y are only weak and s o m e w h a t peculiar

sorts of passions to which o n e can consciously remain so c o n d i t i o n -

ally c o m m i t t e d . Moreover, the way in which the utilitarian can enjoy

these "extra-curricular" aspects of his life is simply n o t t h e way in

which these aspects are to be enjoyed insofar as they figure into o u r

less saintly ideals.

T h e p r o b l e m is not exactly that t h e utilitarian values these aspects

of his life only as a m e a n s to an end, f o r the e n j o y m e n t he and others

get f r o m t h e s e aspects are not a m e a n s to, b u t a p a r t of, the general

happiness. N o n e t h e l e s s , he values these things only because of and

insofar as they are a p a r t of the general happiness. He values t h e m , as

it were, u n d e r the description "a contribution to the general h a p p i -

ness." T h i s is to he contrasted with the various ways in which these

aspects of life may be valued by nonutilitarians. A p e r s o n might love

l i t e r a t u r e because of the insights into h u m a n n a t u r e l i t e r a t u r e

affords. A n o t h e r m i g h t love the cultivation of roses because roses are

things of great b e a u t y and delicacy. It may be t r u e that these f e a t u r e s

of the respective activities also explain why these activities are

h a p p i n e s s - p r o d u c i n g . But, to the nonutilitarian, this may not be to

the point. For if o n e values these activities in these m o r e direct ways,

Moral Saints • 475

o n e may not be willing to exchange them for others that p r o d u c e an

equal, or even a g r e a t e r a m o u n t of happiness. From that p o i n t of

view, it is not because they p r o d u c e happiness that these activities are

valuable; it is because t h e s e activities are valuable in m o r e direct and

specific ways that they produce happiness.

To adopt a phrase of Bernard Williams', the utilitarian's m a n n e r

of valuing the not explicitly moral aspects of his life "provides (him)

with o n e t h o u g h t too many." T h e r e q u i r e m e n t that the utilitarian

have this thought—periodically, at least—is indicative of not only a

weakness but a shallowness in his appreciation of the aspects in q u e s -

tion. T h u s , the ideals toward which a utilitarian could acceptably

strive would remain too close to the model of t h e c o m m o n - s e n s e

moral saint to escape t h e criticisms of that m o d e l which I earlier sug-

gested. W h e t h e r a Kantian would be similarly c o m m i t t e d to so

restrictive and unattractive a range of possible ideals is a s o m e w h a t

m o r e difficult question.

T h e Kantian believes that being morally worthy consists in always

acting f r o m maxims that one could will to be universal law, and d o i n g

this not out of any pathological desire but o u t of r e v e r e n c e f o r the

moral law as such. Or, to take a different f o r m u l a t i o n of the categor-

ical imperative, the Kantian believes that moral action consists in

t r e a t i n g other p e r s o n s always as ends and never as means only. P r e -

sumably, and according to Kant himself, t h e Kantian t h e r e b y c o m -

mits himself to s o m e d e g r e e of benevolence as well as to the r u l e s of

fair play. But we surely would not will that every person b e c o m e a

moral saint, and treating others as ends hardly requires b e n d i n g over

backward to p r o t e c t and p r o m o t e their interests. On o n e i n t e r p r e t a

-

tion of Kantian doctrine, then, moral perfection would be achieved

simply by u n e r r i n g o b e d i e n c e to a limited set of side-constraints. On

this interpretation, Kantian theory simply does not yield an ideal

c o n c e p t i o n of a p e r s o n of any fullness c o m p a r a b l e to that of t h e

m o r a l saints I have so far been portraying.

On t h e o t h e r hand, Kant does say explicitly t h a t we have a d u t y of

benevolence, a d u t y n o t only to allow others to p u r s u e their ends, but

to take up their ends as our own. In addition, we have positive duties

to ourselves, duties to increase our natural as well as our moral p e r -

fection. T h e s e duties are unlimited in the d e g r e e to which they may

d o m i n a t e a life. If action in accordance with and motivated by t h e

476 • Susan Wolf

t h o u g h t of these duties is considered virtuous, it is natural to assume

that the m o r e o n e p e r f o r m s such actions, the m o r e virtuous o n e is.

Moreover, of virtue in general Kant says, "it is an ideal which is u n a t -

tainable while yet o u r d u t y is constantly to a p p r o x i m a t e to i t " On

this i n t e r p r e t a t i o n , then, t h e Kantian moral saint, like the o t h e r

moral saints I have been considering, is d o m i n a t e d by the motivation

to be moral.

W h i c h of these i n t e r p r e t a t i o n s of Kant o n e p r e f e r s will d e p e n

d on

the i n t e r p r e t a t i o n and the i m p o r t a n c e o n e gives to the role of the

i m p e r f e c t duties in Kant's over-all system. Rather than choose

b e t w e e n t h e m here, I shall consider each briefly in turn.

On t h e second i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of Kant, the Kantian moral saint is,

not surprisingly, subject to m a n y of the same objections I have been

raising against o t h e r versions of moral sainthood. T h o u g h the Kant-

ian saint may differ f r o m the utilitarian saint as to which actions he is

b o u n d to p e r f o r m and which he is b o u n d to refrain f r o m p e r f o r m i
n g ,

I suspect that the range of activities acceptable to the Kantian saint

will r e m a i n objectionably restrictive. Moreover, the m a n n e r in which

t h e Kantian saint m u s t think a b o u t and justify the activities he p u r -

sues and the character traits he develops will strike us, as it did with

the utilitarian saint, as containing "one t h o u g h t too many." As the

utilitarian could value his activities and c h a r a c t e r traits only insofar

as they fell u n d e r the description of "contributions to the general

happiness," the Kantian would have to value his activities and char-

acter traits insofar as they were manifestations of respect f o r the

moral law. If the d e v e l o p m e n t of o u r powers to achieve physical,

intellectual, or artistic excellence, or the activities directed toward

m a k i n g o t h e r s happy are to have any moral worth, they m u s t arise

f r o m a r e v e r e n c e f o r the dignity that m e m b e r s of o u r species have

as

a result of b e i n g e n d o w e d with p u r e practical reason. T h i s is a good

and noble motivation, to be sure. Rut it is hardly what one expects to

be d o m i n a n t l y b e h i n d a person's aspirations to d a n c e as well as Fred

Astaire, to paint as well as Picasso, or to solve some o u t s t a n d i n g

p r o b l e m in abstract algebra, and it is hardly w h a t one hopes to find

lying d o m i n a n t l y behind a father's action on behalf of his son or a

lover's on behalf of her beloved.

Since the basic p r o b l e m with any of the m o d e l s of moral saint-

h o o d we have been considering is that they are d o m i n a t e d by a

Moral Saints • 486

single, all-important value u n d e r which all o t h e r possible values

m u s t be subsumed, it may seem that the alternative interpretation of

Kant, as providing a stringent but finite set of obligations and con-

straints, might provide a m o r e acceptable morality. According to this

i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of Kant, o n e is as morally good as can be so long as o n e

devotes s o m e limited p o r t i o n of one's e n e r g i e s toward altruism and

t h e m a i n t e n a n c e of one's physical and spiritual health, and o t h e r w i s e

p u r s u e s one's i n d e p e n d e n t l y motivated interests and values in such a

way as to avoid o v e r s t e p p i n g certain bounds. Certainly, if it be a

r e q u i r e m e n t of an acceptable moral theory that p e r f e c t o b e d i e n c e

to

its laws and maximal devotion to its interests and concerns be s o m e -

t h i n g we can w h o l e h e a r t e d l y strive for in ourselves and wish for in

those around us, it will c o u n t in favor of this brand of Kantianism

that its c o m m a n d s can be fulfilled w i t h o u t swallowing up the perfect

moral agent's entire personality.

Even this m o r e limited u n d e r s t a n d i n g of morality, if its c o n n e c -

tion to Kant's views is to be taken at all seriously, is n o t likely to give

an unqualified seal of approval to the n o n m o r a l l y directed ideals T

have been advocating. For Kant is explicit about what he calls "duties

of apathy and self-mastery" ( 6 9 / 7 0 ) — d u t i e s to e n s u r e that o u r pas-

sions are never so s t r o n g as to interfere with calm, practical d e l i b e r -

ation, or so d e e p as to wrest control f r o m t h e m o r e disinterested,

rational p a r t of ourselves. T h e tight and self-conscious rein we are

thus obliged to keep on o u r c o m m i t m e n t s to specific individuals and

causes will doubtless restrict our value in these things, assigning

t h e m a necessarily a t t e n u a t e d place.

A m o r e interesting objection to this brand of Kantianism, h o w -

ever, comes when we consider the implications of placing t h e kind of

u p p e r bound on moral worthiness which s e e m e d to count in favor of

this conception of morality. For to p u t such a limit on one's capacity

to be moral is effectively to deny, not just the moral necessity, b u t the

moral goodness of a devotion to b e n e v o l e n c e and the m a i n t e n a n c e

of

justice t h a t passes beyond a certain, required point. It is to d e n y the

possibility of going morally above and beyond t h e call of a restricted

set of duties. D e s p i t e my claim that a l l - c o n s u m i n g moral saintliness

is not a particularly healthy and desirable ideal, it seems perverse to

insist that, were moral saints to exist, they would not, in their way, be

r e m a r k a b l y noble and admirable figures. D e s p i t e my conviction that

478 • Susan Wolf

it is as rational and as good for a person to rake Katharine H e p b u r n

or J a n e Austen as h e r role m o d e l instead of M o t h e r Teresa, it would

be absurd to deny t h a t M o t h e r Teresa is a m o r a l l y better person.

1 can think of two ways of viewing m o r a l i t y as having an u p p e r

b o u n d . First, we can think that altruism and impartiality are i n d e e d

positive moral interests, but that they are m o r a l only if the d e g r e e to

which t h e s e interests are actively p u r s u e d remains within certain

fixed limits. Second, we can think t h a t these positive interests are

only incidentally related to morality and that the essence of m o r a l i t y

lies elsewhere, in, say, an implicit social c o n t r a c t or in t h e recognition

of o u r own dignified rationality. A c c o r d i n g to the first conception of

morality, t h e r e is a cut-off line to t h e a m o u n t of altruism or to the

extent of devotion to justice and fairness that is w o r t h y of moral

praise. But to d r a w this line earlier than t h e line that brings the altru-

ist in question into a w o r s e - o f f position than all those to w h o m he

devotes himself seems u n a c c e p t a b l y artificial and gratuitous.

A c c o r d i n g to t h e second conception, these positive interests are n o t

essentially related to morality at all. But then we are u n a b l e to regard

a m o r e affectionate and g e n e r o u s expression of good will toward

others as a natural and reasonable extension of morality, and we

e n c o u r a g e a cold and u n d u l y self-centered a p p r o a c h to the d e v e l o

p -

m e n t and evaluation of o u r motivations and concerns.

A m o r a l t h e o r y that does not contain t h e seeds of an all-

c o n s u m i n g ideal of moral sainthood thus seems to place false and

u n n a t u r a l limits on o u r o p p o r t u n i t y to do m o r a l good and o u r p o

t e n -

tial to deserve moral praise. Yet the main t h r u s t of the a r g u m e n t s of

this p a p e r has been leading to t h e conclusion that, when such ideals

are present, they are n o t ideals to which it is particularly reasonable

or h e a l t h y or desirable for h u m a n beings to aspire. T h e s e claims,

taken together, have t h e a p p e a r a n c e of a d i l e m m a f r o m which t h e r

e

is no obvious escape. In a m o m e n t , I shall argue that, despite a p p e a r -

ances, t h e s e claims should n o t be u n d e r s t o o d as constituting a

d i l e m m a . But, before I do, let me briefly describe another path which

those who are convinced by my above r e m a r k s may feel inclined to

take.

If the above remarks are u n d e r s t o o d to be implicitly critical of the

views on t h e c o n t e n t of m o r a l i t y which seem most p o p u l a r today,

an
alternative that naturally suggests itself is that we revise our views

Moral Saints • 479

about t h e content of morality. M o r e specifically, my remarks may be

taken to s u p p o r t a m o r e Aristotelian, or even a m o r e N . e t z s c h e a n ,

approach to moral philosophy. Such a change in approach involves

substantially b r o a d e n i n g or replacing o u r c o n t e m p o r a r y intuitions

about which character traits constitute moral v i r t u e s and vices and

which interests constitute moral interests. If, for example, we i n c l u d e

personal bearing, or creativity, or sense of style, as features t h a t c o n -

tribute to one's moral personality, then we can create moral ideals

which are incompatible with and probably m o r e attractive than t h e

Kantian and utilitarian ideals 1 have discussed. Given such an alter-

ation of o u r conception of morality, t h e figures with which 1 have

b e e n concerned above might, far f r o m being considered to be moral

saints, be seen as morally inferior to other m o r e appealing or m o r e

interesting models of individuals.

T h i s approach seems unlikely to succeed, if for no o t h e r reason

because it is d o u b t f u l t h a t any single, or even any reasonably small

n u m b e r of substantial personal ideals could c a p t u r e the full range of

possible ways of realizing h u m a n potential or achieving h u m a n good

which deserve e n c o u r a g e m e n t and praise. Even if we could p r o v i d e

a sufficiently broad characterization of the range of positive ways tor

h u m a n beings to live, however, 1 think t h e r e are strong reasons n o t to

want to i n c o r p o r a t e such a characterization m o r e centrally into t h e

f r a m e w o r k of morality itself. For, in claiming that a character trait or

activity is morally good, o n e claims that t h e r e is a certain kind of

reason for developing that trait or engaging m that activity. Yet

lying behind o u r criticism of m o r e conventional conceptions of

moral sainthood, t h e r e seems to be a recognition that among t h e

i m m e n s e l y valuable traits and activities that a h u m a n life might pos-

itively e m b r a c e are s o m e of which we h o p e that, if a person does

e m b r a c e them, he does so not for moral reasons. In other words, no

m a t t e r how flexible we make the guide to c o n d u c t which we choose

to label "morality," no m a t t e r how rich we make the life in which p e r -

fect obedience to this g u i d e would result, we will have reason to

h o p e that a p e r s o n does n o t wholly r u l e and direct his life by the

abstract and impersonal consideration t h a t such a life would be

morallv good.

O n c e it is recognized that morality itself should not serve as a

c o m p r e h e n s i v e g u i d e to conduct, moreover, we can see reasons to

480 • Susan Wolf

retain the admittedly vague c o n t e m p o r a r y intuitions about w h a t the

classification of m o r a l and n o n m o r a l virtues, interests, and t h e like

should be. T h a t is, t h e r e seem to be i m p o r t a n t differences b e t w e e n

the aspects of a person's life which are c u r r e n t l y considered a p p r o -

priate objects of moral evaluation and the aspects that m i g h t be

i n c l u d e d u n d e r the altered c o n c e p t i o n of morality we are now con-

sidering, which the latter a p p r o a c h would tend wrongly to b l u r or to

neglect. M o r a l evaluation now is focused primarily on f e a t u r e s of a

person's life over which that person has control; it is largely

restricted to aspects of his life which are likely to have considerable

e f f e c t on o t h e r people. T h e s e restrictions s e e m as they should be.

Even if responsible p e o p l e could reach a g r e e m e n t as to what consti-

tuted good taste or a healthy d e g r e e of w e l l - r o u n d e d n e s s , for

example, it seems w r o n g to insist t h a t everyone try to achieve t h e s e

things or to blame s o m e o n e who fails or refuses to conform.

If we are not to respond to t h e unattractiveness of the moral ideals

that c o n t e m p o r a r y theories yield either by o f f e r i n g alternative theo-

ries with m o r e palatable ideals or by u n d e r s t a n d i n g these theories in

such a way as to p r e v e n t t h e m f r o m yielding ideals at all, how, then,

are we to respond? Simply, I think, by a d m i t t i n g that moral ideals do

not, and n e e d not, m a k e the best personal ideals. Earlier, I m e n t i o n e d

o n e of the consequences of regarding as a test of an a d e q u a t e moral

t h e o r y that perfect o b e d i e n c e to its laws and maximal devotion to its

interests be s o m e t h i n g we can w h o l e h e a r t e d l y strive for in

ourselves

and wish for in those around us. D r a w i n g o u t t h e consequences

s o m e w h a t f u r t h e r should, I think, make us m o r e d o u b t f u l of the p r

o -

posed test than of the theories which, on this test, would fail. Given

t h e empirical circumstances of o u r world, it seems to be an ethical

fact t h a t we have u n l i m i t e d potential to be morally good, and endless

o p p o r t u n i t y to p r o m o t e moral interests. But this is not i n c o m p a t i

b l e

with the not-so-ethical fact that we have sound, compelling, and n o t

particularly selfish reasons to choose not to devote ourselves u n i v o -

cally to realizing this potential or to taking up this opportunity.

Thus, in one sense at least, I am not really criticizing either Kantian-

ism or utilitarianism. Insofar as the point of view 1 am offering bears

directly on recent work in moral philosophy, in fact, it bears on critics of

these theories who, in a spirit not unlike the spirit of most of this paper,

point out that the perfect utilitarian would be flawed in this way or the

Moral Saints • 481

perfect Kantian flawed in that. 'Hie assumption lying behind these claims,

implicitly or explicitly, has been that the recognition of these flaws shows
us something wrong with utilitarianism as opposed to Kantianism, or

something wrong with Kantianism as opposed to utilitarianism, or some-

thing wrong with both of these theories as opposed to some nameless

third alternative. T h e claims of this paper suggest, however, that this

assumption is unwarranted. T h e flaws of a perfect master of a moral the-

ory need not reflect flaws in the intramoral content of the theory itself.

M O R A L SAINTS A N D M O R A L PHILOSOPHY

In pointing out the regrettable features and the necessary absence of

some desirable features in a moral saint, I have not m e a n t to c o n d e m n

the moral saint or the person who aspires to b e c o m e one. Rather, T

have meant to insist that the ideal of moral sainthood should not be

held as a standard against which any other ideal must be judged or jus-

tified, and that the posture we take in response to the recognition that

o u r lives are not as morally good as they might be need not be d e f e n -

sive.* It is misleading to insist that one is permitted to live a life in which

the goals, relationships, activities, and interests that o n e pursues are

not maximally morally good. For o u r lives are not so comprehensively

subject to the r e q u i r e m e n t that we apply for permission, and our non-

moral reasons for the goals we set ourselves are not excuses, but may

r a t h e r be positive, good reasons which do not exist despite any reasons

that might threaten to outweigh them. In o t h e r words, a person may

be perfectly wonderful wi thout bei ng perfectly moral.

Recognizing this requires a perspective which c o n t e m p o r a r y

moral philosophy has generally ignored. T h i s perspective yields

' G e o r g e Orwell makes a similar point in "Reflections on Gandhi," in A

Collection of

F.ssaysby George Orwell (New York: H a r c o u r t BraceJovanovich, 1945), p.

176; "sainthood

is .. a thing that h u m a n beings must avoid . . . It is too readily assumed t h a t .

. the

ordinary man only rejects it because it is too difficult; in other words, that t h e
average

h u m a n b e i n g i s a failed saint. It is doubtful whether this is true. M a n y

people genuinely

do not wish to he saints, and it is probable that some who achieve or aspire to
sainthood

have never felt much temptation to be human beings."

482 • Susan Wolf

j u d g m e n t s of a type that is n e i t h e r moral n o r egoistic. Like moral

judgments, j u d g m e n t s a h o u t w h a t it would be good for a person to be

are m a d e f r o m a p o i n t of view outside the limits set by the values,

interests, and desires that the person m i g h t actually have. And, like

moral judgments, these judgments claim for themselves a kind of

objectivity or a g r o u n d i n g in a perspective which any rational and

p e r c e p t i v e b e i n g can take up. Unlike moral judgments, however, the

good with which t h e s e j u d g m e n t s are c o n c e r n e d is not the good of

anyone or any g r o u p other than the individual himself.

N o n e t h e l e s s , it would be equally misleading to say that these

j u d g m e n t s are m a d e for the sake of the individual himself. For t h e s e

j u d g m e n t s are not c o n c e r n e d with w h a t kind of life it is in a person's

interest to lead, b u t with what kind of interests it would be good for

a person to have, and it n e e d n o t be in a person's interest that he

acquire or maintain objectively good interests. Indeed, the m o d e l of

t h e Loving Saint, whose interests are identified with t h e interests of

morality, is a model of a person for w h o m t h e dictates of rational

self-interest and the dictates of morality coincide. Yet, I have u r g e d

t h a t we have reason not to aspire to this ideal and t h a t s o m e of

us would have reason to be sorry if our children aspired to and

achieved it.

T h e moral point of view, we might say, is the point of view o n e

takes up insofar as o n e takes the recognition of t h e fact that o n e is just

o n e person a m o n g o t h e r s equally real and d e s e r v i n g of the good

things in life as a fact with practical consequences, a fact the r e c o g n i -

tion of which d e m a n d s expression in one's actions and in the f o r m of

one's practical deliberations. C o m p e t i n g moral theories offer alter-

native answers to t h e question of what the most correct or t h e best

way to express this fact is. In d o i n g so, they o f f e r alternative ways to

evaluate and to c o m p a r e t h e variety of actions, states of affairs, and

so on t h a t a p p e a r good and bad to agents f r o m other, n o n m o r a l points

of view. But it seems that alternative interpretations of the moral

point of view do not exhaust the ways in which o u r actions, charac-

ters, and their consequences can be comprehensively and objectively

evaluated. L e t us call the p o i n t of view f r o m which we consider what

kinds of lives are good lives, and w h a t kinds of persons it would be

good for ourselves and others to be, the point of view of individual

Moral Saints • 483

'Since either point of view provides a way of comprehensively

evaluating a person's life, each point of view takes account of, and, in

a sense, subsumes the other. From the moral point of view, t h e p e r -

fection of an individual life will have some, b u t limited, v a l u e — f o r

each individual remains, after all, just one person among others.

From t h e perfectionist point of view, t h e moral worth of an individ-

ual's relation to his world will likewise have some, but limited,

value—for, as I have argued, t h e (perfectionist) goodness of an indi-

vidual's life does not vary proportionally with the degree to which it

exemplifies moral goodness.

It may not be t h e case t h a t the perfectionist point of view is like

t h e moral point of view in being a point of view we are ever obliged to

take up and express in o u r actions. N o n e t h e l e s s , it provides us with

reasons that are i n d e p e n d e n t of moral reasons for wanting ourselves

and others to develop o u r characters and live o u r lives in certain

ways. W h e n we take up this point of view and ask how m u c h it would

be good for an individual to act from the m o r a l point of view, we do

not find an obvious answer.*

T h e considerations of this p a p e r suggest, at any rate, t h a t t h e

answer is not "as m u c h as possible." T h i s has implications both for

the c o n t i n u e d d e v e l o p m e n t of moral theories and f o r the develop-

m e n t of m e t a m o r a l views and for our c o n c e p t i o n of moral philos-

o p h y m o r e generally. From t h e moral point of view, we have reasons

to want people to live lives that seem good f r o m outside thac p o i n t of

view. If, as I have argued, this means that we have reason to want

p e o p l e to live lives that are not morally perfect, then any plausible

moral theory must make use of s o m e c o n c e p t i o n of supererogation.1

If moral philosophers are to address themselves at the most basic

level to the question of how people should live, however, they m u s t do

"A similar view, which has strongly influenced mine, is expressed by T h o m a s

N a g e l in

" T h e Fragmentation of Value," in Mortal Questions ( N e w York: Cambridge,

1979), pp.
1 2 8 - 1 4 1 . N a g e l focuses on t h e difficulties such apparently i n c o m m e
n s u r a b l e points of

view create for specific, isolable practical decisions that m u s t be m a d e both

by individ-

uals and by societies, In focusing on the way in which these points of view
figure into

the development of individual personal ideals, the questions with which I am

con-

cerned are m o r e likely to lurk in the background of any individual's life.

' T h e variety of forms that a conception of supererogation might take, however,

has not

generally been noticed. M o r a l theories that make u s e of this notion typically

do so by

484 • Susan Wolf

m o r e than adjust the c o n t e n t of their moral theories in ways that leave

r o o m for the affirmation of n o n m o r a l values. T h e y m u s t e x a m i n e

explicitly the range and n a t u r e of these n o n m o r a l values, and, in light

of this examination, they must ask how the acceptance of a moral t h e -

ory is to be u n d e r s t o o d and acted upon. For t h e claims of this p a p e r

do not so m u c h conflict with the content of any particular c u r r e n t l y

p o p u l a r moral theory as they call into question a metamoral assump-

tion that implicitly s u r r o u n d s discussions of moral theory m o r e gen-

erally. Specifically, they call into question the assumption that it is

always better to be morally better.

T h e role morality plays in t h e d e v e l o p m e n t of o u r characters and

t h e s h a p e of our practical deliberations need be n e i t h e r that of a u n i -

versal m e d i u m into which all other values must be translated nor t h a t

of an e v e r - p r e s e n t filter t h r o u g h which all o t h e r values must pass.

This is n o t to say that moral value should not be an important, even

t h e m o s t i m p o r t a n t , kind of value we attend to in evaluating and

i m p r o v i n g ourselves and o u r world. It is to say that o u r values c a n n o t

be fully c o m p r e h e n d e d on t h e model of a hierarchical system with

morality at the top.

T h e philosophical t e m p e r a m e n t will naturally incline, at this

point, toward asking, "What, then, is at the t o p — o r , if t h e r e is no top,

how are we to decide w h e n and how m u c h to be moral?" In other

words, t h e r e is a t e m p t a t i o n to seek a m e t a m o r a l — t h o u g h not,

in t h e

standard sense, m e t a e t h i c a l — t h e o r y that will give us principles, or,

at least, informal directives on the basis of which we can develop and

evaluate more c o m p r e h e n s i v e personal ideals. P e r h a p s a t h e o r y

that

distinguishes a m o n g t h e various roles a person is expected to play

identifying some specific set of principles as universal moral requirements and

supple-

m e n t this list with a further set of directives which it is morally praiseworthy

but not
required for an agent to follow. [See, e.g., Charles Fried, Right and Wrong
(Cambridge,

Mass.: Harvard, 1979).] But it is possible that the ability to live a morally
blameless life

cannot be so easily or definitely secured as this type of t h e o r y wouid suggest.

T h e fact

that there are s o m e situations in which an agent is morally required to do s o m

e t h i n g

and other situations in which it would be good but not required for an agent to do

something does not imply that there are specific principles such that, in any
situation,

an agent is required to act in accordance with these principles and other specific
prin-

ciples such that, in any situation, it would be good but n o t required for an agent
to act

in accordance with those principles.

Moral Saints • 485

within a life—as professional, as citizen, as f r i e n d , and so o n — m i g h t

give us s o m e rules t h a t would offer us, if n o t h i n g else, a better f r a m e -

work in which to think about and discuss t h e s e questions. I am pes-

simistic, however, a b o u t the chances of such a t h e o r y to yield

substantial and satisfying results. For T do not see how a m e t a m o r a l

t h e o r y could be c o n s t r u c t e d which would not be subject to consider-

ations parallel to those which seem i n h e r e n t l y to limit the a p p r o p r i -

ateness of regarding moral theories as u l t i m a t e c o m p r e h e n s i v e

guides f o r action.

T h i s suggests that, at s o m e point, both in o u r philosophizing and

in o u r lives, we m u s t be willing to raise n o r m a t i v e questions f r o m a

perspective that is u n a t t a c h e d to a c o m m i t m e n t to any particular

w e l l - o r d e r e d system of values. It must be admitted that, in d o i n g so,

we r u n the risk of finding normative answers t h a t diverge f r o m t h e

answers given by w h a t e v e r moral theory o n e accepts. This, I take it,

is the grain of t r u t h in G. E. M o o r e ' s "open question" a r g u m e n t . In

the background of this paper, then, t h e r e lurks a c o m m i t m e n t to w h a t

seems to me to be a h e a l t h y form of intuitionism. It is a form of i n t u -

itionism which is not i n t e n d e d to take t h e place of m o r e rigorous,

systematically developed, moral theories—rather, it is intended to

put these m o r e rigorous and systematic moral t h e o r i e s in their place.

CHAPTER 24

A L D O L E O P O L D

Unlike the other contributors to this volume, Aldo Leopold

(1887-1948) was not a philosopher. He was a forester and a man far

ahead of his time, and his prose flows as smoothly and clearly as a

stream. As early as the mid-forties, Leopold was defending a radical

environmental ethic. In this prescient excerpt from his posthumously

published Sand County Almanac, Leopold insists that an environmen-

tal ethic cannot be couched in economic or utilitarian terms, a la the

need to protect the land for the sake of our grandchildren. On

Leopold's account, if the well-being of our heirs is our main concern,

then we will always be open to cutting corners on the environment.

To' listen to Leopold tell it, a green ethic has to be one in which we

value the "biotic c o m m u n i t y " for its own sake rather than as a means

to something else, such as h u m a n happiness. As the avid h u n t e r and

outdoorsman succinctly puts it, "A thing is right when it tends to p r e -

serve t h e integrity, stability, and beauty of the biotic community. It is

wrong when it tends otherwise."

A S A N D C O U N T Y A L M A N A C :

THE LAND ETHIC

Wh en god-like Odysseus returned from the wars in Troy, he hanged

all on one rope a dozen slave-girls of his household whom he sus-

pected of misbehavior during his absence.

This banging involved no question of propriety. T h e girls were

property. T h e disposal of property was then, as now, a matter of

expediency, not of right and wrong.

Concepts of right and wrong were not lacking from Odysseus'

Greece: witness the fidelity of bis wife through the long years before
at last his black-prowed galleys clove the wine-dark seas for home.

T h e ethical structure of that day covered wives, but had not yet been

extended to human chattels. During the three thousand years which

have since elapsed, ethical criteria have been extended to many fields

of conduct, with corresponding shrinkages in those judged by expe-

diency only.

T H E ETHICAL SEQUENCE

This extension of ethics, so far studied only by philosophers, is actu-

ally a process in ecological evolution. Its sequences may be described

in ecological as well as in philosophical terms. An ethic, ecologically,

488 • Aldo Leopold

is a limitation on f r e e d o m of action in the struggle for existence. An

ethic, philosophically, is a differentiation of social f r o m anti-social

conduct. T h e s e are two definitions of o n e thing. T h e thing has its ori-

gin in the t e n d e n c y of i n t e r d e p e n d e n t individuals or g r o u p s to

evolve m o d e s of co-operation. T h e ecologist calls these symbioses.

Politics and e c o n o m i c s are advanced symbioses in which the original

free-for-all c o m p e t i t i o n has been replaced, in part, by co-operative

m e c h a n i s m s with an ethical content.

T h e complexity of co-operative m e c h a n i s m s has increased with

population density, and with t h e efficiency of tools. Tt was simpler, for

example, to define t h e anti-social uses of sticks and stones in the days

of t h e mastodons than of bullets and billboards in the age of motors.

T h e first ethics dealt with t h e relation b e t w e e n individuals; the

Mosaic D e c a l o g u e is an example. Later accretions dealt with the

relation b e t w e e n the individual and society. T h e G o l d e n Rule tries

to integrate t h e individual to society; d e m o c r a c y to integrate social

organization, to the individual.

T h e r e is as yet no ethic dealing with man's relation to land and to

t h e . a n i m a l s and plants which grow u p o n it. Land, like Odysseus'

slave-girls, is still property. T h e land relation is still strictly eco-

nomic, entailing privileges but not obligations.

T h e extension of ethics to this third e l e m e n t in h u m a n e n v i r o n -

m e n t is, if I read t h e evidence correctly, an evolutionary possibility

and an ecological necessity. Ttis t h e third step in a sequence. T h e first

two have already been taken. Individual t h i n k e r s since t h e days of

Ezekiel and Isaiah have asserted that the despoliation of land is n o t

only i n e x p e d i e n t b u t wrong. Society, however, has n o t yet affirmed

their belief. 1 regard the p r e s e n t conservation m o v e m e n t as t h e

e m b r y o of such an affirmation.

An ethic may be regarded as a m o d e of g u i d a n c e for m e e t i n g eco-

logical situations so new or intricate, or involving such d e f e r r e d

reactions, that the path of social expediency is not discernible to t h e

average individual. Animal instincts are m o d e s of g u i d a n c e for t h e

individual in m e e t i n g such situations. Ethics are possibly a kind of

c o m m u n i t y instinct in-the-making.

A Sand County Almanac: The Land Ethic • 489

T H E C O M M U N I T Y C O N C E P T

AH ethics so far evolved rest u p o n a single premise: that the individ-

ual is a m e m b e r of a c o m m u n i t y of i n t e r d e p e n d e n t parts. His

instincts p r o m p t him to c o m p e t e for his place in that community, but

his ethics p r o m p t him also to c o - o p e r a t e (perhaps in order that t h e r e

may be a place to c o m p e t e for).

T h e land ethic simply enlarges the b o u n d a r i e s of the c o m m u n i t y

to i n c l u d e soils, waters, plants, and animals, or collectively: t h e land.

T h i s sounds simple: do we not already sing o u r love for and obli-

gation to the land of the free and t h e h o m e of t h e brave? Yes, b u t just

what and whom do we love? C e r t a i n l y n o t t h e soil, which we are

sending helter-skelter downriver. C e r t a i n l y not the waters, which we

assume have no f u n c t i o n except to turn turbines, float barges, and

carry off sewage. C e r t a i n l y not the plants, of which we e x t e r m i n a t e

whole c o m m u n i t i e s w i t h o u t batting an eye. C e r t a i n l y not the ani-

mals, of which we have already extirpated m a n y of the largest and

m o s t beautiful species. A land ethic of course cannot p r e v e n t t h e

alteration, m a n a g e m e n t , and use of these "resources," but it does

affirm their right to c o n t i n u e d existence, and, at least in spots, their

c o n t i n u e d existence in a natural state.

In short, a land ethic changes the role of Homo sapiens f r o m c o n -

q u e r o r of the l a n d - c o m m u n i t y to plain m e m b e r and citizen of it. It

implies respect for his f e l l o w - m e m b e r s , and also respect for t h e c o m -

m u n i t y as such.

In h u m a n history, we have learned (I hope) that t h e c o n q u e r o r

role is eventually self-defeating. Why? Because it is implicit in such

a role that t h e c o n q u e r o r knows, ex cathedra, just what makes the c o m -

m u n i t y clock tick, and just what and who is valuable, and what and

who is worthless, in c o m m u n i t y life. It always turns out that he knows

neither, and this is why his conquests eventually defeat themselves.

In t h e biotic c o m m u n i t y , a parallel situation exists. A b r a h a m knew

exactly what t h e land was for: it was to d r i p milk and honey into

Abraham's m o u t h . At t h e present m o m e n t , the assurance with which

we regard this assumption is inverse to the d e g r e e of o u r education.

T h e o r d i n a r y citizen t o d a y assumes rhat science knows what

makes t h e c o m m u n i t y clock tick; t h e scientist is equally sure that he

490 • Aldo Leopold

does not. He knows that t h e hiotic m e c h a n i s m is so complex that its

workings may never be fully u n d e r s t o o d .

T h a t man is, in fact, only a m e m b e r of a biotic team is shown by

an ecological i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of history. M a n y historical events, h i t h -

e r t o explained solely in t e r m s of h u m a n enterprise, w e r e actually

biotic interactions between p e o p l e and land. T h e characteristics of

t h e land d e t e r m i n e d the facts q u i t e as p o t e n t l y as t h e

characteristics

of t h e men who lived on it.

Consider, for example, the settlement of t h e Mississippi valley. In

the years following the Revolution, t h r e e groups w e r e c o n t e n d i n g for

its control: the native Indian, the French and English traders, and the

American settlers. Historians w o n d e r what would have h a p p e n e d if

the English at D e t r o i t had t h r o w n a little m o r e weight into t h e

Indian side of those tipsy scales which decided t h e o u t c o m e of the

colonial migration into t h e c a n e - l a n d s of Kentucky. It is time now to

p o n d e r t h e fact that t h e cane-lands, when subjected to the p a r t i c u l a r

m i x t u r e of forces r e p r e s e n t e d by t h e cow, plow, fire, and axe of the

pioneer, b e c a m e bluegrass. W h a t if the plant succession i n h e r e n t in

this dark and bloody g r o u n d had, u n d e r t h e i m p a c t of these forces,

given us s o m e worthless sedge, shrub, or weed? Would Boone and

Kenton have held out? Would t h e r e have b e e n any overflow into

Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri? Any Louisiana Purchase? Any

transcontinental u n i o n of n e w states? Any Civil War?

Kentucky was o n e sentence in t h e d r a m a of history. We are c o m -

m o n l y told w h a t the h u m a n actors in this drama tried to do, b u t we

are seldom told that their success, or the lack of it, h u n g in large

d e g r e e on t h e reaction of particular soils to the impact of the p a r t i c -

ular forces exerted by t h e i r occupancy. In the case of Kentucky, we

do not even know w h e r e the bluegrass c a m e f r o m — w h e t h e r it is a

native species, or a stowaway f r o m E u r o p e .

C o n t r a s t the c a n e - l a n d s with w h a t hindsight tells us a b o u t t h e

Southwest, w h e r e the p i o n e e r s w e r e equally brave, resourceful, and

persevering. T h e impact of o c c u p a n c y h e r e b r o u g h t no bluegrass, or

other plant fitted to withstand the b u m p s and bufferings of hard use.

T h i s region, when grazed by livestock, reverted t h r o u g h a series of

m o r e and m o r e worthless grasses, shrubs, and w e e d s to a condition of

u n s t a b l e equilibrium. Each recession of plant t y p e s bred erosion;

A Sand County Almanac: The Land Ethic • 491

each i n c r e m e n t to erosion bred a f u r t h e r recession of plants. T h e

result today is a progressive and m u t u a l deterioration, not only of

plants and soils, b u t of t h e animal c o m m u n i t y subsisting thereon.

T h e early settlers did not expect this: on t h e cienegas of N e w M e x -

ico s o m e even cut ditches to hasten it. So subtle has been its progress

that f e w residents of t h e region are aware of it. It is quite invisible to

the tourist who finds this wrecked landscape colorful and c h a r m i n g

(as i n d e e d it is, b u t it bears scant r e s e m b l a n c e to what it was in 1848).

T h i s same landscape was "developed" o n c e before, but with q u i t e

d i f f e r e n t results. T h e P u e b l o Indians settled the Southwest in p r e -

C o l u m b i a n times, b u t they h a p p e n e d not to be e q u i p p e d with r a n

g e

livestock. T h e i r civilization expired, b u t not because their land

expired.

In India, regions devoid of any sod-forming grass have been settled,

apparently without wrecking the land, by the simple expedient of car-

rying the grass to the cow, rather than vice versa. (Was this the result of

s o m e d e e p wisdom, or was it just good luck? I do not know.)

In short, t h e plant succession steered t h e c o u r s e of history; t h e

p i o n e e r simply d e m o n s t r a t e d , for good or ill, what successions

i n h e r e d in the land. Is history taught in this spirit? It will be, once t h e

concept of land as a c o m m u n i t y really p e n e t r a t e s our intellectual

life.

T H E ECOLOGICAL C O N S C I E N C E
C o n s e r v a t i o n is a state of h a r m o n y b e t w e e n m e n and land.
Despite

nearly a century of propaganda, conservation still p r o c e e d s at a

snail's pace; progress still consists largely of letterhead pieties and

convention oratory. On t h e back forty we still slip two steps back-

ward for each forward stride.

T h e usual answer to this d i l e m m a is " m o r e conservation e d u c a -

tion." No o n e will d e b a t e this, but is it certain that only t h e volume of

e d u c a t i o n n e e d s s t e p p i n g up? Is something lacking in t h e content as

well?

It is difficult to give a fair s u m m a r y of its c o n t e n t in brief form,

492 • Aldo Leopold

but, as I u n d e r s t a n d it, t h e c o n t e n t is substantially this: obey the law,

vote right, join s o m e organizations, and practice what conservation is

profitable on y o u r own land; t h e g o v e r n m e n t will do the rest.

Is not this f o r m u l a too easy to accomplish a n y t h i n g worth-while?

It defines no right or wrong, assigns no obligation, calls for no sacri-

fice, implies no change in t h e c u r r e n t p h i l o s o p h y of values. In r e s p e

c t

of l a n d - u s e , it u r g e s only e n l i g h t e n e d self-interest. J u s t how f a r

will

such e d u c a t i o n take us? An e x a m p l e will p e r h a p s yield a partial

answer.

By 1930 it had b e c o m e clear to all e x c e p t t h e ecologically blind

that s o u t h w e s t e r n Wisconsin's topsoil was slipping seaward. In 1933

t h e f a r m e r s w e r e told that if they would adopt certain remedial p r a c -

tices f o r five years, t h e public would d o n a t e C C C labor to install

them, plus t h e necessary m a c h i n e r y and materials. T h e o f f e r was

widely accepted, b u t the practices were widely forgotten when t h e

five-year contract period was up. T h e farmers c o n t i n u e d only those

practices that yielded an i m m e d i a t e and visible e c o n o m i c gain f o r

themselves.

T h i s led to the idea t h a t m a y b e f a r m e r s would learn m o r e quickly

if they themselves w r o t e t h e rules. Accordingly t h e Wisconsin Legis-

lature in 1937 passed the Soil Conservation District Law. T h i s said to

farmers, in effect: We, the public, will furnish you free technical service and

loan you specialized machinery, if you will write your own rides for land-use.

Each county may write its own rules, and these will have the force of law.

N e a r l y all the counties p r o m p t l y organized to accept the p r o f f e r e d

help, but after a d e c a d e of operation, no county has yet written a single

rule. T h e r e has been visible progress in such practices as strip-

cropping, pasture renovation, and soil liming, b u t none in f e n c i n g

woodlots against grazing, and n o n e in excluding plow and cow f r o m

steep slopes. T h e farmers, in short, have selected those remedial prac-

tices which were profitable anyhow, and ignored those which w e r e

profitable to the community, b u t not clearly profitable to themselves.

W h e n one asks why no rules have been written, one is told t h a t

the c o m m u n i t y is n o t yet ready to s u p p o r t t h e m ; education m u s t

p r e c e d e rules. But t h e education actually in progress makes no m e n -

tion of obligations to land over and above those dictated by self-

interest. T h e net result is that we have m o r e education but less soil,

fewer healthy woods, and as m a n y floods as in 1937.

A Sand County Almanac: The Land Ethic • 493

T h e puzzling aspect of such situations is that the existence of

obligations over and above self-interest is taken for granted in such

rural c o m m u n i t y e n t e r p r i s e s as the b e t t e r m e n t of roads, schools,

churches, and baseball teams. T h e i r existence is not taken for

granted, n o r as yet seriously discussed, in b e t t e r i n g t h e behavior of

t h e water that falls on t h e land, or in t h e p r e s e r v i n g of t h e b e a u t y or

diversity of the f a r m landscape. L a n d - u s e ethics are still governed

wholly by e c o n o m i c self-interest, just as social ethics were a c e n t u r y

ago.

To sum up: we asked t h e f a r m e r to do what he conveniently could

to save his soil, and he has d o n e just that, and only that. T h e f a r m e r
w h o clears the woods off a 75 p e r cent slope, t u r n s his cows i n t o t h e

clearing, and d u m p s its rainfall, rocks, and soil into t h e c o m m u n i t y

creek, is still (if o t h e r w i s e decent) a respected m e m b e r of society. If

he puts lime on his fields and plants his c r o p s on contour, he is still

entitled to ail the privileges and e m o l u m e n t s of his Soil C o n s e r v a -

tion District. T h e District is a beautiful piece of social machinery,

b u t it is coughing along on two cylinders b e c a u s e we have been too

timid, and too anxious for quick success, to tell t h e f a r m e r the t r u e

m a g n i t u d e of his obligations. Obligations have no m e a n i n g w i t h o u t

conscience, and t h e p r o b l e m we face is t h e extension of t h e social

conscience from p e o p l e to land.

No i m p o r t a n t c h a n g e in ethics was ever accomplished w i t h o u t an

i n t e r n a l change in our intellectual emphasis, loyalties, affections, and

convictions. T h e p r o o f that conservation has n o t yet t o u c h e d t h e s e

f o u n d a t i o n s of c o n d u c t lies in the fact that philosophy and religion

have not yet heard of it. In o u r a t t e m p t to make conservation easy, we

have m a d e it trivial.

SUBSTITUTES FOR A L A N D E T H I C

W h e n the logic of history h u n g e r s for bread and we hand o u t a stone,

we are at pains to explain how m u c h the s t o n e resembles bread. I now

describe some of the stones which serve in lieu of a land ethic.

O n e basic weakness in a conservation system based wholly on

e c o n o m i c motives is t h a t m o s t m e m b e r s of t h e land c o m m u n i t
y have

494 • Aldo Leopold

no e c o n o m i c value. Wildflowers and songbirds are examples. Of t h e

22,000 h i g h e r plants and animals native to Wisconsin, it is d o u b t f u l

w h e t h e r m o r e than 5 p e r c e n t can be sold, fed, eaten, or otherwise

put to e c o n o m i c use. Yet these creatures are m e m b e r s of the bi'otic

c o m m u n i t y , and if (as I believe) its stability d e p e n d s on its integrity,

they are entitled to c o n t i n u a n c e .

W h e n o n e of these n o n - e c o n o m i c categories is t h r e a t e n e d , and if

we h a p p e n to love it, we invent subterfuges to give it e c o n o m i c

i m p o r t a n c e . At the b e g i n n i n g of the c e n t u r y songbirds w e r e s u

p -

posed to be disappearing. Ornithologists j u m p e d to the rescue with

s o m e distinctly shaky evidence to t h e effect that insects would eat us

up if birds failed to control t h e m . T h e evidence had to be e c o n o m i c

in o r d e r to be valid.

It is p a i n f u l to read t h e s e c i r c u m l o c u t i o n s today. We have no land

e t h i c yet, b u t we have, at least d r a w n n e a r e r the point of a d m i t t i n g

that birds should c o n t i n u e as a m a t t e r of biotic right, regardless of

the p r e s e n c e or absence of e c o n o m i c advantage to us.

A parallel situation exists in respect of p r e d a t o r y mammals, rap-

torial birds, and fish-eating birds. T i m e was when biologists s o m e -

what overworked the evidence that these creatures p r e s e r v e t h e

health of g a m e by killing weaklings, or that they control rodents f o r

the farmer, or that they p r e y only on "worthless" species. H e r e again,

the e v i d e n c e had to be e c o n o m i c in o r d e r to be valid. It is only in

r e c e n t years t h a t w e h e a r t h e m o r e honest a r g u m e n t that p r e d a t

o r s

are m e m b e r s of the c o m m u n i t y and that no special interest has the

right to e x t e r m i n a t e t h e m for t h e sake of a benefit, real or fancied, to

itself. U n f o r t u n a t e l y this e n l i g h t e n e d view is still in the talk stage.

In

the field the extermination of p r e d a t o r s goes merrily on: witness t h e

i m p e n d i n g erasure of the t i m b e r wolf by fiat of Congress, t h e C o n -

servation Bureaus, and m a n y state legislatures.

S o m e species of trees have been "read out of the p a r t y " by

e c o n o m i c s - m i n d e d foresters because they grow too slowly, or have

too low a sale value to pay as t i m b e r crops: w h i t e cedar, tamarack,

cypress, beech, and h e m l o c k are examples. In E u r o p e , where forestry

is ecologically m o r e advanced, t h e n o n - c o m m e r c i a l tree species are

recognized as m e m b e r s of the native forest community, to be p r e -

served as such, within reason. M o r e o v e r s o m e (like beech) have been

found to have a valuable f u n c t i o n in building up soil fertility. T h e

A Sand County Almanac: The Land Ethic • 495

i n t e r d e p e n d e n c e of t h e forest and its c o n s t i t u e n t tree species, g r

o u n d

flora, and fauna is taken f o r granted.

Lack of e c o n o m i c value is sometimes a c h a r a c t e r not only of

species or groups, but of entire biotic communities: marshes, bogs,

dunes, and "deserts" are examples. O u r f o r m u l a in such cases is to

relegate their conservation to g o v e r n m e n t as refuges, m o n u m e n t s , or

parks. T h e difficulty is that these c o m m u n i t i e s are usually i n t e r -

spersed with m o r e valuable private lands; t h e g o v e r n m e n t c a n n o t

possibly own or control such scattered parcels. T h e net effect is t h a t

we have relegated s o m e of them to u l t i m a t e extinction over large

areas. If t h e private o w n e r were ecologically minded, he would be

p r o u d to be the custodian of a reasonable p r o p o r t i o n of such areas,

which add diversity and beauty to his farm and to his c o m m u n i t y .

In s o m e instances, t h e assumed lack of profit in these "waste" areas

has proved to be wrong, b u t only after m o s t of t h e m had been d o n e

away with. T h e p r e s e n t scramble to reflood m u s k r a t marshes is a case

in point.

T h e r e is a clear t e n d e n c y in American conservation to relegate to

g o v e r n m e n t all necessary jobs that private l a n d o w n e r s fail to per-

form. G o v e r n m e n t ownership, operation, subsidy, or regulation is

now widely prevalent in forestry, range m a n a g e m e n t , soil and water-

shed m a n a g e m e n t , park and wilderness conservation, fisheries m a n -

agement, and migratory bird m a n a g e m e n t , with m o r e to come. M o s t

of this growth in g o v e r n m e n t a l conservation is p r o p e r and logical,

s o m e of it is inevitable. T h a t T i m p l y no disapproval of it is implicit

in t h e fact that I have spent most of my life w o r k i n g for it. N e v e r t h e -

less the question arises: W h a t is the u l t i m a t e m a g n i t u d e of the e n t e r

-

prise? Will t h e tax base carry its eventual ramifications? At what

p o i n t will governmental conservation, like the mastodon, b e c o m e

h a n d i c a p p e d by its own dimensions? T h e answer, if t h e r e is any,

seems to be in a land ethic, or s o m e o t h e r force which assigns m o r e

obligation to the private landowner.

Industrial landowners and users, especially l u m b e r m e n and stock-

men, are inclined to wail long and loudly about the extension of gov-

e r n m e n t ownership and regulation to land, but (with notable

exceptions) they show little disposition to develop t h e only visible

alternative: the voluntary practice of conservation on their own lands.

W h e n the private l a n d o w n e r is asked to p e r f o r m s o m e u n p r o f -

496 • Aldo Leopold

i table act f o r t h e good of t h e c o m m u n i t y , he t o d a y assents only with

o u t s t r e t c h e d palm. If the act costs him cash this is fair and proper, but

when it costs only f o r e t h o u g h t , o p e n - m i n d e d n e s s , or time, the

issue

is at least debatable. T h e o v e r w h e l m i n g growth of l a n d - u s e

subsidies

in r e c e n t years must be ascribed, in large part, to t h e government's

own agencies for conservation education: t h e land bureaus, t h e agri-

cultural colleges, and the extension services. As far as I can detect, no

ethical obligation toward land is t a u g h t in t h e s e institutions.

To sum up: a system of conservation based solely on e c o n o m i c

self-interest is hopelessly lopsided. Tt tends to ignore, and thus e v e n -

tually to eliminate, m a n y e l e m e n t s in t h e land c o m m u n i t y t h a t lack

c o m m e r c i a l value, b u t that are (as far as we know) essential to its

healthy functioning. Tt assumes, falsely, I think, that the e c o n o m i c

parts of t h e biotic clock will function w i t h o u t t h e u n e c o n o m i c parts.

Tt tends to relegate to g o v e r n m e n t m a n y functions eventually too

large, too complex, or too widely dispersed to be p e r f o r m e d by gov-

e r n m e n t .

An ethical obligation on the part of t h e private owner is the only

visible r e m e d y . f o r these situations.

TI-IE L A N D PYRAMID

An ethic to s u p p l e m e n t and g u i d e t h e e c o n o m i c relation to land p r

e -

supposes the existence of s o m e mental image of land as a biotic

m e c h a n i s m . We can be ethical only in relation to s o m e t h i n g we can

see, feel, u n d e r s t a n d , love, or o t h e r w i s e have faith in.

T h e image c o m m o n l y e m p l o y e d in conservation education is "the

balance of nature." For reasons too lengthy to detail here, this figure

of speech fails to describe accurately what little we know about t h e

land mechanism. A m u c h t r u e r image is t h e o n e employed in ecol-

ogy: t h e biotic pyramid. I shall first sketch t h e p y r a m i d as a symbol of

land, and later develop s o m e of its implications in terms of land-use.

Plants absorb e n e r g y f r o m the sun. This e n e r g y flows through a

circuit called t h e biota, which may be r e p r e s e n t e d by a pyramid c o n -

sisting of layers. T h e b o t t o m layer is the soil. A plant layer rests on

the soil, an insect layer on t h e plants, a bird and r o d e n t layer on the

A Sand County Almanac: The Land Ethic • 506

insects, and so on up t h r o u g h various animal groups to the apex layer,

which consists of t h e larger carnivores.

T h e species of a layer are alike not in w h e r e they c a m e from, or in

what they look like, but r a t h e r in what they eat. Each successive layer
d e p e n d s on those below it for food and often for o t h e r services, and

each in t u r n furnishes food and services to those above. P r o c e e d i n g

u p w a r d , each successive layer decreases in n u m e r i c a l abundance.

T h u s , for every carnivore t h e r e are h u n d r e d s of his prey, t h o u s a n d s

of their prey, millions of insects, u n c o u n t a b l e plants. T h e p y r a m i d a l

form of t h e system reflects this n u m e r i c a l progression f r o m apex to

base. M a n shares an i n t e r m e d i a t e layer with t h e bears, raccoons, and

squirrels which eat both m e a t and vegetables.

T h e lines of d e p e n d e n c y for food and o t h e r services are called

food chains. T h u s s o i l - o a k - d e e r - I n d i a n is a chain that has now been

largely converted to soil-corn-cow-farmer. Each species, i n c l u d i n g

ourselves, is a link in m a n y chains. T h e d e e r eats a h u n d r e d plants

o t h e r than oak, and t h e c o w a h u n d r e d plants o t h e r than corn. Both,

then, are links in a h u n d r e d chains. T h e p y r a m i d is a tangle of chains

so c o m p l e x as to seem disorderly, yet t h e stability of t h e system

proves it to be a highly organized structure. Its f u n c t i o n i n g d e p e n d s

on t h e cooperation and competition of its diverse parts.

In the beginning, t h e p y r a m i d of life was low and squat; t h e food

chains short and simple. Evolution has added layer after layer, link

after link. M a n is o n e of t h o u s a n d s of accretions to the height and

c o m p l e x i t y of the pyramid. Science has given us m a n y doubts, b u t it

has given us at least one certainty: the trend of evolution is to elabo-

rate and diversify the biota.

Land, then, is not m e r e l y soil; it is a fountain of energy flowing

t h r o u g h a circuit of soils, plants, and animals. Food chains are the liv-

ing c h a n n e l s which c o n d u c t energy upward; death and decay r e t u r n

it to t h e soil. T h e circuit is not closed; s o m e e n e r g y is dissipated in

decay, s o m e is added by absorption from t h e air, s o m e is stored in

soils, peats, and long-lived forests; but it is a sustained circuit, like a

slowly a u g m e n t e d revolving f u n d of life. T h e r e is always a net loss by

downhill wash, but this is normally small and offset by the decay of

rocks. It is deposited in t h e ocean and, in t h e course of geological

time, raised to form n e w lands and new pyramids.

T h e velocity and character of the upward flow of e n e r g y d e p e n d

498 • Aldo Leopold

on the complex structure of the plant and animal community, much

as the upward flow of sap in a tree depends on its complex cellular

organization. Without this complexity, normal circulation would

presumably not occur. Structure means the characteristic numbers,

as well as the characteristic kinds and functions, of the component

species. This interdependence between the complex structure of the

land and its smooth functioning as an energy unit is one of its basic
attributes.

When a change occurs in one part of the circuit, many other parts

must adjust themselves to it. Change does not necessarily obstruct or

divert the flow of energy; evolution is a long series of self-induced

changes, the net result of which has been to elaborate the flow mech-

anism and to lengthen the circuit. Evolutionary changes, however,

are usually slow and local. Man's invention of tools has enabled him

to make changes of unprecedented violence, rapidity, and scope.

One change is in the composition of floras and faunas. T h e larger

predators are lopped off the apex of the pyramid; food chains, for the

first time in history, become shorter rather than longer. Domesti-

cated species from other lands are substituted for wild ones, and wild

ones are moved to new habitats. In this world-wide pooling of faunas

and floras, some species get out of bounds as pests and diseases,

others are extinguished. Such effects are seldom intended or fore-

seen; they represent unpredicted and often untraceable readjust-

ments in the structure. Agricultural science is largely a race between

the emergence of new pests and the emergence of new techniques

for their control.

Another change touches the flow of energy through plants and

animals and its return to the soil. Fertility is the ability of soil to
receive, store, and release energy. Agriculture, by overdrafts on the

soil, or by too radical a substitution of domestic for native species in

the superstructure, may derange the channels of flow or deplete stor-

age. Soils depleted of their storage, or of the organic matter which

anchors it, wash away faster than they form. This is erosion.

Waters, like soil, are part of the energy circuit. Industry, by pol-

luting waters or obstructing them with dams, may exclude the plants

and animals necessary to keep energy in circulation.

Transportation brings about another basic change: the plants or

animals grown in one region are now consumed and returned to the

A Sand County Almanac: T h e Land Ethic • 499

soil in another. T r a n s p o r t a t i o n taps the e n e r g y stored in rocks, and in

the air, and uses it elsewhere; thus we fertilize the garden with n i t r o -

gen gleaned by the g u a n o birds f r o m the fishes of seas on the o t h e r

side of the Equator. T h u s t h e f o r m e r l y localized and self-contained

circuits are pooled on a w o r l d - w i d e scale.

T h e process of altering the p y r a m i d for h u m a n o c c u p a t i o n

releases stored energy, and this often gives rise, d u r i n g the p i o n e e r -

ing period, to a decepcive e x u b e r a n c e of plant and animal life, both

wild and tame. T h e s e releases of biotic capital tend to becloud or

p o s t p o n e the penalties of violence.

T h i s t h u m b n a i l sketch of land as an e n e r g y circuit conveys t h r e e

basic ideas:

1. T h a t land is not m e r e l y soil.

2. T h a t the native plants and animals kept t h e energy cir-

cuit open; o t h e r s may or may not.

3. T h a t m a n - m a d e changes are of a d i f f e r e n t order than

evolutionary changes, and have effects m o r e c o m p r e h e n -

sive than is i n t e n d e d or foreseen.

T h e s e ideas, collectively, raise two basic issues: C a n the land

adjust itself to the n e w order? C a n the desired alterations be a c c o m -

plished with less violence?

Biotas seem to differ in their capacity to sustain violent conver-

sion. Western E u r o p e , f o r example, carries a far d i f f e r e n t pyramid

than C a e s a r found there. S o m e large animals are lost; swampy forests

have b e c o m e m e a d o w s or plow-land; m a n y n e w plants and animals

are i n t r o d u c e d , s o m e of which escape as pests; the r e m a i n i n g

natives

are greatly changed in distribution and abundance. Yet the soil is still

t h e r e and, with t h e help of i m p o r t e d nutrients, still fertile; t h e waters

flow normally; the new s t r u c t u r e seems to f u n c t i o n and to persist.

T h e r e is no visible stoppage or d e r a n g e m e n t of the circuit.

Western Europe, then, has a resistant biota. Its inner processes are

tough, elastic, resistant to strain. No m a t t e r how violent the alterations,

t h e pyramid, so far, has developed some new modus vivendi which pre-

serves its habitability for man, and for most of the other natives.

J a p a n seems to present a n o t h e r instance of radical conversion

w i t h o u t disorganization.

500 • Aldo Leopold

M o s t o t h e r civilized regions, and s o m e as yet barely t o u c h e d by

civilization, display various stages of disorganization, varying f r o m

initial s y m p t o m s to advanced wastage. In Asia M i n o r and N o r t h

Africa diagnosis is confused by climatic changes, which m a y have

been e i t h e r the cause or t h e effect of advanced wastage. In the U n i t e d

States t h e d e g r e e of disorganization varies locally; it is worst in t h e

Southwest, the Ozarks, and parts of the South, and least in N e w

E n g l a n d and the N o r t h w e s t . Better land-uses may still arrest ir in t h e

less advanced regions. In parts of Mexico, South America, South

Africa, and Australia a violent and accelerating wastage is in

progress, b u t I cannot assess the prospects.

T h i s almost w o r l d - w i d e display of disorganization in the land

seems to be similar to disease in an animal, except that it never cul-

m i n a t e s in c o m p l e t e disorganization or death. T h e land recovers, but

at some r e d u c e d level of complexity, and with a r e d u c e d c a r r y i n g

capacity f o r people, plants, and animals. M a n y biotas c u r r e n t l y

regarded as "lands of o p p o r t u n i t y " are in fact already subsisting on

exploitative agriculture, i.e. they have already exceeded their sus-

tained c a r r y i n g capacity. M o s t of South America is o v e r p o p u l a t e d

in

this sense.

In arid regions we a t t e m p t to offset the process of wastage by

r e c l a m a t i o n , but it is only too e v i d e n t t h a t the prospective longevity

of r e c l a m a t i o n projects is often short. In o u r own West, the best of

t h e m may n o t last a century.

T h e c o m b i n e d e v i d e n c e of history and ecology seems to s u p p o r t

one general deduction: t h e less violent t h e m a n - m a d e changes, the

g r e a t e r t h e probability of successful r e a d j u s t m e n t in the p y r a m i d

.

Violence, in turn, varies with h u m a n p o p u l a t i o n density; a d e n s e

p o p u l a t i o n requires a m o r e violent conversion. In this respect, N o r t h

A m e r i c a has a better chance for p e r m a n e n c e t h a n E u r o p e , if she

can

contrive to limit her density.

Th is d e d u c t i o n r u n s c o u n t e r to our c u r r e n t philosophy which

assumes t h a t because a small increase in density enriched h u m a n life,

t h a t an indefinite increase will enrich it indefinitely Ecology knows

of no density relationship that holds for indefinitely wide limits. All

gains f r o m density are subject to a law of d i m i n i s h i n g returns.

W h a t e v e r may be t h e equation for men and land, it is i m p r o b a b l e

that we as yet know all its terms. Recent discoveries in mineral and

A Sand County Almanac: The Land Ethic • 501

vitamin nutrition reveal u n s u s p e c t e d d e p e n d e n c i e s in the up-circuit:

incredibly m i n u t e quantities of certain substances d e t e r m i n e t h e

value of soils to plants, of plants to animals. W h a t of the d o w n -

circuit? W h a t of t h e vanishing species, the preservation of which we

now regard as an esthetic luxury? T h e y helped build the soil; in what

u n s u s p e c t e d ways may t h e y be essential to its maintenance? P r o f e s -

sor Weaver proposes that we use prairie flowers to reflocculate t h e

wasting soils of the dust bowl; who knows f o r what p u r p o s e cranes

and condors, otters and grizzlies may s o m e day be used?

L A N D H E A L T H A N D T H E A - B C L E A V A G E

A land ethic, then, reflects t h e existence of an ecological conscience,

and this in turn reflects a conviction of individual responsibility for

t h e health of the land. H e a l t h is the capacity of the land for self-

renewal. Conservation is o u r effort to u n d e r s t a n d and preserve this

capacity.
Conservationists are notorious for their dissensions. Superficially

t h e s e seem to add up to m e r e confusion, but a m o r e careful scrutiny

reveals a single plane of cleavage c o m m o n to m a n y specialized fields.

In each field one g r o u p (A) regards t h e land as soil, and its'function

as c o m m o d i t y - p r o d u c t i o n ; a n o t h e r g r o u p (B) regards the land

as a

biota, and its function as s o m e t h i n g broader. H o w m u c h b r o a d e r is

a d m i t t e d l y in a state of d o u b t and confusion.

In my own field, forestry, g r o u p A is quite c o n t e n t to g r o w trees

like cabbages, with cellulose as t h e basic forest commodity. It feels no

inhibition against violence; its ideology is agronomic. G r o u p B, on

t h e o t h e r hand, sees forestry as f u n d a m e n t a l l y d i f f e r e n t f r o m

agron-

o m y because it employs natural species, and manages a natural envi-

r o n m e n t r a t h e r than creating an artificial one. G r o u p B prefers

n a t u r a l r e p r o d u c t i o n on principle. It worries on biotic as well as e c o -

n o m i c g r o u n d s about t h e loss of species like chestnut, and the t h r e a t -

e n e d loss of the white pines. It worries a b o u t a whole series of

s e c o n d a r y forest functions: wildlife, recreation, watersheds, wilder-

ness areas. To my mind, G r o u p B feels the stirrings of an ecological

conscience.

502 • Aldo Leopold

In t h e wildlife field, a parallel cleavage exists. For G r o u p A t h e

basic c o m m o d i t i e s are sport and meat; t h e yardsticks of p r o d u c t i o n

are c i p h e r s of take in pheasants and trout. Artificial propagation is

acceptable as a p e r m a n e n t as well as a t e m p o r a r y recourse—-if its

u n i t costs permit. G r o u p B, on t h e other hand, worries about a whole

series of biotic side-issues. W h a t is the cost in p r e d a t o r s of p r o d u c i n g

a g a m e crop? Should we have f u r t h e r r e c o u r s e to exotics? H o w can

m a n a g e m e n t restore the shrinking species, like prairie grouse,

already hopeless as shootable game? H o w can m a n a g e m e n t restore

the t h r e a t e n e d rarities, like t r u m p e t e r swan and w h o o p i n g crane?

Can m a n a g e m e n t principles be extended to wildflowers? H e r e again

it is clear to me that we have the same A-B cleavage as in forestry.

In t h e larger field of agriculture I am less c o m p e t e n t to speak, but

t h e r e seem to.be s o m e w h a t parallel cleavages. Scientific agriculture

was actively developing b e f o r e ecology was born, h e n c e a slower

penetration of ecological concepts might be expected. M o r e o v e r the

farmer, by t h e very n a t u r e of his techniques, m u s t m o d i f y t h e biota

m o r e radically than t h e forester or the wildlife manager. N e v e r t h e -

less, t h e r e are m a n y discontents in agriculture which seem to add up

to a new vision of "biotic farming."

P e r h a p s t h e most i m p o r t a n t of these is the new evidence t h a t

p o u n d a g e or t o n n a g e is no m e a s u r e of the f o o d - v a l u e of farm
crops;

t h e p r o d u c t s of fertile soil m a y b e qualitatively as well as q u a n t i t a -

tively superior. We can bolster p o u n d a g e f r o m d e p l e t e d soils by

p o u r i n g on i m p o r t e d fertility, but we are not necessarily bolstering

food-value. T h e possible u l t i m a t e ramifications of this idea are so

i m m e n s e that I m u s t leave their exposition to abler pens.

T h e discontent that labels itself "organic farming," while bearing

s o m e of t h e earmarks of a cult, is nevertheless biotic in its direction,

particularly in its insistence on the i m p o r t a n c e of soil flora and fauna.

T h e ecological f u n d a m e n t a l s of agriculture are just as poorly

known to t h e public as in o t h e r fields of land-use. For example, f e w

e d u c a t e d p e o p l e realize that t h e marvelous advances in t e c h n i q u e

m a d e d u r i n g recent d e c a d e s are i m p r o v e m e n t s in the pump, r a t

h e r

than t h e well. Acre for acre, they have barely sufficed to offset t h e

sinking level of fertility.

In all of these cleavages, we see r e p e a t e d the same basic p a r a -

doxes: man t h e c o n q u e r o r versus man the biotic citizen; science t h e

A Sand County Almanac: The Land Ethic • 03

s h a r p e n e r of his sword versus science the searchlight on his universe;

land the slave and servant versus land the collective organism. Robin-
son's injunction to T r i s t r a m may well be applied, at this juncture, to

Homo sapiens as a species in geological time:

W h e t h e r you will or not

You are a King, Tristram, for you are one

Of the time-tested few that leave the world,

W h e n they are gone, not the same place it was

M a r k what you leave.

T H E O U T L O O K

It is inconceivable to me that an ethical relation to land can exist

w i t h o u t love, respect, and admiration for land, and a high regard f o r

its value, By value, I of c o u r s e m e a n s o m e t h i n g far b r o a d e r than m

e r e

e c o n o m i c value; I mean value in the philosophical sense.

P e r h a p s the most serious obstacle i m p e d i n g the evolution of a

land ethic is the fact that o u r educational and e c o n o m i c system is

h e a d e d away f r o m , r a t h e r than toward, an intense consciousness of

land. Your t r u e m o d e r n is separated f r o m the land by many m i d d l e -

men, and by i n n u m e r a b l e physical gadgets. He has no vital relation

to it; to him it is the s p a c e between cities on which crops grow. T u r n

him loose for a day on the land, and if the spot does n o t h a p p e n to be

a golf links or a "scenic" area, he is bored stiff. If crops could be raised

by hydroponics instead of farming, it would suit him very well. S y n -

thetic substitutes for wood, leather, wool, and o t h e r natural land

p r o d u c t s suit him better than the originals. In short, land is s o m e -

thing he has "outgrown."

Almost equally serious as an obstacle to a land ethic is the attitude

of the farmer for w h o m the land is still an adversary, or a taskmaster

that keeps him in slavery. Theoretically, the mechanization of f a r m i n g

ought to cut the farmer's chains, but whether it really does is debatable.

O n e of t h e requisites for an ecological c o m p r e h e n s i o n of land is

an u n d e r s t a n d i n g of ecology, and this is by no m e a n s co-extensive

with "education"; in fact, m u c h h i g h e r e d u c a t i o n seems deliberately

504 • Aldo Leopold

to avoid ecological concepts. An u n d e r s t a n d i n g of ecology does n o t

necessarily originate in courses bearing ecological labels; it is quite

as likely to be labeled geography, botany, agronomy, history, or eco-

nomics. T h i s is as it should be, but whatever t h e label, ecological

training is scarce.

T h e case for a land ethic would a p p e a r hopeless but for t h e

m i n o r i t y which is in obvious revolt against these " m o d e r n " trends.

T h e "key-log" which must be moved to release the evolutionary

process f o r an ethic is simply this: quit t h i n k i n g about d e c e n t l a n d -

use as solely an e c o n o m i c problem. E x a m i n e each question in t e r m s

of what is ethically and esthetically right, as well as what is e c o n o m -

ically expedient. A t h i n g is right when it tends to preserve t h e

integrity, stability, and b e a u t y of t h e biotic community. It is w r o n g

when it t e n d s otherwise.

It of course goes w i t h o u t saying that e c o n o m i c feasibility limits

t h e t e t h e r of what can or c a n n o t be d o n e for land. It always has and it

always will. T h e fallacy t h e e c o n o m i c determinists have tied around

o u r collective neck, and which we now need to cast off, is t h e belief

t h a t economics d e t e r m i n e s all land-use. T h i s is simply not true. An

i n n u m e r a b l e host of actions and attitudes, c o m p r i s i n g p e r h a p s t h

e

bulk of all land relations, is d e t e r m i n e d by the land-users' tastes and

predilections, rather than by his purse. T h e bulk of all land relations

hinges on investments of time, f o r e t h o u g h t , skill, and faith r a t h e r

than on investments of cash. As a l a n d - u s e r thinketh, so is he.

I have p u r p o s e l y p r e s e n t e d t h e land ethic as a p r o d u c t of social

evolution because n o t h i n g so i m p o r t a n t as an ethic is ever "written."

Only t h e most superficial s t u d e n t of history supposes that Moses

"wrote" the Decalogue; it evolved in t h e m i n d s of a t h i n k i n g c o m -

munity, and M o s e s w r o t e a tentative s u m m a r y of it for a "seminar." I

say tentative because evolution never stops.

T h e evolution of a land ethic is an intellectual as well as e m o -

tional process. Conservation is paved with good intentions which

prove to be futile, or even dangerous, because t h e y are devoid of crit-

ical u n d e r s t a n d i n g either of the land, or of e c o n o m i c land-use. I

think it is a t r u i s m that as t h e ethical f r o n t i e r advances from the indi-

vidual to t h e c o m m u n i t y , its intellectual c o n t e n t increases.

T h e m e c h a n i s m of operation is t h e s a m e for any ethic: social

a p p r o b a t i o n for right actions: social disapproval f o r w r o n g actions.

A Sand County Almanac: The Land Ethic • 505

By and large, o u r p r e s e n t p r o b l e m is o n e of attitudes and i m p l e -

ments. We are r e m o d e l i n g the Alhambra with a steam-shovel, and we

are prond of o u r yardage. We shall hardly relinquish the shovel,

which after all has m a n y good points, b u t we are in need of gentler

and m o r e objective criteria for its successful use.

CHAPTER 25

P E T E R S I N G E R

Born in Melbourne, Australia, in 1946, Peter Singer is arguably the

most famous ethicist in the world and, thanks in part to his hotly con-

tested views in support of euthanasia and healthcare rationing, he is

also one of the most controversial philosophers. Singer, who is Ira

W. D e C a m p Professor of Bioethics at Princeton University, is an

ardent Utilitarian. In this essay drawn from his popular Practical Ethics,

Singer begins with the seemingly innocuous proposition that there is

something awry with the individual who refuses to endure a very

small hardship, say, getting his or her shoes wet, in order to spare some-

one else a grave harm, such as drowning. From this starting point, he

drives to the conclusion that the rich would be reprobate not to help

the downtrodden and, on a larger scale, the same holds for the rela-

tionship between the developed nations of the world and those in

"absolute poverty." If Singer is correct, then wealthy people and

nations who fail to lend a hand are not much better than murderers.

R I C H A N D P O O R

SOME FACTS

T h e last four chapters dealt with issues associated with killing. In the

last of these, in the context of euthanasia, we questioned the distinction

between killing and allowing to die, concluding that the distinction is

of no intrinsic ethical significance. This conclusion has implications

which go far beyond euthanasia.

Consider these facts: by the most cautious estimates, 400 million

people lack the calories, protein, vitamins and minerals needed for a

normally healthy life. Millions are constantly hungry; others suffer

from deficiency diseases and f r o m infections they would be able to

resist on a better diet. Children are worst affected. According to one

estimate, 15 million children u n d e r five die every year from the com-

bined effects of malnutrition and infection. In some areas, half the

children born can be expected to die before their fifth birthday.

N o r is lack of food the only hardship of the poor. To give a

broader picture, Robert M c N a m a r a , President of the World Bank,

has suggested the term "absolute poverty." T h e poverty we are famil-

iar with in industrialized nations is relative poverty—meaning that

some citizens are poor, relative to the wealth enjoyed by their neigh-

bors. People living in relative poverty in Australia might be quite

comfortably off by comparison with old-age pensioners in Britain,

508 • Peter Singer

and British old-age p e n s i o n e r s are not p o o r in comparison with the

poverty t h a t exists in Mali or Ethiopia. Absolute poverty, on t h e

other hand, is p o v e r t y by any standard. In M c N a m a r a ' s words:

Poverty at the absolute l e v e l . . . is life at the very margin

of existence.

T h e absolute poor are severely deprived human beings

struggling to survive in a set of squalid and degraded cir-

cumstances almost beyond the power of o u r sophisticated

imaginations and privileged circumstances to conceive.

C o m p a r e d to those fortunate enough to live in devel-

oped countries, individuals in the poorest nations have:

An infant mortality rate eight times higher

A life expectancy one-third lower

An adult literacy rate 6 0 % less

A nutritional level, for one out of every two in the pop-

ulation, below acceptable standards; and for millions of

infants, less protein than is sufficient to permit optimum

development of the brain.

And M c N a m a r a has s u m m e d up absolute poverty as:

a condition of life so characterized by malnutrition, illiter-

acy, disease, squalid surroundings, high infant mortality

and low life expectancy as to be beneath any reasonable

definition of human decency.

Absolute poverty is, as M c N a m a r a has said, responsible for the loss of

countless lives, especially among infants and y o u n g children. W h e n

absolute poverty does not cause death it still causes misery of a kind not

often seen in the affluent nations. Malnutrition in young children stunts

both physical and mental development. Tt has been estimated that the

health, growth and learning capacity of nearly half the young children
in developing countries are affected by malnutrition. Millions of people

on poor diets suffer from deficiency diseases, like goitre, or blindness

caused by a lack of vitamin A. T h e food value of what the poor eat is

f u r t h e r rcduced by parasites such as hookworm and ringworm, which

are e n d e m i c in conditions of poor sanitation and health education.

Rich and Poor • 509

D e a t h and disease apart, absolute poverty remains a miserable

condition of life, with inadequate food, shelter, clothing, sanitation,

health services and education. According to World Bank estimates

which define absolute poverty in terms of i n c o m e levels insufficient

to provide adequate nutrition, s o m e t h i n g like 800 million p e o p l e —

almost 4 0 % of the p e o p l e of developing countries—live in absolute

poverty. Absolute p o v e r t y is probably t h e principal cause of h u m a n

m i s e r y today.

T h i s is the background situation, the situation that prevails on o u r

planet all rhe time. It does not make headlines. People died f r o m

m a l n u t r i t i o n and related diseases yesterday, and m o r e will die

tomorrow. T h e occasional ' d r o u g h t s , cyclones, earthquakes and

floods that take the lives of tens of thousands in one place and at one

t i m e are more newsworthy. T h e y add greatly to the total a m o u n t of

h u m a n suffering; b u t it is wrong to assume that when t h e r e are no

m a j o r calamities r e p o r t e d , all is well.

T h e problem is not that t h e world cannot p r o d u c e e n o u g h to f e e d

and shelter its people. P e o p l e in the poor countries consume, on

average, 400 lbs of grain a year, while N o r t h Americans average m o r e

than 2000 lbs. T h e d i f f e r e n c e is caused by t h e fact that in t h e rich

countries we feed most of o u r grain to animals, converting it into

meat, milk and eggs. Because this is an inefficient process, wasting up

to 9 5 % of the food value of t h e animal feed, p e o p l e in rich countries

are responsible for t h e c o n s u m p t i o n of far m o r e food than those in

p o o r countries who eat few animal products. If we s t o p p e d f e e d i n g

animals on grains, soybeans and fishmeal the a m o u n t of food saved

w o u l d — i f distributed to t h o s e who need i t — b e m o r e than enough to

end h u n g e r t h r o u g h o u t the world.

T h e s e facts about animal food do not m e a n that we can easily

solve t h e world food problem by cutting down on animal products,

but they show t h a t the p r o b l e m is essentially one of distribution

r a t h e r than p r o d u c t i o n . T h e world does p r o d u c e e n o u g h food.

M o r e o v e r t h e p o o r e r nations themselves could p r o d u c e far m o r e if

they m a d e m o r e use of improved agricultural techniques.

So why are p e o p l e hungry? Poor p e o p l e cannot afford to b u y

grain grown by American farmers. Poor f a r m e r s cannot afford to buy

improved seeds, or fertilizers, or the m a c h i n e r y n e e d e d for drilling

wells and p u m p i n g water. O n l y by t r a n s f e r r i n g s o m e of t h e

wealth of

570 Peter Singer

the developed nations to t h e p o o r of t h e u n d e v e l o p e d nations can the

situation be changed.

T h a t this wealth exists is clear. Against the p i c t u r e of absolute

p o v e r t y that M c N a m a r a has painted, o n e m i g h t pose a p i c t u r e of

"absolute affluence." T h o s e w h o are absolutely affluent are not n e c -

essarily affluent by comparison with their neighbors, but they are

affluent by any reasonable definition of h u m a n needs. This m e a n s

that they have m o r e i n c o m e than they n e e d to provide themselves

a d e q u a t e l y with all the basic necessities of life. After b u y i n g food,

shelter, clothing, necessary health services and education, the

absolutely affluent are still able to spend m o n e y on luxuries. T h e

absolutely affluent choose their food for the pleasures of t h e palate,

n o t to stop h u n g e r ; they buy n e w clothes to look fashionable, not to

keep warm; they move h o u s e to be in a better neighborhood or have

a play room for the children, n o t to keep out the rain; and after all

this t h e r e is still m o n e y to spend on books and records, color televi-

sion, and overseas holidays.

At this stage I am m a k i n g no ethical j u d g m e n t s about absolute

affluence, m e r e l y p o i n t i n g o u t that it exists. Its defining characteris-

tic is a significant a m o u n t of i n c o m e above the level necessary to p r o -

vide f o r the basic h u m a n n e e d s of oneself and one's d e p e n d e n t s . By

this standard Western E u r o p e , N o r t h A m e r i c a , J a p a n , Australia, N

e w

Zealand and t h e oil-rich M i d d l e Eastern states are all absolutely

affluent, and so are many, if n o t all, of their citizens. T h e U S S R and

E a s t e r n E u r o p e might also be included on this list. To q u o t e M c N a -

mara o n c e more:

T h e average citizen of a developed country enjoys wealth

beyond the wildest dreams of the one billion people in

countries with per capita incomes u n d e r $200 . ..

T h e s e , therefore, are the c o u n t r i e s — a n d i n d i v i d u a l s — w h o

have

wealth which they could, w i t h o u t t h r e a t e n i n g their own basic wel-

fare, t r a n s f e r to t h e absolutely poor.

At present, very little is being transferred. M e m b e r s of the Organi-

zation of Petroleum E x p o r t i n g C o u n t r i e s lead the way, giving

an average of 2.1 % of their Gross National P r o d u c t . Apart f r o m t h e m ,

Rich and Poor • 511

only Sweden, T h e N e t h e r l a n d s and N o r w a y have reached the m o d e

s t

UN target of 0.7% of G N P . Britain gives 0.38% of its G N P in official

d e v e l o p m e n t assistance and a small additional a m o u n t in unofficial

aid from voluntary organizations. T h e total comes to less than £1 p e r

m o n t h p e r person, and c o m p a r e s with 5.5% of G N P spent on alcohol,

and 3% on tobacco. Other, even wealthier nations, give still less: G e r -

m a n y gives 0.27%, the United States 0.22% and Japan 0.21%.

T H E M O R A L EQUIVALENT O F M U R D E R ?

If these are the facts, we cannot avoid c o n c l u d i n g that by not giving

m o r e than we do, p e o p l e in rich countries are allowing those in p o o r

countries to suffer f r o m absolute poverty, with consequent m a l n u t r i -

tion, ill health and death. T h i s is not a conclusion which applies only

to governments. It applies to each absolutely affluent individual, f o r

each of us has the o p p o r t u n i t y to do s o m e t h i n g about the situation;

for instance, to give o u r time or m o n e y to v o l u n t a r y organizations

like O x f a m , War on Want, F r e e d o m From Hunger, and so on. If, then,

allowing s o m e o n e to die is not intrinsically d i f f e r e n t f r o m killing

someone, it would s e e m that we are all m u r d e r e r s .

Is this verdict too harsh? M a n y will reject it as self-evidently

absurd. T h e y would s o o n e r take it as showing that allowing to die

c a n n o t be equivalent to killing than as showing that living in an afflu-

ent style w i t h o u t c o n t r i b u t i n g to O x f a m is ethically equivalent to

going over to India and s h o o t i n g a few peasants. And no doubt, p u t as

bluntly as that, t h e verdict t r t o o harsh.

T h e r e are several significant differences between s p e n d i n g m o n e y

on luxuries instead of using it to save lives, and deliberately shooting

people.

First, the motivation will normally be different. T h o s e w h o delib-

erately shoot others go o u t of their way to kill; they p r e s u m a b l y want

their victims dead, f r o m malice, sadism, or s o m e equally u n p l e a s a n t

motive. A person w h o buys a color television set p r e s u m a b l y wants to

watch television in c o l o r — n o t in itself a terrible thing. At worst,

s p e n d i n g m o n e y on luxuries instead of giving it away indicates self-

512 • Peter Singer

ishness and i n d i f f e r e n c e to the sufferings of others, characteristics

which m a y be u n d e s i r a b l e but are n o t c o m p a r a b l e with actual

malice

or similar motives.

Second, it is not difficult f o r most of us to act in accordance with

a r u l e against killing people: it is, on t h e o t h e r hand, very difficult to

obey a r u l e which c o m m a n d s us to save all t h e lives we can. To live a

comfortable, or even luxurious life it is not necessary to kill anyone;

but it is necessary to allow some to die w h o m we might have saved,

f o r t h e m o n e y that we n e e d to live c o m f o r t a b l y could have been

given away. T h u s the d u t y to avoid killing is m u c h easier to discharge

c o m p l e t e l y than the d u t y to save. Saving every life we could would

m e a n c u t t i n g o u r standard of living down to t h e bare essentials .

n e e d e d to keep us alive* To discharge this d u t y completely would

r e q u i r e a d e g r e e of moral heroism u t t e r l y d i f f e r e n t f r o m w h a t
is

required by m e r e avoidance of killing.

A third d i f f e r e n c e is the g r e a t e r certainty of the o u t c o m e of

s h o o t i n g w h e n c o m p a r e d with not giving aid. If I p o i n t a loaded

gun

at s o m e o n e and pull t h e trigger, it is virtually certain that t h e p e r s o n

will be injured, if n o t killed; whereas the m o n e y that I could give

m i g h t be spent on a project that t u r n s out to be unsuccessful and

helps no one.

Fourth, w h e n p e o p l e are shot t h e r e are identifiable individuals

who have been h a r m e d . We can p o i n t to them and to their grieving

families. W h e n I b u y my color television, I c a n n o t know who my

m o n e y would have saved if I had given it away. In a t i m e of f a m i n e I

may see dead bodies and grieving families on my new television, and

I m i g h t not d o u b t that my m o n e y would have saved some of t h e m ;

even then it is impossible to p o i n t to a body and say that had I not

b o u g h t t h e set, that person would have survived.

Fifth, it m i g h t be said that the plight of t h e h u n g r y is not my

doing, and so I cannot be held responsible for it. T h e starving would

"Strictly, we would need to cut down to the m i n i m u m level compatible with

earning

the i n c o m e which, after providing for our needs, left us most to give away. T
h u s if my

p r e s e n t position earns me, say, £10,000 a year, but requires me to spend

£1,000 a year

on dressing respectahly and maintaining a car, I cannot save m o r e people' by

giving

away the car and clothes if that will mean taking a job which, although it does
not

involve me in these expenses, e^rns me only £5,000.

Rich and Poor • 513

have b e e n starving if 1 had never existed. If I kill, however, I am

responsible for my victims' deaths, for those people would not have

died if I had not killed t h e m .

T h e s e differences n e e d not shake our previous conclusion t h a t

t h e r e is no intrinsic difference between killing and allowing to die.

T h e y are extrinsic differences, that is, differences normally b u t not

necessarily associated with t h e distinction b e t w e e n killing and allow-

ing to die. We can imagine cases in which s o m e o n e allows another to

die for malicious or sadistic reasons; we can imagine a world in which

t h e r e are so few people n e e d i n g assistance, and they are so easy to

assist, that o u r d u t y not to allow people to die is as easily discharged

as o u r duty not to kill; we can imagine situations in which t h e out-

c o m e of not helping is as sure as shooting; we can imagine cases in

which we can identify t h e person we allow to die. We can even imag-

ine a case of allowing to die in which, if I had not existed, t h e person

would not have d i e d — f o r instance, a case in which if I had not been

in a position to help (though I don't help) s o m e o n e else would have

been in my position and would have helped.

O u r previous discussion of euthanasia illustrates the extrinsic

n a t u r e of these differences, for they do not provide a basis tor distin-

guishing active f r o m passive euthanasia. If a d o c t o r decides, in c o n -

sultation with t h e parents, not to o p e r a t e o n — a n d thus to allow to

d i e — a mongoloid i n f a n t with an intestinal blockage, his motivation

will be similar to t h a t of a doctor who gives a lethal injection r a t h e r

than allow the i n f a n t to die. No e x t r a o r d i n a r y sacrifice or moral

heroism will be r e q u i r e d in either case. N o t o p e r a t i n g will just as

certainly end in death as administering t h e injection. Allowing to die

does have an identifiable victim. Finally, it may well be that t h e d o c -

tor is personally responsible for t h e death of the infant he decides not

to o p e r a t e u p o n , since he may know that if he had not taken this case,

o t h e r doctors in t h e hospital would have operated.

Nevertheless, euthanasia is a special case, and very different f r o m

allowing people to starve to death. ( T h e major difference being that

w h e n euthanasia is justifiable, death is a good thing.) T h e extrinsic dif-

ferences which normally mark off killing and allowing to die do explain

why we normally regard killing as m u c h worse than allowing to die.

To explain o u r conventional ethical attitudes is not to justify

514 • Peter Singer

t h e m . Do t h e five d i f f e r e n c e s not only explain, b u t also justify, o u r

attitudes? Let us consider t h e m one by one:

1. T a k e the lack of an identifiable victim first. Suppose that I am a

traveling salesman, selling t i n n e d food, and I learn that a batch

of tins contains a c o n t a m i n a n t , the known e f f e c t of which when

c o n s u m e d is to d o u b l e t h e risk that t h e c o n s u m e r will die f r o m

stomach cancer. S u p p o s e I c o n t i n u e to sell t h e tins. My decision

may have no identifiable victims. S o m e of those who eat t h e

food will die f r o m cancer. T h e p r o p o r t i o n of c o n s u m e r s dying

in this way will be twice t h a t of the c o m m u n i t y at large, b u t

which a m o n g the c o n s u m e r s died b e c a u s e they ate what I sold,

and which would have contracted the disease anyway? It is

impossible to tell; but surely this impossibility makes my deci-

sion no less reprehensible than it would have been had t h e c o n -

t a m i n a n t had m o r e readily detectable, t h o u g h equally fatal,

effects.

2. T h e lack of certainty t h a t by giving m o n e y I could save a life

does r e d u c e the wrongness of n o t giving, by comparison with

d e l i b e r a t e killing; but it is insufficient to show that n o t giving is

a c c e p t a b l e conduct. T h e motorist who speeds through p e d e s -

trian crossings, heedless of anyone who m i g h t be on them, is n o t

a m u r d e r e r . She may never actually hit a pedestrian; yet w h a t

she does is very w r o n g indeed.

3. T h e notion of responsibility for acts rather than omissions is

m o r e puzzling. On the one hand we feel ourselves to be u n d e r a

greater obligation to help those whose misfortunes we have

caused. (It is for this reason that advocates of overseas aid often

argue that Western nations have created the poverty of T h i r d

World nations, through forms of economic exploitation which go

back to the colonial system.) On the other hand any c o n s e q u e n -

tialist would insist that we are responsible for all the conse-

quences of our actions, and if a consequence of my spending

m o n e y on a luxury item is that s o m e o n e dies, I am responsible for

that death. It is t r u e t h a t the person would have died even if I had

never existed, but what is the relevance of that? T h e fact is that I

do exist, and the consequentialist will say that o u r responsibilities

derive f r o m the world as it is, not as it m i g h t have been.

Rich and Poor • 524

O n e way of m a k i n g sense of the n o n - c o n s e q u e n t i a l i s t view of

responsibility is by basing it on a t h e o r y of rights of the kind

proposed by J o h n Locke or, m o r e recently, Robert Nozick. If

everyone has a right to life, and this right is a right against others

who might t h r e a t e n my life, but not a right to assistance f r o m

others when my life is in danger, then we can u n d e r s t a n d t h e

feeling that we are responsible for acting to kill but n o t f o r o m i t -

t i n g to save. T h e f o r m e r violates the rights of others, t h e latter

does not.

Should we accept such a theory of rights? If we build up o u r

theory of rights by imagining, as Locke and Nozick do, individ-

uals living i n d e p e n d e n t l y f r o m each o t h e r in a "state of nature,"

it may seem natural to adopt a conception of rights in which as

long as each leaves the other alone, no rights are violated. I

might, on this view, quite p r o p e r l y have maintained my i n d e -

p e n d e n t existence if I had wished to do so. So if 1 do not m a k e

you any worse off t h a n you would have been if I had had n o t h -

' ing at all to do with you, how can I have violated your rights?

But why start f r o m such an unhistorical, abstract and u l t i m a t e l y

inexplicable idea as an i n d e p e n d e n t individual? We now know

that o u r ancestors w e r e social beings long before they w e r e

h u m a n beings, and could n o t have developed the abilities and

capacities of h u m a n beings if they had not been social beings

first. In any case we are not, now, isolated individuals. If we c o n -

sider people living together in a c o m m u n i t y , it is less easy to

assume that rights must be restricted to rights against i n t e r f e r -

ence. We might, instead, adopt the view t h a t taking rights to life

seriously is i n c o m p a t i b l e with standing by and watching p e o p l e

die w h e n o n e could easily save them.

4. W h a t of the d i f f e r e n c e in motivation? T h a t a person does not

positively wish for t h e death of another lessens t h e severity of

the blame she deserves; b u t not by as m u c h as o u r p r e s e n t atti-

tudes to giving aid suggest. T h e behavior of the s p e e d i n g

motorist is again comparable, for such motorists usually have no

desire at all to kill anyone. T h e y m e r e l y enjoy s p e e d i n g and are

i n d i f f e r e n t to t h e consequences. D e s p i t e their lack of malice,

those who kill with cars deserve not only blame but also severe

p u n i s h m e n t .

S16 Peter Singer

5. Finally, the fact that to avoid killing p e o p l e is normally not dif-

ficult, whereas to save all o n e possihly could save is heroic, m u s t

make an i m p o r t a n t d i f f e r e n c e to o u r attitude to failure to do

what the respective principles demand. N o t to kill is a m i n i m u m

standard of acceptable c o n d u c t we can r e q u i r e of everyone; to

save all one possibly could is not s o m e t h i n g that can realistically

he required, especially not in societies accustomed to giving as

little as ours do. Given the generally accepted standards, p e o p l e

w h o give, say, £ 1 0 0 a y e a r to O x f a m are m o r e aptly praised for

above average generosity than blamed for giving less than they

might. T h e appropriateness of praise and blame is, however, a

s e p a r a t e issue f r o m t h e tightness or wrongness of actions. T h e

f o r m e r evaluates the agent: the latter evaluates the action. P e r -

haps p e o p l e who give £100 really ought to give at least £1,000,

b u t to blame t h e m for not giving m o r e could he c o u n t e r -

productive. It might make t h e m feel that what is required is t o o

d e m a n d i n g , and if one is going to be blamed anyway, one m i g h t

as well not give a n y t h i n g at all.

( T h a t an ethic which p u t saving all o n e possibly can on the

s a m e footing as not killing would be an e t h i c for saints or heroes

should not lead us to assume that the alternative m u s t be an

e t h i c which makes it obligatory not to kill, b u t puts us u n d e r no

obligation to save anyone. T h e r e are positions in between these

extremes, as we shall soon see.)

To summarize our discussion of the five differences which normally

exist between killing and allowing to die, in the context of absolute

poverty and overseas aid. T h e lack of an identifiable victim is of no

moral significance, though it may play an i m p o r t a n t role in explaining

o u r attitudes. T h e idea that we are directly responsible for those we

kill, but not for those we do not help, depends on a questionable notion

of responsibility, and may n e e d to be based on a controversi al theory of

rights. Differences in certainty and motivation are ethically significant,

and show that not aiding the poor is not to he c o n d e m n e d as m u r d e r -

ing them; it could, however, be on a par with killing someone as a result

of reckless driving, which is serious enough. Finally the difficulty of

completely discharging the duty of saving all one possibly can makes

Rich arid Poor • 517

it inappropriate to blame those who fall short of this target as we blame

those who kill; but this does not show that the act itself is less serious.
N o r does it indicate anything about those who, far from saving all they

possibly can, make no effort to save anyone.

T h e s e conclusions suggest a new approach. Instead of a t t e m p t i n g

to deal with the contrast between affluence and poverty by c o m p a r -

ing n o t saving with deliberate killing, let us consider afresh w h e t h e r

we have an obligation to assist those whose lives are in danger, and if

so, how this obligation applies to the present world situation.

T H E OBLIGATION TO ASSIST

THE ARGUMENT FOR AN OBLIGATION TO ASSIST

T h e path f r o m the library at my university to the H u m a n i t i e s l e c t u r e

t h e a t e r passes a shallow o r n a m e n t a l pond. S u p p o s e that on my way

to give a lecture I notice that a small child has fallen in and is in d a n -

ger of drowning. Would anyone deny that I ought to wade in and pull

the child out? T h i s will m e a n getting my clothes muddy, and e i t h e r

canceling my lecture or delaying it until I can find something d r y to

c h a n g e into; but c o m p a r e d with the avoidable death of a child this is

insignificant.

A plausible principle that would s u p p o r t the j u d g m e n t that I

o u g h t to pull the child o u t is this: if it is in o u r power to p r e v e n t

s o m e t h i n g very bad happening, w i t h o u t t h e r e b y sacrificing a n y t h

i n g
of c o m p a r a b l e moral significance, we o u g h t to do it. T h i s principle

seems uncontroversial. It will obviously win the assent of conse-

quentialists; but non-consequentialists should accept it too, because

the injunction to p r e v e n t what is bad applies only when n o t h i n g

c o m p a r a b l y significant is at stake. T h u s t h e principle cannot lead to

t h e kinds of actions of which non-consequentialists strongly disap-

prove—serious violations of individual rights, injustice, broken

promises, and so on. If a non-consequentialist regards any of these as

c o m p a r a b l e in moral significance to the bad thing that is to be p r e -

518 • Peter Singer

vented, he will automatically regard the p r i n c i p l e as not applying in

those cases in which the bad thing can only be prevented by violat-

ing rights, doing injustice, b r e a k i n g promises, or whatever else is at

stake. M o s t non-consequentialists hold that we o u g h t to p r e v e n t

w h a t is bad and p r o m o t e what is good. T h e i r d i s p u t e with conse-

quentialists lies in their insistence that this is not the sole ultimate

ethical principle: that it is an ethical principle is not denied by any

plausible ethical t h e o r y

N e v e r t h e l e s s the uncontroversial appearance of t h e principle that

we o u g h t to prevent w h a t is bad w h e n we can do so w i t h o u t sacrific-

ing a n y t h i n g of c o m p a r a b l e moral significance is deceptive. If it w e r

e

taken seriously and acted upon, o u r lives and o u r world would be

f u n d a m e n t a l l y changed. For the principle applies, n o t just to rare sit-

uations in which one can save a child f r o m a pond, but to the e v e r y -

day situation in which we can assist those living in absolute poverty.

In saying this I assume t h a t absolute poverty, with its h u n g e r and

malnutrition, lack of shelter, illiteracy, disease, high infant mortality

and low life expectancy, is a bad thing. And 1 assume that it is within

the p o w e r of the affluent to r e d u c e absolute poverty, w i t h o u t sacri-

ficing a n y t h i n g of c o m p a r a b l e moral significance. If these two

assumptions and t h e principle we have been discussing are correct,

we have an obligation to h e l p those in absolute poverty which is no

less strong t h a n o u r obligation to rescue a d r o w n i n g child f r o m a

pond. N o t to h e l p would be wrong, w h e t h e r or not it is intrinsically

equivalent to killing. H e l p i n g is not, as conventionally thought, a

charitable act which it is praiseworthy to do, b u t not w r o n g to omit;

it is s o m e t h i n g that everyone ought to do.

T h i s is t h e a r g u m e n t for an obligation to assist. Set out m o r e for-

mally, it would look like this.

First premise:

If we can prevent s o m e t h i n g bad w i t h o u t sacri-

ficing a n y t h i n g of c o m p a r a b l e significance, we

o u g h t to do it.

Second premise: Absolute poverty is bad.

T h i r d premise:

T h e r e is s o m e absolute p o v e r t y we can p r e v e n t

w i t h o u t sacrificing anything of c o m p a r a b l e

moral significance.

Conclusion:

We o u g h t to p r e v e n t s o m e absolute poverty.

Rich and Poor • 519

T h e first p r e m i s e is t h e substantive moral premise on which t h e

a r g u m e n t rests, and 1 have tried to show that it can be accepted by

p e o p l e who hold a variety of ethical positions.

T h e second p r e m i s e is unlikely to be challenged. Absolute

poverty is, as M c N a m a r a p u t it, "beneath any reasonable definition

of h u m a n d e c e n c y " and it would be hard to find a plausible ethical

view which did not regard it as a bad thing.

T h e third premise is m o r e controversial, even t h o u g h it is c a u -

tiously framed. It claims only t h a t s o m e absolute poverty can be p r e -

v e n t e d w i t h o u t the sacrifice of a n y t h i n g of c o m p a r a b l e moral

significance. It thus avoids the objection that any aid I can give is just
"drops in t h e ocean" for t h e point is not w h e t h e r my personal contri-

bution will make any n o t i c e a b l e impression on world poverty as a

whole (of course it won't) but w h e t h e r it will p r e v e n t s o m e poverty.

T h i s is all the a r g u m e n t n e e d s to sustain its conclusion; since t h e sec-

ond premise says t h a t any absolute poverty is bad, and not merely the

total a m o u n t of absolute poverty. If w i t h o u t sacrificing a n y t h i n g of

c o m p a r a b l e moral significance we can p r o v i d e just one family with

t h e m e a n s to raise itself out of absolute poverty, the third p r e m i s e is

vindicated.

I have left the notion of moral significance unexamined in o r d e r to

show that the argument does not depend on any specific values or eth-

ical principles. I- think che third premise is t r u e for most p e o p l e living

in industrialized nations, on any defensible view of what is morally

significant. O u r affluence means that we have income we can dispose

of w i t h o u t giving up the basic necessities of life, and we can use this

income to reduce absolute poverty. Just how much we will think our-

selves obliged to give up will depend on what we consider to be of

comparable moral significance to the poverty we could prevent: color

television, stylish clothes, expensive dinner, a sophisticated stereo sys-

tem, overseas holidays, a (second?) car, a larger house, private schools

for o u r children . . . For a utilitarian, n o n e of these is likely to be of

comparable significance to the reduction of absolute poverty; and

those who are not utilitarians surely must, if they subscribe to the prin-

ciple of universalizability, accept that at least some of these things are of

far less moral significance than the absolute poverty that could be

prevented by the m o n e y they cost. So the third premise seems to be

t r u e on any plausible ethical view—although the precise a m o u n t of

520 • Peter Singer

absolute poverty that can be prevented before anything of moral

significance is sacrificed will vary according to the ethical view one

accepts.

OBJECTIONS TO THE A R G U M E N T

TAKING CAKE OF OUR OWN

A n y o n e who has worked to increase overseas aid will have c o m e

across the a r g u m e n t that we should look after those n e a r us, o u r f a m -

ilies and then the p o o r in o u r own country, before we think a b o u t

poverty in distant places.

No d o u b t we do instinctively p r e f e r to help those w h o are close to

us. Few could stand by and watch a child drown; m a n y can ignore a

f a m i n e in Africa. But t h e question is n o t what we usually do, but what

we o u g h t to do, and it is difficult to see any sound moral justification

for the view t h a t distance, or c o m m u n i t y m e m b e r s h i p , makes a c r u

-

cial d i f f e r e n c e to o u r obligations.

Consider, for instance, racial affinities. Should whites help p o o r

whites b e f o r e helping p o o r blacks? M o s t of us would reject such a

suggestion o u t of hand, and o u r discussion of the principle of equal

consideration of interests in C h a p t e r 2 has shown why we should

reject it: people's n e e d f o r food has n o t h i n g to do with their race, and

if blacks n e e d food m o r e than whites, it would be a violation of the

principle of equal consideration to give p r e f e r e n c e to whites.

T h e same p o i n t applies to citizenship or n a t i o n h o o d . E v e r y afflu-

ent nation has some relatively p o o r citizens, but absolute p o v e r t y is

limited largely to t h e p o o r nations. T h o s e living on the streets of

C a l c u t t a , or in a drought-stricken region of the Sahel, are e x p e r i e n c -

ing p o v e r t y u n k n o w n in the West. U n d e r these circumstances it

would be w r o n g to d e c i d e that only those f o r t u n a t e e n o u g h to be

cit-

izens of our own c o m m u n i t y will share our a b u n d a n c e .

We feel obligations of kinship m o r e strongly than those of citizen-

ship. W h i c h parents could give away their last bowl of rice if their own

children w e r e starving? To do so would seem unnatural, contrary to

our n a t u r e as biologically evolved beings—although w h e t h e r it

would be w r o n g is a n o t h e r question altogether. In any case, we are not

Rich and Poor • 521

faced with that situation, b u t with one in which our own children are

well-fed, well-clothed, well-educated, and would now like new bikes,

a stereo set, or their own car. In these circumstances any special obli-

gations we might have to o u r children have been fulfilled, and the

needs of strangers make a stronger claim u p o n us.

T h e e l e m e n t of t r u t h in t h e view chat we should first take care of

o u r own, lies in the advantage of a recognized system of r e s p o n -

sibilities. W h e n families and local c o m m u n i t i e s look after their own

p o o r e r members, ties of affection and personal relationships achieve

ends that would o t h e r w i s e r e q u i r e a large, impersonal b u r e a u c r a c

y

H e n c e it would be absurd to propose that f r o m now on we all regard

ourselves as equally responsible for the welfare of everyone in t h e

world; but the a r g u m e n t f o r an obligation to assist does not p r o p o s e

that. It applies only w h e n some are in absolute poverty, and o t h e r s

can help w i t h o u t sacrificing anything of c o m p a r a b l e moral signifi-

cance. To allow one's own kin to sink into absolute poverty would be

to sacrifice something of c o m p a r a b l e significance; and b e f o r e t h a t

point had been reached, t h e breakdown of the system of family and

c o m m u n i t y responsibility would be a factor to weigh the balance in

favor of a small d e g r e e of p r e f e r e n c e for family and c o m m u n i t y . T

h i s

small d e g r e e of p r e f e r e n c e is, however, decisively outweighed by

existing discrepancies in wealth and property.

PROPERTY RIGHTS

Do p e o p l e have a right to private property, a right which contradicts

t h e view that they are u n d e r an obligation to give s o m e of their

wealth away to those in absolute poverty? According to s o m e t h e o -

ries of rights (for instance, Robert Nozick's) provided one has

acquired one's p r o p e r t y without the use of u n j u s t m e a n s like force

and fraud, o n e may be entitled to e n o r m o u s wealth while others

starve. T h i s individualistic conception of rights is in contrast to o t h e r

views, like t h e early Christian doctrine to be f o u n d in the works of

T h o m a s Aquinas, which holds t h a t since p r o p e r t y exists for the satis-

faction of h u m a n needs, "whatever a man has in s u p e r a b u n d a n c e is

owed, of natural right, to the p o o r for their sustenance." A socialist

would also, of course, see wealth as b e l o n g i n g to the c o m m u n i t y

r a t h e r than the individual, while utilitarians, w h e t h e r socialist or not,

would be p r e p a r e d to override p r o p e r t y rights to prevent great evils.

522 • Peter Singer

D o e s the a r g u m e n t for an obligation to assist others t h e r e f o r e p r e -

s u p p o s e one of these other theories of p r o p e r t y rights, and not an

individualistic theory like Nozick's? N o t necessarily. A t h e o r y of

p r o p e r t y rights can insist on o u r right to retain wealth w i t h o u t p r o -

n o u n c i n g on w h e t h e r the rich ought to give to t h e poor. N o z i c k , f o

r

example, rejects the use of c o m p u l s o r y m e a n s like taxation to redis-

tribute income, b u t suggests that we can achieve the ends we d e e m

morally desirable by v o l u n t a r y means. So N o z i c k would reject the

claim that rich p e o p l e have an "obligation" to give to the poor, inso-

far as this implies that the p o o r have a right to o u r aid, but might

accept that giving is s o m e t h i n g we ought to do and failing to give,

t h o u g h within one's rights, is w r o n g — f o r rights is not all there is to

ethics.

T h e a r g u m e n t for an obligation to assist can survive, with only

m i n o r modifications, even if we accept an individualistic t h e o r y of

p r o p e r t y rights. In any case, however, I do n o t think we should accept

such a theory. It leaves too m u c h to chance to be an acceptable

ethical view. For instance, those whose f o r e f a t h e r s h a p p e n e d to

inhabit s o m e sandy wastes around t h e Persian G u l f are now f a b u -

lously wealthy, because oil lay u n d e r those sands; while those whose
f o r e f a t h e r s settled on b e t t e r land south of the Sahara live in absolute

poverty, b e c a u s e of d r o u g h t and bad harvests. C a n this distribution

be a c c e p t a b l e from an impartial point of view? If we imagine

ourselves about to begin life as a citizen of e i t h e r Kuwait or C h a d —

b u t we do not know w h i c h — w o u l d we accept the principle that

citizens of Kuwait are u n d e r no obligation to assist p e o p l e living in

Chad?

POPULATION AND THE ETHICS OF TRIAGE

Perhaps the most serious objection to the a r g u m e n t that we have an

obligation to assist is that since the m a j o r cause of absolute p o v e r t y is

o v e r p o p u l a t i o n , h e l p i n g those now in poverty will only e n s u r e

that

y e t m o r e p e o p l e are born to live in poverty in t h e f u t u r e .

In its m o s t e x t r e m e f o r m , this objection is taken to show that we

should a d o p t a policy of "triage." T h e t e r m comes f r o m medical poli-

cies a d o p t e d in wartime. With too few doctors to cope with all the

casualties, the w o u n d e d w e r e divided into three categories: t h o s e

w h o would p r o b a b l y survive w i t h o u t medical assistance, those w h o

Rich and Poor • 523

m i g h t survive if they received assistance, but otherwise probably

would not, and t h o s e who even with medical assistance probably

would not survive. O n l y those in t h e middle category were given

medical assistance. T h e idea, of course, was to u s e limited medical

resources as effectively as possible. For t h o s e in t h e first category,

medical t r e a t m e n t was not strictly necessary; for those in t h e third

category, it was likely to be useless. It has been suggested that we

should apply t h e same policies to countries, according to their

prospects of b e c o m i n g self-sustaining. We would not aid countries

which even w i t h o u t o u r h e l p will soon be able to feed their p o p u l a -

tions. We would not aid countries which, even with o u r help, will not

be able to limit their p o p u l a t i o n to a level they can feed. We would

aid those countries w h e r e our help m i g h t make t h e d i f f e r e n c e

b e t w e e n success and failure in bringing food and population into bal-

ance.

Advocates of this t h e o r y are u n d e r s t a n d a b l y reluctant to give a

complete list of t h e countries they would place into the "hopeless"

category, but Bangladesh is often cited as an example. A d o p t i n g t h e

policy of triage w o u l d , then, mean cutting off assistance to

Bangladesh and allowing famine, disease and natural disasters to

r e d u c e the population of that c o u n t r y (now around 80 million) to t h e

level at which it can p r o v i d e adequately for all.

In s u p p o r t of this view G a r r e t t H a r d i n has offered a m e t a p h o r :

we

in t h e rich nations are like t h e occupants of a crowded lifeboat adrift

in a sea full of d r o w n i n g people. If we try to save the d r o w n i n g by

b r i n g i n g t h e m aboard our boat will be overloaded and we shall all

drown. Since it is b e t t e r t h a t s o m e survive than none, we should leave

t h e others to drown. In t h e world today, according to H a r d i n ,

"lifeboat ethics" apply. T h e rich should leave the p o o r to starve, for

otherwise t h e p o o r will d r a g the rich d o w n with them.

Against this view, s o m e writers have argued that overpopulation is

a myth. T h e world p r o d u c e s ample food to feed its population, and

could, according to s o m e estimates, feed ten times as m a n y People

are h u n g r y not because t h e r e are t o o many but because of

inequitable land distribution, the m a n i p u l a t i o n of T h i r d World

economies by t h e developed nations, wastage of food in t h e West,

and so on.

P u t t i n g aside t h e controversial issue of t h e extent to which foud

524 • Peter Singer

p r o d u c t i o n m i g h t o n e day be increased, it is t r u e , as we have already

seen, that the world now p r o d u c e s enough to feed its i n h a b i t a n t s —

the a m o u n t lost by being fed to animals itself being e n o u g h to m e e t

existing grain shortages. N e v e r t h e l e s s p o p u l a t i o n growth cannot be

ignored. Bangladesh could, with land reform and using better t e c h -

niques, feed its present p o p u l a t i o n of 80 million; b u t by the year

2000, according to World Bank estimates, its p o p u l a t i o n will be 146

million. T h e e n o r m o u s e f f o r t t h a t will have to go into f e e d i n g an

extra 66 million people, all added to the p o p u l a t i o n within a q u a r t e r

of a century, m e a n s that Bangladesh m u s t d e v e l o p at full speed to

stay w h e r e she is. O t h e r low i n c o m e countries are in similar situa-

tions. By the end of the century, Ethiopia's p o p u l a t i o n is expected to

rise f r o m 29 to 54 million; Somalia's f r o m 3 to 7 million, India's f r o m

620 to 958 million, Zaire's f r o m 25 to 47 million. W h a t will h a p p e n

then? P o p u l a t i o n c a n n o t grow indefinitely. It will be checked by a

decline in birth rates or a rise in death rates. T h o s e w h o advocate

triage are proposing that we allow the p o p u l a t i o n growth of some

countries to be checked by a rise in death r a t e s — t h a t is, by increased

malnutrition, and related diseases; by widespread famines; by

increased infant mortality; and by epidemics of infectious diseases.

T h e c o n s e q u e n c e s of triage on this scale are so horrible that we

are inclined to reject it w i t h o u t f u r t h e r a r g u m e n t . H o w could we sit

by o u r television sets, watching millions starve while we do nothing?

Would not t h a t (far m o r e than t h e proposals for legalizing euthanasia

discussed in the last chapter) be the end of all notions of h u m a n

equality and respect for h u m a n life? D o n ' t p e o p l e have a right to o u r

assistance, irrespective of t h e consequences?

A n y o n e whose initial reaction to triage was not o n e of r e p u g n a n c e

would be an u n p l e a s a n t sort of person. Yet initial reactions based on

s t r o n g feelings are not always reliable guides. Advocates of triage are'

rightly c o n c e r n e d with t h e l o n g - t e r m consequences of our actions.

T h e y say t h a t helping the p o o r and starving now merely ensures

m o r e p o o r and starving in the f u t u r e . W h e n our capacity to h e l p is

finally u n a b l e to c o p e — a s o n e day it m u s t b e — t h e suffering will be

g r e a t e r than it would be if we stopped h e l p i n g now. .If this is correct,

t h e r e is n o t h i n g we can do to prevent absolute starvation and

poverty, in the long r u n , and so we have no obligation to assist. N o r

does it seem reasonable to hold that u n d e r t h e s e circumstances

• •

Rich and Poor • 525

p e o p l e have a r i g h t to o u r assistance. If we do accept such a right,

irrespective of t h e consequences, we are saying that, in H a r d i n ' s

metaphor, we w o u l d c o n t i n u e to haul the d r o w n i n g into o u r lifeboat

until the boar sank and we all drowned.

If triage is to be rejected it m u s t be tackled on its own g r o u n d ,

within the f r a m e w o r k of consequentialist ethics. H e r e it is v u l n e r -

able. Any consequentialist ethics must take probability of o u t c o m e

into account. A c o u r s e of action that will certainly p r o d u c e s o m e

benefit is to be p r e f e r r e d to an alternative course that may lead to a

slightly larger benefit, b u t is equally likely to result in no benefit at

all. O n l y if the greater m a g n i t u d e of the u n c e r t a i n benefit outweighs

its u n c e r t a i n t y should we choose it. Better o n e certain u n i t of b e n e -

fit than a 10% chance of 5 units; but better a 50% chance of 3 u n i t s

than a single certain unit. T h e same p r i n c i p l e applies when we are

t r y i n g to avoid evils.

T h e policy of triage involves a certain, very great evil: p o p u l a t i o n

control by f a m i n e and disease. T e n s of millions would die slowly.

H u n d r e d s of millions would continue to live in absolute poverty, at

t h e very margin of existence. Against this prospect, advocates of the

policy place a possible evil which is g r e a t e r still: the same process of

f a m i n e and disease, t a k i n g place in, say, fifty years time, when the

world's population may be t h r e e times its p r e s e n t level, and the n u m -

b e r w h o will die from famine, or struggle on in absolute poverty, will

be t h a t m u c h greater. T h e question is: how p r o b a b l e is this forecast

th at c o n t i n u e d assistance now will lead to greater disasters in the

future?

Forecasts of population growth are notoriously fallible, and t h e o -

ries about the factors which affect it remain speculative. O n e theory,

at least as plausible as any other, is t h a t countries pass t h r o u g h a

" d e m o g r a p h i c transition" as their standard of living rises. W h e n

p e o p l e are very poor and have no access to m o d e r n m e d i c i n e their

fertility is high, but p o p u l a t i o n is kept in check by high d e a t h rates.

T h e introduction of sanitation, m o d e r n medical t e c h n i q u e s and

o t h e r improvements r e d u c e s the death rate, b u t initially has little

e f f e c t on the birth rate. T h e n population grows rapidly. M o s t p o o r

countries are now in this phase. If standards of living c o n t i n u e to rise,

however, couples begin to realize that to have t h e same n u m b e r of

children survivingto m a t u r i t y as in the past, they do n o t need to give

52 6 Peter Singer

birth to as m a n y children as their parents did. T h e need for children

to provide e c o n o m i c s u p p o r t in old age diminishes. Improved e d u c a -

tion and the e m a n c i p a t i o n and e m p l o y m e n t of w o m e n also r e d u

c e

the birthrate, and so p o p u l a t i o n growth begins to level off. M o s t rich

nations have reached this stage, and their populations are g r o w i n g

only very slowly.

If this theory is right, t h e r e is an alternative to the disasters

accepted as inevitable by s u p p o r t e r s of triage. We can assist p o o r

c o u n t r i e s to raise the living standards of t h e p o o r e s t m e m b e r s of

their population. We can e n c o u r a g e the g o v e r n m e n t s of these c o u n -

tries to enact land r e f o r m measures, i m p r o v e education, and liberate

w o m e n from a purely c h i l d - b e a r i n g role. We can also help o t h e r

countries to make c o n t r a c e p t i o n and sterilization widely available.

T h e r e is a fair chance that these measures will hasten the onset of t h e

d e m o g r a p h i c transition and bring p o p u l a t i o n g r o w t h down to a m

a n -

ageable level. Success c a n n o t be guaranteed; but t h e evidence that

improved e c o n o m i c security and education r e d u c e p o p u l a t i o n

growth is s t r o n g e n o u g h to make triage ethically u n a c c e p t a b l e . We

c a n n o t allow millions to die f r o m starvation and disease w h e n t h e r e

is a reasonable probability that p o p u l a t i o n can be b r o u g h t u n d e r

control w i t h o u t such horrors.

P o p u l a t i o n growth is t h e r e f o r e not a reason against giving over-

seas aid, although it should make us think a b o u t the kind of aid to

give. Instead of food handouts, it m a y be better to give aid that has-

tens the d e m o g r a p h i c transition. T h i s may m e a n agricultural assis-

t a n c e f o r t h e rural poor, or assistance with education, or the

provision of contraceptive services. W h a t e v e r kind of aid proves

most effective in specific circumstances, the obligation to assist is not

r e d u c e d .

O n e awkward question remains. W h a t should we do about a p o o r

and already o v e r p o p u l a t e d c o u n t r y which, for religious or national-

istic reasons, restricts the use of contraceptives and refuses to slow its

p o p u l a t i o n growth? Should we nevertheless o f f e r d e v e l o p m e n t

assis-

tance? Or should we make o u r offer conditional on effective steps

b e i n g taken to r e d u c e the birthrate? To the latter course, s o m e would

object that p u t t i n g conditions on aid is an a t t e m p t to impose o u r own

ideas on i n d e p e n d e n t sovereign nations. So it i s — b u t is this imposi-

tion unjustifiable? If the a r g u m e n t for an obligation to assist is sound,

Rich and Poor • 527

we have an obligation to r e d u c e absolute poverty; but we have no

obligation to make sacrifices that, to the best of our knowledge, have

no prospect of r e d u c i n g poverty in the long run. H e n c e we have no

obligation to assist c o u n t r i e s whose g o v e r n m e n t s have policies which

will make o u r aid ineffective. T h i s could be very harsh on p o o r citi-

zens of these c o u n t r i e s — f o r they may have no say in the govern-

ment's policies—but we will help m o r e p e o p l e in t h e long run by

using o u r resources w h e r e they arc most effective. ( T h e same prin-

ciples may apply, incidentally, to countries chat r e f u s e to take o t h e r

steps t h a t could make assistance effective—like refusing to r e f o r m

systems of land h o l d i n g that impose i n t o l e r a b l e b u r d e n s on poor t e

n -

ant farmers.)

LEAVING IT TO THE GOVERNMENT

We often hear that overseas aid should be a g o v e r n m e n t responsibil-

ity, not left to privately-run charities. G i v i n g privately, ijt is said,

allows the g o v e r n m e n t to escape its responsibilities.

Since increasing g o v e r n m e n t aid is the surest way of m a k i n g a sig-

nificant increase to the total a m o u n t of aid given, I would agree that

the g o v e r n m e n t s of affluent nations should give much more genuine,

no strings attached, aid than they give now. O n e q u a r t e r of o n e per-

cent of G N P is a scandalously small a m o u n t for a nation as wealthy

as t h e U n i t e d States to give. F.ven the official UN target of 0.7%

s e e m s m u c h less than affluent nations can and should g i v e — t h o u g h

it is a target few have reached. But is this a reason against each of us

giving what we can privately, t h r o u g h v o l u n t a r y agencies? To believe

t h a t it is seems to assume that the m o r e people there are who give

chrough voluntary agencies, t h e less likely it is t h a t the g o v e r n m e n t

will do its part. Is this plausible? T h e opposite v i e w — t h a t if no o n e

gives voluntarily the g o v e r n m e n t will assume t h a t its citizens are not

in favor of overseas aid, and will cut its p r o g r a m accordingly—is

m o r e reasonable. In any case, unless t h e r e is a definite probability

that by refusing to give we would be helping to bring about an

increase in g o v e r n m e n t assistance, refusing to give privately is w r o n g

for t h e same reason that triage is wrong: it is a refusal to p r e v e n t a

definite evil for the sake of a very u n c e r t a i n gain. T h e onus of show-

ing how a refusal to give privately will m a k e t h e g o v e r n m e n t give

m o r e is on those who r e f u s e to give.

528 • Peter Singer

T h i s is n o t to say that giving privately is enough. C e r t a i n l y we

should campaign for entirely n e w standards for both public and p r i -

vate overseas aid. We should also work for fairer t r a d i n g a r r a n g e -

m e n t s b e t w e e n rich and p o o r countries, and less d o m i n a t i o n of the

e c o n o m i e s of p o o r countries by multinational c o r p o r a t i o n s m o r e

c o n c e r n e d to p r o d u c e profits for s h a r e h o l d e r s back h o m e than

food

f o r t h e local poor. P e r h a p s it is m o r e i m p o r t a n t to be politically

active in t h e interests of t h e p o o r than to give to t h e m o n e s e l f — b u t

why not do both? U n f o r t u n a t e l y m a n y u s e t h e view that overseas aid

is the government's responsibility as a reason against giving, but not

as a reason f o r being politically active.

TOO HIGH A STANDARD'

T h e final objection to t h e a r g u m e n t for an obligation to assist is t h a t

it sets a standard so high t h a t n o n e b u t a saint could attain it. H o w

m a n y p e o p l e can we really expect to give away everything n o t c o m -

p a r a b l e in m o r a l significance to the poverty their donation could

relieve? For most of us, with c o m m o n s e n s e views about what is of

moral significance, this would mean a life of real austerity. M i g h t it

not be c o u n t e r p r o d u c t i v e to d e m a n d so much? M i g h t not p e o p l

e say:

"As I can't do what is m o r a l l y required anyway, I won't b o t h e r to give

at all." If, however, we w e r e to set a m o r e realistic standard, p e o p l e

m i g h t m a k e a g e n u i n e e f f o r t to reach it. T h u s setting a lower stan-

dard might actually result in m o r e aid being given.

It is i m p o r t a n t to get t h e status of this objection clear. Its accuracy

as a prediction of h u m a n behavior is quite c o m p a t i b l e with t h e argu-

m e n t that we are obliged to give to t h e point at which by giving m o r e

we sacrifice s o m e t h i n g of c o m p a r a b l e moral significance. W h a t

would follow f r o m the objection is that public advocacy of this stan-

dard of giving is undesirable. It would m e a n t h a t in order to do the

m a x i m u m to r e d u c e absolute poverty, we should advocate a standard

lower than t h e a m o u n t we think people really o u g h t to give. Of

course we o u r s e l v e s — t h o s e of us.who accept t h e original a r g u m e n
t ,

with its higher s t a n d a r d — w o u l d know that we o u g h t to do m o r e

than we publicly p r o p o s e p e o p l e o u g h t to do, and we might actually

give m o r e than we u r g e others to give. T h e r e is no inconsistency

here, since in both our private and o u r public behavior we are trying

to do what will most r e d u c e absolute poverty.

Rich and Poor • 529

For a consequentialist, this apparent conflict b e t w e e n public and

private morality is always a possibility, and not in itself an indication

that t h e u n d e r l y i n g principle is wrong. T h e consequences of a prin-

ciple are one thing, t h e consequences of publicly advocating it

another.

Is it t r u e that the standard set by o u r a r g u m e n t is so high as to be

counterproductive? T h e r e is not m u c h e v i d e n c e to go by, but discus-

sions of the a r g u m e n t , with students and o t h e r s have led me to think

it might be. On t h e o t h e r hand t h e conventionally accepted stan-

d a r d — a few coins in a collection tin when o n e is waved u n d e r y o u r

n o s e — i s obviously far t o o low. W h a t level should we advocate? Any

figure will be arbitrary, b u t t h e r e may be s o m e t h i n g to be said for a

r o u n d percentage of one's i n c o m e like, say, 1 0 % — m o r e than a token

donation, yet not so high as to be beyond all b u t saints. (This figure

has t h e additional advantage of being r e m i n i s c e n t of t h e ancient

tithe, or tenth, which was traditionally given to the church, whose

responsibilities included care of the p o o r in one's local community.

P e r h a p s t h e idea can be revived and applied to the global c o m m u -

nity.) Some families, of course, will find 1 0 % a considerable strain on

their finances. O t h e r s may be able to give m o r e w i t h o u t difficulty No

figure should be advocated as a rigid m i n i m u m or m a x i m u m ; b u t it

seems safe to advocate t h a t t h o s e earning average or above average

i n c o m e s in affluent societies, unless they have an unusually large

n u m b e r of d e p e n d e n t s or o t h e r special needs, o u g h t to give a t e n t

h of

their i n c o m e to r e d u c i n g absolute p o v e r t y By any reasonable ethical

standards this is t h e m i n i m u m we o u g h t to do, and we do w r o n g if we

do less.

C H A P T E R 2 6

T O M R E G A N

A passionate champion of animal rights, T o m Regan observes that

we accord rights to humans because we are subjects of experience

And so are n o n b u m a n an imals. A professor of philosophy at the Uni-

versity of N o r t h Carolina who has been profoundly impacted by

reading Gandhi, Regan insists that we have to be morally asleep to

think that we are kings on earth who can rightfully use animals to

please our palate, experiment upon, and gawk at in the zoo. Like us,

they feel pain, and our indifference to animal suffering is a blight

u p o n humanity. In this heartfelt essay, Regan emphasizes that the

p r o p e r treatment of animals is not a matter of compassion or of being

nice, but of justice. It should be noted that Regan was no stranger to

hamburgers prior to his intellectual conversion experience.

T H E C A S E FOR A N I M A L R I G H T S

I regard myself as an advocate of animal rights—-as a part of the ani-

mal rights movement. T h a t movement, as I conceive it, is committed

to a number of goals, including:

• the total abolition of the use of animals in science;

• the total dissolution of commercial animal agriculture;

• the total elimination of commercial and sport hunting

and trapping.

T h e r e are, I know, people who profess to believe in animal rights but

do not avow these goals. Factory farming, they say, is wrong—it vio-

lates animals' rights—but traditional animal agriculture is all right.

Toxicity tests of cosmetics on animals violates their rights, but

important medical research—cancer research, for example—does

not. T h e clubbing of baby seals is abhorrent, but not the harvesting

of adult seals. I used to think I understood this reasoning. N o t any

more. You don't change unjust institutions by tidying them up.

What's wrong—fundamentally wrong—with the way animals are

treated isn't the details that vary from case to case. It's the whole sys-

tem. T h e forlornness of the veal calf is pathetic, heart wrenching; the

pulsing pain of the chimp with electrodes planted deep in her brain

is repulsive; the slow, tortuous death of the racoon caught in the leg-

532 • Tom Regan

hold trap is agonizing. B u t what is w r o n g isn't t h e pain, isn't t h e suf-

fering, isn't t h e deprivation. T h e s e c o m p o u n d what's wrong. S o m e -

times-—often—they make it m u c h , m u c h worse. But they are not t h e

f u n d a m e n t a l wrong.

The fundamental wrong is the system that allows us to view animals as our

resources, h e r e for us—to be eaten, or surgically m a n i p u l a t e d , or

exploited for sport or money. O n c e we accept this view of a n i m a l s —

as o u r r e s o u r c e s — t h e rest is as predictable as it is regrettable. W h y

w o r r y a b o u t their loneliness, their pain, their death? Since animals

exist for us, to benefit us in o n e way or another, what h a r m s them

really d o e s n ' t m a t t e r — o r matters only if it starts to b o t h e r us, makes

us feel a trifle uneasy w h e n we eat o u r veal escalope, for example. So,

yes, let us get veal calves out of solitary confinement, give t h e m m o r e

space, a little straw, a few companions. But let us keep o u r veal esca-

lope.

But a little straw, m o r e space and a few c o m p a n i o n s won't elimi-

n a t e — w o n ' t even t o u c h — t h e basic w r o n g that attaches to our v i e

w -

ing and treating these animals as our resources. A veal calf killed to

be eaten after living in close c o n f i n e m e n t is viewed and treated in

this way: b u t so, too, is a n o t h e r who is raised (as they say) " m o r e

humanely." To right t h e w r o n g of o u r t r e a t m e n t of f a r m animals

requires m o r e than m a k i n g rearing m e t h o d s " m o r e h u m a n e " ; it

requires t h e total dissolution of c o m m e r c i a l animal agriculture.

H o w we do this, w h e t h e r we do it or, as in the case of animals in

science, w h e t h e r and how we abolish their u s e — t h e s e are to a large

extent political questions. P e o p l e m u s t change their beliefs before

rhey change their habits. E n o u g h people, especially t h o s e elected to

public office, must believe in c h a n g e — m u s t want i t — b e f o r e we will

have laws t h a t protect t h e rights of animals. T h i s process of c h a n g e is

very c o m p l i c a t e d , very demanding, very exhausting, calling f o r the

efforts of m a n y hands in education, publicity, political organization

and activity, down to t h e licking of envelopes and stamps. As a

trained and practicing philosopher, the sort of contribution I can

make is limited but, I like to think, i m p o r t a n t . T h e c u r r e n c y of p h i -

losophy is i d e a s — t h e i r m e a n i n g and rational f o u n d a t i o n — n o t

t h e

nuts and bolts of t h e legislative process, say, or the mechanics of

c o m m u n i t y organization. T h a t ' s what I have been exploring over the

past ten years or so in my essays and talks and, most recently, in my

The Case for Animal Rights • S3 3

book, The Case for Animal Rights. I believe the major conclusions I

reach in the book are t r u e because they are s u p p o r t e d by t h e weight

of t h e best arguments. I believe the idea of animal rights has reason,

not just emotion, on its side.

In the space I have at my disposal h e r e I can only sketch, in the

barest outline, s o m e of the main features of the book. Its main

t h e m e s — a n d we should not be surprised by this—involve asking and

answering deep, foundational moral questions about what morality is,

how it should be u n d e r s t o o d and what is the best moral theory, all

considered. I h o p e I can convey s o m e t h i n g of the shape I think this

theory takes. T h e a t t e m p t to do this will be (to use a word a friendly

critic once used to describe my work) cerebral, perhaps too cerebral.

But this is misleading. My feelings about how animals are sometimes

treated run just as d e e p and just as strong as those of my m o r e volatile

compatriots. Philosophers d o — t o use the jargon of the d a y — h a v e a

right side to their brains. If it's the left side we contribute (or mainly

should), that's because w h a t talents we have reside there.

H o w to proceed? We begin by asking how the moral status of ani-

mals has been u n d e r s t o o d by thinkers who d e n y that animals have

rights. T h e n we test the m e t t l e of their ideas by seeing how well they

stand up u n d e r t h e heat of fair criticism. If we start o u r thinking in

this way, we soon find t h a t some people believe that we have no

duties directly to animals, t h a t we owe n o t h i n g to them, that we can

do n o t h i n g that wrongs them. Rather, we can do wrong acts that

involve animals, and so we have duties r e g a r d i n g them, though n o n e

to them. Such views may be called indirect d u t y views. By way of

illustration: suppose y o u r neighbor kicks y o u r dog. T h e n y o u r n e i g h -

bor has d o n e s o m e t h i n g wrong. But n o t to y o u r dog. T h e w r o n g

that

has been done is a w r o n g to you. After all, it is w r o n g to u p s e t people,

and y o u r neighbor's kicking y o u r dog upsets you. So you are the o n e

who is wronged, n o t y o u r dog. Or again: by kicking y o u r d o g y o u r

n e i g h b o r damages y o u r property. And since it is w r o n g to d a m a g e

a n o t h e r person's property, your neighbor has d o n e s o m e t h i n g

w r o n g — t o you, of course, not to your dog. Your neighbor no m o r e

wrongs y o u r d o g than y o u r car would be wronged if the windshield

w e r e smashed Your neighbor's duties involving y o u r dog are indirect

duties to you. M o r e generally, all of o u r duties regarding animals are

indirect duties to one a n o t h e r — t o humanity.

534 • Tom Regan

H o w could s o m e o n e try to justify such a view? S o m e o n e m i g h t

say that y o u r dog doesn't feel anything and so isn't h u r t by your

neighbor's kick, doesn't care about the pain since n o n e is felt, is as

u n a w a r e of a n y t h i n g as is y o u r windshield. S o m e o n e might say

this,

b u t no rational person will, since, a m o n g o t h e r considerations, such

a view will c o m m i t anyone who holds it to t h e position that no

h u m a n being feels pain e i t h e r — t h a t h u m a n beings also d o n ' t care

a b o u t what h a p p e n s to them. A second possibility is that t h o u g h both

h u m a n s and your dog are h u r t when kicked, it is only h u m a n pain

that matters. But, again, no rational person can believe this. Pain is

pain w h e r e v e r it occurs. If y o u r neighbor's causing you pain is w r o n g

because of t h e pain that is caused, we c a n n o t rationally ignore or dis-

miss the m o r a l relevance of the pain t h a t y o u r d o g feels.

P h i l o s o p h e r s who hold indirect d u t y v i e w s — a n d m a n y still d o

—
have c o m e to u n d e r s t a n d t h a t they must avoid the two defects just

noted: that is, both the view t h a t animals don't feel anything as well

as the idea t h a t only h u m a n pain can be morally relevant. A m o n g

such thinkers t h e sort of view now favored is o n e or o t h e r form of

what is called contractarianism.

Here, v e r y crudely, is t h e root idea: morality consists of a set of

rules t h a t individuals voluntarily agree to abide by, as we do when we

sign a contract (hence t h e n a m e contractarianism). T h o s e who

u n d e r s t a n d and accept t h e t e r m s of t h e contract are covered directly;

they have rights created and recognized by, and p r o t e c t e d in, the

contract. And these contractors can also have p r o t e c t i o n spelled o u t

for others who, though they lack the ability to u n d e r s t a n d morality

and so c a n n o t sign the c o n t r a c t themselves, are loved or cherished by

those w h o can. T h u s y o u n g children, for example, are u n a b l e to sign

contracts and lack rights. But they are protected by the contract n o n e

the less because of t h e s e n t i m e n t a l interests of others, most notably

their, parents. So we have, then, duties involving these children,

duties r e g a r d i n g them, b u t no duties to them. O u r duties in their case

are indirect duties to o t h e r h u m a n beings, usually their parents.

As f o r animals, since they c a n n o t u n d e r s t a n d contracts, they obvi-

ously c a n n o t sign; and since they c a n n o t sign, they have no rights.

Like children, however, s o m e animals are t h e objects of the senti-

mental interest of others. You, f o r example, love y o u r dog or cat. So

those animals t h a t e n o u g h p e o p l e care about ( c o m p a n i o n animals,

The Case for Animal Rights • S3 3

whales, baby seals, the American bald eagle), though they lack rights

themselves, will be p r o t e c t e d because of the sentimental interests of

people. I have, then, according to contractarianism, no duty directly

to y o u r dog or any o t h e r animal, not even the d u t y not to cause t h e m

pain or suffering; my d u t y not to h u r t t h e m is a d u t y I have to those

p e o p l e who care a b o u t what h a p p e n s to them. As for other animals,

w h e r e no or little s e n t i m e n t a l interest is p r e s e n t — i n the case of f a

r m

animals, for example, or laboratory r a t s — w h a t duties we have grow

weaker and weaker, p e r h a p s to vanishing point. T h e pain and death

they e n d u r e , though real, are not w r o n g if no one cares about them.

W h e n it comes to the moral status of animals' contractarianism

could he a hard view to r e f u t e if it w e r e an adequate theoretical

approach to the moral status of h u m a n beings. It is not adequate in

this latter respect, however, which makes t h e question of its adequacy

in the f o r m e r case, regarding animals, u t t e r l y moot. For consider:

morality, according to the (crude) contractarian position before us,

consists of rules that p e o p l e agree to abide by. W h a t people? Well,

e n o u g h to make a d i f f e r e n c e — e n o u g h , t h a t is, collectively to

have the

power to enforce the rules that are drawn up in the contract. T h a t is

very well and good for the signatories but n o t so good for anyone

who is n o t asked to sign. And there is n o t h i n g in contractarianism of

the sort we are discussing that guarantees or requires that everyone

will have a chance to participate equally in f r a m i n g the rules of

morality. T h e result is that this approach to ethics could sanction the

m o s t blatant forms of social, economic, moral and political injustice,

ranging from a repressive caste system to systematic racial or sexual

discrimination. M i g h t , according to this theory, does make right. L e t

those who are the victims of injustice suffer as they will. It m a t t e r s

not so long as no o n e e l s e — n o contractor, or too few of t h e m — c a r e s

a b o u t it. Such a t h e o r y takes one's moral breath away . . . as if, f o r

example, there would be n o t h i n g w r o n g with apartheid in South

Africa if few white S o u t h Africans were u p s e t by it. A theory with so

little to r e c o m m e n d it at t h e level of the ethics of o u r t r e a t m e n t of

o u r fellow h u m a n s c a n n o t have anything m o r e to r e c o m m e n d it

when it comes to the ethics of h o w we treat o u r fellow animals.

T h e version of contractarianism just examined is, as 1 have noted,

a c r u d e variety, and in fairness to those of a contractarian persuasion

it m u s t be noted that m u c h m o r e refined, subtle and ingenious vari-

536 • Tom Regan

eties are possible. For e x a m p l e J o h n Rawls, in his A Theory of Justice,

sets forth a version of contractarianism that forces contractors to

ignore the accidental features of being a h u m a n b e i n g — f o r example,

w h e t h e r one is white or black, m a l e or female, a genius or of m o d e s t

intellect. O n l y by ignoring such features, Rawls believes, can we

ensure that t h e principles of justice that contractors would agree

upon are not based on bias or prejudice. D e s p i t e the i m p r o v e m e n t a

view such as Rawls's r e p r e s e n t s over the c r u d e r f o r m s of c o n t r a c t

a r -

ianism, it r e m a i n s deficient: it systematically denies that we have

direct duties to those h u m a n beings who do n o t have a sense of jus-

t i c e — y o u n g children, for instance, and m a n y m e n t a l l y r e t a r d e d

humans. And yet it seems reasonably certain that, were we to t o r t u r e

a y o u n g child or a r e t a r d e d elder, we would be d o i n g s o m e t h i n g

that

wronged him or her, n o t s o m e t h i n g that would be w r o n g if (and only

if) o t h e r h u m a n s with a sense of justice were upset. And since this is

t r u e in the case of these humans, we cannot rationally d e n y t h e s a m e

in t h e case of animals.
Indirect d u t y views, then, including t h e best a m o n g them, fail to

c o m m a n d o u r rational assent. W h a t e v e r ethical t h e o r y we s h o u l d

a c c e p t rationally, therefore, it m u s t at least recognize t h a t we have

s o m e duties directly to animals, just as we have s o m e duties directly

to each other. T h e next two t h e o r i e s I'll sketch a t t e m p t to m e e t this

r e q u i r e m e n t .

T h e first I call the c r u e l t y - k i n d n e s s view. Simply stated, this says

that we have a direct d u t y to be kind to animals and a direct d u t y n o t

to be cruel to them. D e s p i t e the familiar, reassuring ring of these

ideas, I do not believe that this view offers an a d e q u a t e theory. To

make this clearer, consider kindness. A kind person acts f r o m a cer-

tain kind of m o t i v e — c o m p a s s i o n or concern, f o r example. And that

is a virtue. But there is no g u a r a n t e e that a kind act is a right act. If I

am a g e n e r o u s racist, for example, I will be inclined to act kindly

toward m e m b e r s of my own race, favoring their interests above those

of others. My kindness would be real and, so far as it goes, good. But

T t r u s t it is too obvious to r e q u i r e a r g u m e n t that my kind acts may

not be above moral r e p r o a c h — m a y , in fact, be positively w r o n g

because r o o t e d in injustice. So kindness, n o t w i t h s t a n d i n g its status as

a v i r t u e to be encouraged, simply will not carry the weight of a t h e -

o r y of right action.
The Case for Animal Rights • S3 3

C r u e l t y fares no better. P e o p l e or their acts are cruel if they dis-

play either a lack of s y m p a t h y for or, worse, the presence of enjoy-

m e n t in another's suffering. C r u e l t y in all its guises is a bad thing, a

tragic h u m a n failing. But just as a person's b e i n g motivated by kind-

ness does n o t guarantee t h a t he or she does what is right, so t h e

absence of c r u e l t y does not ensure that he or she avoids d o i n g w h a t

is wrong. M a n y p e o p l e who p e r f o r m abortions, for example, are n o t

cruel, sadistic people. But t h a t fact alone does not settle the terribly

difficult question of the m o r a l i t y of abortion. T h e case is no d i f f e r e n t

when we e x a m i n e the ethics of our t r e a t m e n t of animals So, yes, let

us be for kindness and against cruelty. But let us not s u p p o s e that

being for t h e one and against t h e other answers questions a b o u t

moral right and wrong.

S o m e people think t h a t the theory we are looking for is utilitarian-

ism. A utilitarian accepts two moral principles. T h e first is that of

equality: everyone's interests count, and similar interests must be

c o u n t e d as having similar weight or importance. W h i t e or black,

American or Iranian, h u m a n or animal—everyone's pain or frustra-

tion matter, and m a t t e r just as m u c h as the equivalent pain or f r u s t r a -

tion of anyone else. T h e second principle a utilitarian accepts is that

of utility: do t h e act that will bring about the best balance between

satisfaction and frustration for everyone affected by the outcome.

As a utilitarian, then, h e r e is how I am to approach the task of

d e c i d i n g what I morally o u g h t to do: I m u s t ask who will be affected

if I choose to do o n e t h i n g rather than another, how m u c h each indi-

vidual will be affected, and where the best results are most likely to

l i e — w h i c h option, in o t h e r words, is most likely to bring about the

best results, t h e best balance between satisfaction and frustration.

T h a t option, whatever it may be, is the o n e I o u g h t to choose. T h a t is

w h e r e my moral d u t y lies.

T h e great appeal of utilitarianism rests with its u n c o m p r o m i s i n g

egalitarianism: everyone's interests c o u n t and c o u n t as m u c h as t h e

like interests of e v e r y o n e else. T h e kind of odious discrimination

t h a t s o m e forms of contractarianism can justify—discrimination

based on race or sex, f o r e x a m p l e — s e e m s disallowed in p r i n c i p l e

by

utilitarianism, as is speciesism, systematic discrimination based on

species membership.

T h e equality we find in utilitarianism, however, is not the sort an

538 • Tom Regan

advocate of animal or h u m a n rights should have in mind. Utilitarian-

ism has no r o o m f o r t h e equal moral rights of d i f f e r e n t individuals

b e c a u s e it has no room f o r their equal i n h e r e n t value or worth. W h a t

has value for the utilitarian is the satisfaction of an individual's inter-

ests, n o t the individual whose interests they are. A universe in which

you satisfy y o u r desire for water, food and w a r m t h is, o t h e r things

being equal, b e t t e r than a universe in which these desires are f r u s -

trated. And t h e same is t r u e in the case of an animal with similar

desires. But n e i t h e r you n o r the animal have any value in y o u r own

right O n l y y o u r feelings do.

H e r e is an analogy to h e l p make t h e philosophical point clearer: a

cup contains d i f f e r e n t liquids, s o m e t i m e s sweet, sometimes bitter,

s o m e t i m e s a mix of the two. W h a t has value are the liquids: t h e

sweeter t h e better, t h e b i t t e r e r the worse. T h e cup, the container, has

no value. It is what goes i n t o it, not what they go into; that has value.

For t h e utilitarian you and 1 are like the cup; we have no value as

individuals and thus no equal value. W h a t has value is what goes into

us, what we serve as receptacles for; o u r feelings of satisfaction have

positive value, o u r feelings of frustration negative value.

Serious p r o b l e m s arise f o r utilitarianism w h e n we r e m i n d our-

selves that it enjoins us to bring about the best consequences. W h a t

does this mean? It doesn't m e a n the best consequences for me alone,

or for my family or friends, or any o t h e r p e r s o n taken individually.

N o , what we m u s t do is, roughly, as follows: we m u s t add up (some-

how!) the s e p a r a t e satisfactions and frustrations of everyone likely to

be affected by o u r choice, the satisfactions in one column, the f r u s -

trations in the other. We m u s t total each c o l u m n f o r each of the

options b e f o r e us. T h a t is what it means to say the t h e o r y is aggrega-

tive. And t h e n we must choose that option which is most likely to

bring about the best balance of totaled satisfactions over totaled f r u s -

trations. W h a t e v e r act would lead to this o u t c o m e is the o n e we

ought morally to perform—-it is w h e r e o u r moral d u t y lies. And that

act q u i t e clearly might not be t h e same o n e t h a t would bring about

the best results for me personally, or for my family or friends, or f o r

a lab animal. T h e best aggregated c o n s e q u e n c e s for everyone con-

cerned are not necessarily t h e best for each individual.

T h a t utilitarianism is an aggregative t h e o r y — d i f f e r e n t individu-

The Case for Animal Rights • S3 3

als' satisfactions or frustrations are added, or s u m m e d , or t o t a l e d — i s

the key objection to this t h e o r y My A u n t Bea is old, inactive, a

cranky, sour person, t h o u g h n o t physically ill. She prefers to go on

living. She is also r a t h e r rich. I could make a f o r t u n e if I could get my

hands on her money, m o n e y she intends to give me in any event, after

she dies, but which she refuses to give me now. In order to avoid a

h u g e tax bite, I plan to d o n a t e a h a n d s o m e sum of my profits to a

local children's hospital. Many, m a n y children will benefit f r o m my

generosity, and m u c h joy will be b r o u g h t to their parents, relatives

and friends. If I don't get the money r a t h e r soon, all these ambitions

will c o m e to naught. T h e o n c e - i n - a - l i f e t i m e o p p o r t u n i t y to
make a

real killing will be gone. Why, then, not kill my Aunt Bea? O h , of

course 1 might, get caught. But I'm no fool and, besides, her d o c t o r can

be c o u n t e d on to c o o p e r a t e (he has an eye for t h e same investment

and I h a p p e n to know a good deal about his shady past). T h e deed

can be d o n e . . . professionally, shall we say. T h e r e is w h i t t l e c h a n c e

of getting caught. And as for my conscience being guilt-ridden, I am

a r e s o u r c e f u l sort of fellow and will take m o r e than sufficient c o m -

f o r t — a s I lie on t h e b e a c h at A c a p u l c o — i n c o n t e m p l a t i n g t
h e joy

and health I have b r o u g h t to so many others.

S u p p o s e Aunt Bea is killed and t h e rest of the story comes o u t as

told. Would I have d o n e anything wrong? A n y t h i n g immoral? O n e

would have t h o u g h t that I had. N o t according to utilitarianism. Since

w h a t I have d o n e has b r o u g h t about the best balance between totaled

satisfaction and frustration for all those affected by the o u t c o m e , my

action is not wrong. I n d e e d , in killing A u n t Bea t h e physician and I

did what d u t y required.

T h i s same kind of a r g u m e n t can be r e p e a t e d in all sorts of cases,

illustrating, t i m e after time, bow the utilitarian's position leads to

results that impartial people find morally callous. It is w r o n g to kill

my A u n t Bea in the n a m e of bringing about t h e best results for

others. A good end does not justify an evil means. Any adequate

moral theory will have to explain why this is so. Utilitarianism fails

in this respect and so c a n n o t be the theory we seek.

What to do? W h e r e to begin anew? T h e place to begin, I think, is

with t h e utilitarian's view of the value of t h e individual—or, rather,

lack of value. In its place, suppose we consider that you and I, for

540 • Tom Regan

example, do have value as i n d i v i d u a l s — w h a t we'll call inherent value.

To say we have such value is to say t h a t we are s o m e t h i n g m o r e than,

s o m e t h i n g d i f f e r e n t f r o m , m e r e receptacles. Moreover, t o e n s u r
e that

we do n o t pave the way f o r such injustices as slavery or sexual dis-

crimination, we m u s t believe that all who have i n h e r e n t value have it

equally, regardless of their sex, race, religion, birthplace and so on.

Similarly to he discarded as irrelevant are one's talents or skills,

intelligence and wealth, personality or pathology, w h e t h e r o n e is

loved and a d m i r e d or despised and loathed. T h e genius and t h e

r e t a r d e d child, the p r i n c e and the pauper, the brain surgeon and the

fruit vendor, M o t h e r Teresa and the most u n s c r u p u l o u s u s e d - c a r

s a l e s m a n — a l l have i n h e r e n t value, all possess it equally, and all have

an equal right to be treated with respect, to be t r e a t e d in ways that do

not r e d u c e t h e m to the status of things, as if they existed as resources

for others. My value as an individual is i n d e p e n d e n t of my usefulness

to you. Yours is not d e p e n d e n t on y o u r usefulness to me. For e i t h e r

of us to treat t h e o t h e r in ways that fail to show respect for the other's

i n d e p e n d e n t value is to act immorally, to violate the individual's

rights.

S o m e of t h e rational virtues of this v i e w — w h a t I call the rights

View—should be evident. Unlike (crude) contractarianism, for

example, the rights view in principle denies the moral tolerabilitv of

any and all forms of racial, sexual or social discrimination; and unlike

utilitarianism, this view in principle, denies that we can justify good

results by u s i n g evil m e a n s that violate an individual's r i g h t s -

denies, f o r example, that it could be moral to kill my A u n t Bea to h a r -

vest beneficial c o n s e q u e n c e s for others. T h a t would be to sanction

the disrespectful t r e a t m e n t of t h e individual in t h e n a m e of the social

good, s o m e t h i n g the rights view will not—categorically will n o t —

ever allow.

T h e rights view, I believe, is rationally the m o s t satisfactory m o r a l

theory. It surpasses all o t h e r theories in the d e g r e e to which it illu-

m i n a t e s and explains the f o u n d a t i o n of o u r duties to one a n o t h e r

—

the domain of h u m a n morality. On this score it has t h e best reasons,

the best arguments, on its side. Of course, if it w e r e possible to show

that only h u m a n beings are included within its scope, then a person

like myself, who believes in animal rights, would be obliged to look

elsewhere.

The Case for Animal Rights • S3 3

But attempts to limit its scope to h u m a n s o n l y can be shown to be

rationally defective. Animals, it is true, lack m a n y of t h e abilities

h u m a n s possess. T h e y can't read, do higher mathematics, build a

bookcase or make baba ghanoush. N e i t h e r can m a n y h u m a n beings,

however, and yet we d o n ' t (and shouldn't) say that they (these

h u m a n s ) therefore have less i n h e r e n t value, less of a right to be

treated with respect, t h a n do others. It is the similarities b e t w e e n

t h o s e h u m a n beings who most clearly, most non-controversially have

such value (the p e o p l e reading this, for example), not our differ-
ences, that m a t t e r most. And the really crucial, the basic similarity is

simply this: we are each of us t h e experiencing subject of a life, a con-

scious c r e a t u r e having an individual welfare that has i m p o r t a n c e to

us whatever o u r usefulness to others. We want and p r e f e r things,

believe and feel things, recall and expect things. And all these d i m e n -

sions of our life, including our pleasure and pain, our e n j o y m e n t and

suffering, o u r satisfaction and frustration, our c o n t i n u e d existence or

o u r u n t i m e l y d e a t h — a l l make a difference to t h e quality of o u r life

as lived, as experienced, by us as individuals. As the same is t r u e of

those animals that c o n c e r n us (the ones that are eaten and t r a p p e d ,

f o r example), they too m u s t be viewed as the e x p e r i e n c i n g subjects of

a life, with i n h e r e n t value of their own.

S o m e t h e r e are w h o resist the idea that animals have i n h e r e n t

value. "Only h u m a n s have such value," they profess. H o w m i g h t this

narrow view be d e f e n d e d ? Shall we say t h a t only h u m a n s have t h e

requisite intelligence, or autonomy, or reason? But there are many,

m a n y h u m a n s who fail to m e e t these standards and yet are reason-

ably viewed as having value above and beyond their usefulness to

others. Shall we claim that only h u m a n s belong to the right species,

t h e species Homo sapiens? But this is blatant speciesism. Will it he said,

then, that all—and o n l y — h u m a n s have i m m o r t a l souls? T h e n o u r

o p p o n e n t s have their work cut o u t for them. I am myself not ill-

disposed to the proposition that t h e r e are i m m o r t a l souls. Personally,

I p r o f o u n d l y h o p e I have one. But I would not want to rest my posi-

tion on a controversial ethical issue on the even m o r e controversial

question about who or what has an i m m o r t a l soul. T h a t is to dig one's

hole deeper, not to climb out. Rationally, it is better to resolve moral

issues without m a k i n g m o r e controversial assumptions than are

needed. T h e question of who has i n h e r e n t value is such a question,

S42 • Tom Regan

one that is resolved m o r e rationally w i t h o u t t h e i n t r o d u c t i o n of t h

e

idea of i m m o r t a l souls than by its use.

Well, p e r h a p s s o m e will say that animals have s o m e i n h e r e n t

value, only less than we have. O n c e again, however, attempts to

d e f e n d this view can be shown to lack rational justification W h a t

could be the basis of o u r h a v i n g m o r e i n h e r e n t value than animals?

1 heir Jack of reason, or autonomy, or intellect? Only if we are will-

ing to m a k e the s a m e j u d g m e n t in the case of h u m a n s who are s i m i

-

larly d e f i c i e n t But it is not t r u e t h a t such h u m a n s - t h e r e t a r d e d

child, f o r example, or t h e m e n t a l l y d e r a n g e d - h a v e less i n h e r e n

t
value than you or I. N e i t h e r , then, can we rationally sustain t h e view

that animals hke t h e m in being the experiencing subjects of a life

have less i n h e r e n t value. All who have i n h e r e n t value have it equally

w h e t h e r they b e h u m a n animals o r n o t

I n h e r e n t value, then, belongs equally to t h o s e who are t h e e x p e r i -

e n c i n g subjects of a life. W h e t h e r it belongs to o t h e r s - t o rocks and

rivers trees and glaciers, for e x a m p l e - w e do not know and m a y

never know. But n e i t h e r do we need to know, if we are to m a k e the

case for animal rights. We do n o t need to know, for example, h o w

m a n y p e o p l e are eligible to vote in the next presidential election

before we can know w h e t h e r I am. Similarly, we do not need to know

how m a n y individuals have i n h e r e n t value b e f o r e we can know t h a t

s o m e do W h e n it comes to t h e case for animal rights, then, what we

n e e d to k n o w is w h e t h e r t h e animals that, in o u r c u l t u r e are r o u -

tinely eaten, h u n t e d and used in o u r laboratories, f o r example, are

like us in being subjects of a life. And we do know this. We do know

that m a n y - h t e r a l l y , billions and b i l l i o n s - o f these animals are t h e

subjects of a life in the sense explained and so have i n h e r e n t value if

we do. And since, in o r d e r to arrive at the best t h e o r y of o u r duties to

o n e another, we m u s t recognize our equal i n h e r e n t value as individ-

uals, r e a s o n — n o t sentiment, n o t e m o t i o n — r e a s o n compels us to

recognize t h e equal i n h e r e n t value of these animals and, with this

their equal right to be t r e a t e d with respect.

That, very roughly, is the s h a p e and feel of the case for animal

rights. M o s t of t h e details of the s u p p o r t i n g a r g u m e n t are missing.

1 hey are to be f o u n d in t h e book to which 1 alluded earlier H e r e the

details go begging, and I must, in closing, limit myself to four final

points.

The Case for Animal Rights • S3 3

T h e first is how the theory that -underlies the case f o r animal

rights shows that the animal rights m o v e m e n t is a part of, not antag-

onistic to, the h u m a n rights movement. T h e theory that rationally

g r o u n d s the rights of animals also g r o u n d s t h e rights of humans.

T h u s those involved in the animal rights m o v e m e n t are p a r t n e r s in

the struggle to s e c u r e respect for h u m a n r i g h t s — t h e rights of

w o m e n , for example, or minorities, or workers. T h e animal rights

m o v e m e n t is cut f r o m the same moral cloth as these.

Second, having set o u t the broad outlines of the rights view, I can

now say why its implications for f a r m i n g and science, a m o n g o t h e r

fields, are both clear and u n c o m p r o m i s i n g . In t h e case of the use of

animals in science, the rights view is categorically abolitionist. L a b

animals are not o u r tasters; we are not their kings. Because these ani-
mals are treated routinely, systematically as if their value w e r e

r e d u c i b l e to their u s e f u l n e s s to others, they are routinely, systemati-

cally treated with a lack of respect, and thus are their rights r o u -

tinely, systematically violated. T h i s is just as t r u e w h e n they are used

in trivial, duplicative, unnecessary or u n w i s e research as it is when

they are used in studies that hold o u t real p r o m i s e of h u m a n benefits.

We can't justify h a r m i n g or killing a h u m a n being (my A u n t Bea, f o r

example) just for these sorts of reason. N e i t h e r can we do so even in

t h e case of so lowly a c r e a t u r e as a l a b o r a t o r y rat. It is not just refine-

m e n t or reduction that is called for, not just larger, cleaner cages, not

just m o r e g e n e r o u s u s e of anaesthetic or t h e elimination of m u l t i p l e

surgery, not just tidying up the system. It is c o m p l e t e r e p l a c e m e n t .

T h e best we can do when it comes to u s i n g animals in science i s — n o t

to use them. T h a t is w h e r e o u r d u t y lies, according to t h e rights view.

As for commercial animal agriculture, the rights view takes a s i m -

ilar abolitionist position. T h e f u n d a m e n t a l moral w r o n g h e r e is n o t

that animals are kept in stressful close c o n f i n e m e n t or in isolation, or

that their pain and suffering, their needs and p r e f e r e n c e s are ignored

or discounted. All these are wrong, of course, b u t they are not the

f u n d a m e n t a l wrong. T h e y are s y m p t o m s and effects of the deeper,

systematic w r o n g that allows these animals to be viewed and treated

as lacking i n d e p e n d e n t value, as resources for us—as, indeed, a

renewable resource. G i v i n g f a r m animals m o r e space, m o r e n a t u r a l

environments, m o r e c o m p a n i o n s does not right the f u n d a m e n t a l

wrong, any m o r e than giving lab animals m o r e anaesthesia or bigger,

544 • Tom Regan

c l e a n e r cages would right t h e f u n d a m e n t a l w r o n g in their case

N o t h i n g less than the total dissolution of c o m m e r c i a l animal agri-

c u l t u r e will do this, just as, for similar reasons I won't develop at

length here, m o r a l i t y requires n o t h i n g less than t h e total elimination

of h u n t i n g and t r a p p i n g for commercial and sporting ends T h e

rights view's implications, then, as I have said, are clear and u n c o m -

promising.

My last two points are about philosophy, my profession. It is, m o s t

obviously, no substitute for political action. T h e words I have written

h e r e and ,n o t h e r places by themselves d o n ' t change a thing It is

what we do with the t h o u g h t s that the words e x p r e s s - o u r acts o u r

d e e d s — t h a t changes things. All that p h i l o s o p h y can do, and all I

have a t t e m p t e d , is to o f f e r a viS1on of what our deeds should aim at

And the why. But n o t t h e how.

Finally, I am r e m i n d e d of my t h o u g h t f u l critic, the o n e I m e n -

tioned earlier, who chastised me for being too cerebral. Well, cerebral
f have been: indirect d u t y views, utilitarianism, c o n t r a c t a r i a n i s m —

hardly t h e stuff d e e p passions are m a d e of. I am also reminded h o w -

ever. of the image a n o t h e r friend once set b e f o r e m e — t h e image of

the ballerina as expressive of disciplined passion. L o n g hours of sweat

and toil, of loneliness and practice, of d o u b t and fatigue: those are the

disc.pl,ne of h e r craft. But the passion is t h e r e too, the fierce drive to

excel, to speak through h e r body, to do it right, to pierce o u r minds

t h e I m a S e o i philosoph y I woul d leave wit h you, no t "too cere -

bral b u t disciplined passion. Of the discipline e n o u g h has been seen As

f o r the passion: t h e r e are times, and these n o t i n f r e q u e n t when tears

c o m e to my eyes when I see, or read, or hear of the wretched plight of

animals in the hands of humans. T h e i r pain, their suffering their

loneliness, their innocence, their death. Anger. Rage. Pky. Sorrow

Disgust. I he whole creation groans u n d e r the weight of the evil we

h u m a n s visit u p o n these mute, powerless creatures. It is our hearts

not just o u r heads, that call for an end to it all, that d e m a n d of us that

we overcome, for them, t h e habits and forces b e h i n d their systematic

oppression. All great movements, it is written, go through t h r e e stages-

ridicule, discussion, adoption. It is the realization of this third stage

adoption, that requires both o u r passion and o u r discipline, our hearts

and o u r heads. T h e fate of animals is in o u r hands. G o d grant we are

equal to the task.

CHAPTER 27

M I C H A E L W A L Z E R

Born in 1935, Michael Walzer is a celebrated American political phi-

losopher whose writings on war have wielded enormous influence on

o u r understanding of the moral parameters of armed conflict. In this

article, the professor emeritus at Princeton's Institute of Advanced

Studies presses the question: Is it right for a political leader to do

something morally wrong (e.g., use torture) if doing so is the only

way to achieve some great benefit or perhaps even the very survival

of his or her people? If such deeds are necessary, then are they still

wrong? Should the leader be punished? In an article that strides the

border between moral and political philosophy and reaches back to

Machiavclli, Walzer is clear—we want leaders with a moral compass

but who are willing to "get their hands dirty."

POLITICAL A C T I O N :

T H E P R O B L E M O F D I R T Y H A N D S *

In an earlier issue of Philosophy & Public Affairs there appeared a sym-

posium on the rules of war which was actually (or at least more

importantly) a symposium on another topic. T h e actual topic was

whether or not a man can ever face, or ever has to face, a moral
dilemma, a situation where he must choose between two courses of

action both of which it would be wrong for him to undertake.

T h o m a s Nagel worriedly suggested that this could happen and that

it did happen whenever someone was forced to choose between

u p h o l d i n g an important moral principle and avoiding some looming

disaster.* R. B. Brandt argued that it could not possibly happen, for

there were guidelines we might follow and calculations we might go

through which would necessarily yield the conclusion that one

or the other course of action was the right one to undertake in the

*An e a r l i e r version of this p a p e r was read at the annual m e e t i n g of t h

e C o n f e r e n c e f o r

t h e S t u d y of Political T h o u g h t in N e w York, April 1971. T am i n d e b t

e d to C h a r l e s T a y -

lor, w h o served as c o m m e n t a t o r at t h a t t i m e and e n c o u r a g e d me

to think that its arma-

m e n t s m i g h t b e right.

'For Nagel's description of a possible "moral blind alley," see "War and
Massacre," pp.

142-144. Bernard Williams has m a d e a similar suggestion, though w i t h o u t

quite acknowl-

edging it as his own: " m a n y people can recognizc the t h o u g h t that a

certain course of action

is, indeed, the best t h i n g to do on t h e whole in the circumstances, but that

doing it involves
d o i n g s o m e t h i n g wrong" ( Morality. An Introduction to Ethics [ N e w
York, 1972], p. 93),

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • 547

circumstances (or that it did not m a t t e r which we undertook). R. M.

H a r e explained how it was that s o m e o n e m i g h t wrongly suppose that

he was faced with a moral dilemma: sometimes, he suggested, the

p r e c e p t s and principles of an ordinary man, the p r o d u c t s of his

moral education, c o m e into conflict with injunctions developed at a

h i g h e r level of moral discourse. But this conflict is, or ought to be,

resolved at the higher level; t h e r e is no real dilemma.

] am not sure that Hare's explanation is at all comforting, but the

question is i m p o r t a n t even if no such explanation is possible, p e r h a p s

especially so if this is t h e case. T h e a r g u m e n t relates not only to t h e

c o h e r e n c e and h a r m o n y of the moral universe, but also to the rela-

tive ease or difficulty—or impossibility—of living a moral life. It is

not, therefore, merely a philosopher's question. If such a d i l e m m a

can arise, whether f r e q u e n t l y or very rarely, any of us might one day

face it. Indeed, m a n y m e n have faced it, or think they have, especially

men involved in political activity or war. T h e dilemma, exactly as

N a g e l describes it, is f r e q u e n t l y discussed in the literature of p o l i t -

ical action—in novels and plays dealing with politics and in the work
of theorists too.

In m o d e r n times the d i l e m m a appears most often as the p r o b l e m

of "dirty hands," and it is typically stated by the C o m m u n i s t leader

H o e r d e r e r in Sartre's play of that name; "I have dirty hands right up

to the elbows. I've p l u n g e d them in filth and blood. D<S you think you

can govern innocently?" My own answer is no, I don't think I could

govern innocently; n o r do most of us believe that those who govern

us are i n n o c e n t — a s I shall a r g u e below—even t h e best of them. But

this does not mean that it isn't possible to do the right thing while

governing. It m e a n s that a particular act of g o v e r n m e n t (in a political

p a r t y or in the state) may be exactly the right thing to do in utilitar-

ian t e r m s and yet leave the man who does it guilty of a moral wrong.

T h e i n n o c e n t man, afterward, is no longer i n n o c e n t . If on the o t h e r

h a n d he remains i n n o c e n t , chooses, that is, t h e "absolutist" side of

N a g e l ' s dilemma, he not only fails to do t h e right thing (in utilitarian

terms), he may also fail to m e a s u r e up to t h e duties of his office

(which imposes on him a considerable responsibility for c o n s e -

q u e n c e s and outcomes). M o s t often, of course, political leaders

a c c e p t the utilitarian calculation; they try to m e a s u r e up. O n e m i g h t

offer a n u m b e r of sardonic c o m m e n t s on this fact, the most obvious

548 • Michael \ alzer

being t h a t by t h e calculations they usually make they d e m o n -

strate the great virtues of t h e "absolutist" position. Nevertheless, we

would not want to be governed by men who consistently adopted

that position.

T h e notion of dirty hands derives from an e f f o r t to r e f u s e "abso-

lutism" w i t h o u t d e n y i n g the reality of the moral dilemma. T h o u g h

this may a p p e a r to utilitarian p h i l o s o p h e r s to pile "confusion u p o n

confusion, I p r o p o s e to take it very seriously. For t h e literature I shall

e x a m i n e is t h e work of serious and often wise men, and it reflects,

though it may also have helped to shape, p o p u l a r thinking about pol-

itics. It is i m p o r t a n t to pay attention to that too. I shall do so w i t h o u t

assuming, as H a r e suggests o n e might, that everyday moral and polit-

ical discourse constitutes a distinct level of a r g u m e n t , w h e r e concent

is largely a m a t t e r of pedagogic expediency. If popular views are

resistant (as they are) to utilitarianism, t h e r e may be s o m e t h i n g to

learn f r o m that and not merely s o m e t h i n g to explain about it.

I. Let me begin, then, with a piece of conventional wisdom to the

e f f e c t t h a t politicians are a good deal worse, morally worse, than

the rest of us (it is the wisdom of the rest of us). W i t h o u t e i t h e r

e n d o r s i n g it or p r e t e n d i n g to disbelieve it, I am going to

e x p o u n d this convention. For it suggests that t h e d i l e m m a of

d i r t y hands is a central f e a t u r e of political life, that it arises n o t

m e r e l y as an occasional crisis in t h e career of this or that

u n l u c k y politician but systematically and frequently.

W h y is t h e politician singled out? Isn't he like the o t h e r

e n t r e p r e n e u r s in an open society, who hustle, lie, intrigue, w e a r

masks, smile and are villains? He is not, no doubt for m a n y rea-

sons, t h r e e of which I need to consider. First of all, the politician

claims to play a d i f f e r e n t part than o t h e r e n t r e p r e n e u r s . He

d o e s n ' t m e r e l y cater to o u r interests; he acts on o u r behalf, even

in our name. He has p u r p o s e s in mind, causes and projects that

r e q u i r e t h e s u p p o r t and r e d o u n d to the benefit, not of each of us

individually, buc of all of us together. He hustles, lies, and

intrigues for us—or so he claims. P e r h a p s he is right, or at least

sincere, b u t we suspect that he acts f o r himself also. I n d e e d , he

c a n n o t serve us w i t h o u t serving himself, for success brings him

p o w e r and glory, the greatest reward that m e n can win f r o m

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • vj J*

their fellows. T h e competition for t h e s e two is fierce; t h e risks

are often great, brat the t e m p t a t i o n s are greater. We i m a g i n e o u r -

selves succumbing. W h y should our representatives act differ-

ently? Even if they would like to act differently, they probably

can not: for o t h e r m e n are all too ready to h u s t l e and lie for

power and glory, and it is the others w h o set t h e terms of t h e

competition. H u s t l i n g and lying are necessary because p o w e r

and glory are so d e s i r a b l e — t h a t is, so widely desired. And so t h e

m e n who act for us and in our n a m e are necessarily hustlers and

liars.

Politicians are also t h o u g h t to be w o r s e than the rest of us

because they rule over us, and the pleasures of ruling are m u c h

g r e a t e r than the pleasures of being ruled. T h e successful politi-

cian b e c o m e s the visible architect of o u r restraint. He taxes us,

licenses us, forbids and permits us, directs us to this or that dis-

tant goal—all for o u r g r e a t e r good. Moreover, he takes chances

for o u r greater good that p u t us, or some of us, in danger. S o m e -

times he puts himself in danger too, b u t politics, after all, is his

adventure. It is not always ours. T h e r e are u n d o u b t e d l y times

when it is good or necessary to direct t h e affairs of o t h e r p e o p l e

and to put them in danger. But we are a little f r i g h t e n e d of t h e

man who seeks, ordinarily and every day, the power to do so.

And the fear is reasonable enough. T h e politician has, or p r e -

tends to have, a kind of confidence in his own j u d g m e n t that t h e

rest of us know to be p r e s u m p t u o u s in any man.

T h e p r e s u m p t i o n is especially grfeat because the victorious

politician uses violence and t h e threat of v i o l e n c e — n o t only

against foreign nations in our d e f e n s e b u t also against us, and

again ostensibly for o u r greater good. T h i s is a point e m p h a s i z e d

and perhaps overemphasized by M a x W e b e r in his essay "Poli-

tics as a Vocation." It has not, so far as I can tell, played an overt

or obvious part in the d e v e l o p m e n t of t h e convention I am

examining. T h e stock figure is the lying, not the m u r d e r o u s ,

p o l i t i c i a n — t h o u g h the m u r d e r e r lurks in t h e background,

a p p e a r i n g most often in the f o r m of the revolutionary or t e r r o r -

ist, very rarely as an o r d i n a r y magistrate or official. N e v e r t h e -

less, t h e sheer w e i g h t of official violence in h u m a n history does

suggest the kind of power to which politicians aspire, t h e kind of

550 • Michael \ alzer

p o w e r they want to wield, and it may p o i n t to the roots of o u r

half-conscious dislike and unease. T h e m e n who act for us and

in our n a m e are often killers, or seem to b e c o m e killers too

quickly and too easily.

K n o w i n g all this or m o s t of it, good and d e c e n t p e o p l e still

e n t e r political life, aiming at s o m e specific r e f o r m or seeking a

general r e f o r m a t i o n . T h e y are then r e q u i r e d to learn the lesson

Machiavelli first set out to teach: "how n o t to be good." S o m e of

t h e m are incapable of learning; m a n y m o r e profess to be inca-

pable. But they will n o t succeed unless they learn, for they have

joined t h e terrible c o m p e t i t i o n for power and glory; they have

chosen to work and struggle as Machiavelli says, a m o n g "so

m a n y who are not good." T h e y can do no good themselves

unless they win t h e struggle, which they are unlikely to do

unless they are willing and able to use t h e necessary means. So

we are suspicious even of the best of winners. It is not a sign of

our perversity if we think t h e m only m o r e clever than t h e rest.

T h e y have not won, after all, because they were good, or n o t

only because of that, but also because they were not good. No

o n e succeeds in politics w i t h o u t getting his hands dirty. T h i s is

conventional wisdom again, and again I d o n ' t m e a n to insist that

it is t r u e w i t h o u t qualification. I r e p e a t it only to disclose the

m o r a l d i l e m m a i n h e r e n t in the convention. For sometimes it is

right to try to succeed, and then it m u s t also be right to get one's

hands dirty. But one's hands get dirty f r o m doing what it is

w r o n g co do. And how can it be w r o n g to do what is right? Or,

how can we get o u r hands dirty by doing what we ought to do?

II. It will be best to turn quickly to some examples. I have chosen

two, one relating to the struggle for p o w e r and one to its exer-

cise. I should stress that in both these cases t h e men who face t h e

d i l e m m a of dirty h a n d s have in an i m p o r t a n t sense chosen to do

so; the cases tell us n o t h i n g about what it would be like, so to

speak, to fall into t h e dilemma; nor shall I say anything about

that here. Politicians often argue that they have no right to keep

their hands clean, and that may well be t r u e of them, but it is n o t

so clearly t r u e of the rest of us. P r o b a b l y we do have a right to

avoid, if we possibly can, those positions in which we might be

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • vj J*

forced to do terrible things. This might be regarded as the moral

equivalent of o u r legal right not to i n c r i m i n a t e ourselves. G o o d

men will be in no h u r r y to s u r r e n d e r it, though t h e r e are reasons

f o r doing so sometimes, and a m o n g these are or m i g h t be the

reasons good men have for e n t e r i n g politics. But let us i m a g i n e

a politician who does not agree to that: he wants to do good only

by doing good, or at least he is certain that he can stop short of

the most c o r r u p t i n g and brutal uses of political power. Very

quickly that certainty is tested. W h a t do we think of him then?

He wants to win the election, s o m e o n e says, but he doesn't

want to get his h a n d s dirty. This is m e a n t as a disparagement,

even though it also means that the m a n being criticized is t h e

sort of man who will not lie, cheat, bargain behind t h e backs of

his supporters, shout absurdities at public meetings, or m a n i p u -

late o t h e r men and women. Assuming t h a t this particular elec-

tion o u g h t to be won, it is clear, I think, that the d i s p a r a g e m e n t

is justified. If the candidate didn't want to get his hands dirty, he

should have stayed at home; if he can't stand the heat, he should

get out of the kitchen, and so oil. His decision to run was a c o m -

m i t m e n t (to all of us who think the election i m p o r t a n t ) to try to

win, that is, to do within rational limits whatever is necessary to

win. But the c a n d i d a t e is a moral man. He has principles and a

history of a d h e r e n c e to those principles. T h a t is why we are

s u p p o r t i n g him. Perhaps when he refuses to dirty his hands, he

is simply insisting on being the sort of m a n he is. And isn't t h a t

the sort of man we want?

L e t us look m o r e closely at this case. In o r d e r to win the elec-

tion the candidate m u s t make a deal with a dishonest ward boss,

involving the g r a n t i n g of contracts for school construction over

the next four years. Should he make the deal? Well, at least he

shouldn't he surprised by the offer, most of us would p r o b a b l y

sav (a conventional piece of sarcasm). A n d he should accept it or

not, d e p e n d i n g on exactly what is at stake in the election. But

that is not the candidate's view. He is extremely reluctant even

to consider the deal, puts off his aides w h e n they remind him of

it, refuses to calculate its possible effects u p o n the campaign.

N o w , if he is acting this way because the very t h o u g h t of bar-

Michael alzer

gaining with that p a r t i c u l a r ward boss makes him feel -unclean,

his r e l u c t a n c e isn't very interesting. H i s feelings by themselves

are n o t important. But he may also have reasons for his r e l u c -

tance. He may know, for example, that s o m e of his s u p p o r t e r s

s u p p o r t him precisely because they believe he is a good man,

and this means to t h e m a m a n w h o won't make such deals. Or he

may d o u b t his own motives for considering the deal, w o n d e r i n g

w h e t h e r it is the political campaign or his own candidacy that

makes the bargain at all tempting. Or he may believe t h a t if he

makes deals of this sort now he may not be able later on to

achieve those ends t h a t make the campaign worthwhile, and he

may not feel entitled to take such risks with a f u t u r e that is n o t

only his own f u t u r e . Or he may simply think t h a t t h e deal is dis-

h o n e s t and t h e r e f o r e wrong, c o r r u p t i n g n o t only himself b u t all

t h o s e h u m a n relations in which he is involved.

Because he has scruples of this sort, we know him to be a

good man. But we view t h e campaign in a certain light, e s t i m a t e

its i m p o r t a n c e in a certain way, and hope that he will o v e r c o m e

his scruples and make t h e deal. It is i m p o r t a n t to stress t h a t we

don't want just anyone to make t h e deal; we want him to m a k e it,

precisely because he has scruples about it. We know he is d o i n g

right when he makes the deal because he knows he is d o i n g

wrong. I don't m e a n m e r e l y that he will feel badly or even very

badly after he makes t h e deal. If he is t h e good man I am imag-

ining him to be, he will feel guilty, that is, he will believe himself

to be guilty. T h a t is w h a t it m e a n s to have dirty hands.

All this may b e c o m e clearer if we look at a m o r e d r a m a t i c

example, for we are, perhaps, a little blase about political deals

and disinclined to w o r r y m u c h about the man who makes one.

So consider a politician w h o has seized u p o n a national crisis—

a p r o l o n g e d colonial w a r — t o reach for power. He and his

f r i e n d s win office pledged to decolonization and peace; they are

honestly c o m m i t t e d to both, t h o u g h not w i t h o u t s o m e sense of

t h e advantages of t h e c o m m i t m e n t . In any case, they have no

responsibility for t h e war; they have steadfastly opposed it.

Immediately, t h e politician goes off to the colonial capital to

o p e n negotiations with t h e rebels. But t h e capital is in t h e grip

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • vj J*

of a terrorist campaign, and the first decision the new leader

faces is this: he is asked to authorize t h e t o r t u r e of a c a p t u r e d

rebel leader who knows or probably knows t h e location of a

n u m b e r of bombs hidden in a p a r t m e n t buildings around the

city, set to go off within the next t w e n t y - f o u r hours. He orders

the man tortured, convinced that he m u s t do so for t h e sake of

t h e p e o p l e who might otherwise die in t h e explosions—even

t h o u g h he believes t h a t t o r t u r e is wrong, indeed abominable,

not just sometimes, but always* He had expressed this belief

often and angrily d u r i n g his own campaign; the rest of us took it

as a sign of his goodness. H o w should we regard him now? ( H o w

should he regard himself?)

O n c e again, it does not seem e n o u g h to say that he should

feel very badly But why not? W h y shouldn't he have feelings

like those of St. Augustine's melancholy soldier, who u n d e r s t o o d

both that his war was just and that killing, even in a just war, is a

terrible thing to do?t T h e difference is t h a t Augustine did n o t

believe that it was w r o n g to kill in a just war; it was just sad, or

t h e sort of thing a good man would be saddened by. But he might

have t h o u g h t it w r o n g to t o r t u r e in a just war, and later Catholic

theorists have certainly t h o u g h t it wrong. Moreover, t h e politi-

cian I am imagining thinks it wrong, as do m a n y of us who sup-

p o r t e d him Surely we have a right to expect m o r e than

melancholy from him now. W h e n he o r d e r e d the prisoner tor-

tured, he c o m m i t t e d a moral crime and he accepted a moral

burden. N o w he is a guilty man. His willingness to acknowledge

and bear (and p e r h a p s to r e p e n t and do p e n a n c e for) his guilt is

evidence, and it is the only evidence he can offer us, both that he

is n o t too good for politics and that he is good enough. H e r e is

t h e moral politician: it is by his dirty hands that we know him. if

he were a moral man and nothing else, his hands would not be

*I leave aside the question of w h e t h e r the prisoner is himself responsible for

the ter-

rorist campaign Perhaps he opposed it in meetings of the rebel organization In

any

case, whether he deserves to be punished or not, he does n o t deserve to be t o m

u e d .

' O t h e r writers argued that Christians must never kill, even in a just war; and
there was

also an intermediate position which suggests the origins of the idea of dirty
hands.

T h u s Basil T h e G r e a t (Bishop of Caesarea in the fourth century A.D.):

"Killing in war
554 • Michael \ alzer

dirty; if he were a politician and n o t h i n g else, he would p r e t e n d

t h a t t h e y w e r e clean.

1 1 1 . Machiavelli's a r g u m e n t about t h e nee d t o learn how no t t o b e

good clearly implies that t h e r e are acts k n o w n to be bad quite

apart from the i m m e d i a t e circumstances in which they are p e r -

f o r m e d or not p e r f o r m e d . He points to a distinct set of political

m e t h o d s and stratagems which good m e n m u s t study (by reading

his books), not only because their u s e does not come naturally,

but also because they are explicitly c o n d e m n e d by the moral

teachings good men a c c e p t — a n d whose acceptance serves in

t u r n to mark men as good. T h e s e m e t h o d s may be c o n d e m n e d

because they are t h o u g h t contrary to divine law or to the o r d e r of

n a t u r e or to our moral sense, or because in prescribing t h e law to

ourselves we have individually or collectively prohibited t h e m .

Machiavelli does not c o m m i t himself on such issues, and I shall

not do so either if I can avoid it. T h e effects of these different

views are, at least in o n e crucial sense, the same. T h e y take out of

o u r h a n d s the constant business of attaching moral labels to such

Machiavellian m e t h o d s as deceit and betrayal. Such m e t h o d s are

simply bad. T h e y are the sort of thing that good m e n avoid, at

least until they have learned how not to be good,

N o w , if t h e r e is no such class of actions, t h e r e is no d i l e m m a

of dirty hands, and t h e Machiavellian t e a c h i n g loses what

Machiavelli surely i n t e n d e d it to have, its disturbing and p a r a -

doxical character. He can then be u n d e r s t o o d to be saying t h a t

political actors m u s t sometimes overcome their moral inhibi-

tions, b u t not that they must sometimes c o m m i t crimes. I take it

that utilitarian philosophers also want to m a k e t h e first of t h e s e

s t a t e m e n t s and to d e n y the second. F r o m their point of view, the

c a n d i d a t e who makes a c o r r u p t deal and the official who a u t h o r -

izes the t o r t u r e of a prisoner m u s t be described as good m e n

(given t h e cases as I have specified them), w h o ought, perhaps, to

was differentiated by our f a t h e r s f r o m m u r d e r . . . nevertheless, perhaps

it would be

well that those whose hands ate unclean abstain from communion for three
years" H e r e

dirty hands are a kind of impurity orunworthiness, which is not the same as guilt,
though

closely related to it. For a general survey of these and other Christian views, see
Roland R

Bainton, Christian Attitudes Toward War and Peace (New York, 1960), esp.
chaps. 5-7.

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • vj J*

be h o n o r e d for m a k i n g t h e right decision when it was a hard

decision to make. T h e r e are t h r e e ways of developing this a r g u -

ment. First, it m i g h t be said that every political choice o u g h t to

be m a d e solely in t e r m s of its particular and i m m e d i a t e c i r c u m -

stances—in terms, that is, of the reasonable alternatives, avail-

able knowledge, likely consequences, and so on. T h e n t h e good

m a n will face difficult choices (when his k n o w l e d g e of options

and outcomes is radically uncertain), b u t it cannot h a p p e n t h a t

he will face a moral dilemma. I n d e e d , if he always makes

decisions in this way, and has been t a u g h t f r o m childhood to

do so, he will n e v e r have to o v e r c o m e his inhibitions, w h a t -

ever he does, for how could he have acquired inhibitions?

Assuming f u r t h e r t h a t he weighs the alternatives and calculates

the consequences seriously and in good faith, he cannot c o m m i t

a crime, though he can certainly make a mistake, even a very

serious mistake. Even when he lies and tortures, his hands will

be clean, for he has d o n e what he should do as best he can,

standing alone in a m o m e n t of time, forced to choose.

This is in s o m e ways an attractive description of moral

decision-making, but it is also a very improbable one. For while

any one of us may stand alone, and so on,. when we make this or
that decision, we are not isolated or solitary in our moral lives.

Moral life is a social phenomenon, and it is constituted at least in

part by rules, the knowing of which (and perhaps the making of

which) we share with our fellows. T h e experience of coming up

against these rules, challenging their prohibitions, and explaining

ourselves to other men and women is so c o m m o n and so obviously

important that no account of moral decision-making can possibly

fail to come to grips with it. H e n c e the second utilitarian argu-

ment: such rules do indeed exist, but they are not really prohibi-

tions of wrongful actions (though they do, perhaps for pedagogic

reasons, have that form). T h e y are moral guidelines, summaries of

previous calculations. T h e y ease our choices in ordinary cases, for

we can simply follow their injunctions and do what has been found

useful in the past; in exceptional cases they serve as signals warn-

ing us against doing too quickly or without the most careful calcu-

lations what has not been found useful in the past. But they do no

m o r e than that; they have no other purpose, and so it cannot be t h e

556 • Michael \ alzer

case that it is or even might be a crime to override them.* N o r is it

necessary to feel guilty when one does so. O n c e again, if it is right

to break the rule in some hard case, after conscientiously worrying

about it, the man who acts (especially if he knows that many of his

fellows would simply worry rather than act) may properly feel

pride in his achievement.

But this view, it seems to me, c a p t u r e s t h e reality of o u r

moral life no better than the last. It may well be right to say that

moral rules o u g h t to have the character of guidelines, b u t it

s e e m s that in fact they do not. Or at least, we defend ourselves

when we break the rules as if they had some status entirely i n d e -

p e n d e n t of their previous utility (and we rarely feel proud of

ourselves). T h e defenses we normally o f f e r are not simply justi-

fications; they are also excuses. Now, as Austin says, these two

can seem to c o m e very close t o g e t h e r — i n d e e d , 1 shall suggest

t h a t they can appear side by side in the same s e n t e n c e — b u t

they are conceptually distinct, d i f f e r e n t i a t e d in this crucial

respect: an excuse is typically an admission of fault; a justifica-

tion is typically a denial of fault and an assertion of innocence.

C o n s i d e r a w e l l - k n o w n d e f e n s e from Shakespeare's Hamlet that

has o f t e n r e a p p e a r e d in political literature: "I m u s t be c r u e l only

to be kind." T h e words are spoken on an occasion when H a m l e t

is actually being cruel to his mother. I will leave aside the pos-

sibility that she deserves to hear (to be forced to listen to) every
h a r s h word he utters, for H a m l e t himself makes no such

c l a i m — a n d if she did i n d e e d deserve that, his words might n o t

be cruel or he might not be cruel for s p e a k i n g them. "I must be

c r u e l " contains the excuse, since it both admits a fault and sug-

gests that H a m l e t has no choice but to c o m m i t it. He is d o i n g

w h a t he has to do; he can't h e l p himself (given the ghost's c o m -

mand, the rotten state of D e n m a r k , and so on). T h e rest of the

s e n t e n c e is a justification, for it suggests that H a m l e t intends and

expects kindness to be the o u t c o m e of his actions—we m u s t

"Brandt's rules do not appear to be of t h e sort that can be overridden—except p

e r h a p s

by a soldier who decides that he just •won'tV ill any m o r e civilians, no matter
what cause

is s e r v e d — s i n c e all rhey require is careful calculation. But I take it that

rules of a dif-

ferent sort, which have the form of ordinary injunctions and prohibitions, can
and often

do figure in what is called "rule-utilitarianism "

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • vj J*

assume that he m e a n s greater kindness, kindness to the right

persons, or some such. It is not, however, so c o m p l e t e a justifica-

tion that H a m l e t is able to say that he is not really being cruel.

" C r u e l " and "kind" have exactly the same status; they both follow
the verb "to be," and so they perfectly reveal the moral dilemma *

W h e n rules are overridden, we do n o t talk or act as if they had

been set aside, canceled, or annulled. T h e y still stand and have

this much effect at least: that we know we have done something

w r o n g even if what we have d o n e was also the best thing to do on

t h e whole in the circumstances.* Or at lease we feel t h a t way, and

this feeling is itself a crucial feature of our moral life. H e n c e the

third utilitarian argument, which recognizes the usefulness of

guilt and seeks to explain it. T h e r e are, it appears, good reasons

for "overvaluing" as well as for overriding the rules. For the con-

sequences might be very bad indeed if the rules were overridden

every time the moral calculation seemed to go against them. It is

probably best if most men do not calculate too nicely, b u t simply

follow the rules; they are less likely to make mistakes that way, all

in all. And so a good man (or at least an ordinary good man) will

respect the rules r a t h e r m o r e than he would if he t h o u g h t them

merely guidelines, and he will feel guilty when he overrides

them. Indeed, if he did not feel guilty, "he would not be such a

good man." It is by his feelings that we know him. Because of

those feelings he will never be in a h u r r y to override the rules,

but will wait until t h e r e is no choice, acting only to avoid conse-

quences that are both i m m i n e n t and almost certainly disastrous.

T h e obvious difficulty with this argument is that the feeling

whose usefulness is being explained is most unlikely to be felt by

someone who is convinced only of its usefulness. He breaks a util-

" C o m p a r e the following lines from Bertold Brccht's p o e m " T o Posterity":

"Aias, w e /

W h o wished to lay the foundations of kindness/ C o u l d not ourselves be kind

. . . "

(Selected Poems, trans. H. R Hays [New York, 1969], p. !77). T h i s is m o r e of

an excuse,

less of a justification (the poem is an apologia).

'Robert Nozick discusses some of the possible effects of overriding a rule in his
"Moral

Complications and Moral Structures," Natural Lam Forum 13 (1968): 34—35

and notes

N o z i c k suggests that what may remain after one has broken a rule (for good
reasons) is

a " d u t y to make reparations." He does not call this "guilt," t h o u g h t h e two

notions are

closely connected.

558 • Michael \ alz.er

itarian rule (guideline), let us say, for good utilitarian reasons: but

can he then feel guilty, also for good utilitarian reasons, when he

has no reason for believing that he is guilty? Imagine a moral phi-

losopher e x p o u n d i n g t h e third a r g u m e n t to a man who actually

does feel guilty or to the sort of man who is likely to feel guilty.

E i t h e r the man won't accept the utilitarian explanation as an

account of his feeling about the rules (probably the best o u t c o m e

f r o m a utilitarian poi nt of view) or he will accept it and then cease

to feel that (useful) feeling. But I do not want to exclude the pos-

sibility of a kind of superstitious anxiety, the possibility, that is,

that s o m e men will continue to feel guilty even after they have

been taught, and have agreed, that they cannot possibly be guilty.

It is best to say only that the m o r e fully they accept the utilitarian

account, the less likely they are to feel that (useful) feeling. T h e

utilitarian account is n o t at all useful, then, if political actors

accept it, and that may help us to u n d e r s t a n d why it plays, as H a r e

has pointed out, so small a part in o u r moral education.*

' T h e r e is another possible utilitarian position, suggested in M a u r i c e M e r

l e a u - P o n t y ' s

Humanism and Terror, trans. John O ' N e i l l (Boston, 1970). According to this
view, the

agony and the guilt feelings experienced by the man who makes a "dirty hands"
deci-

sion derive from his radical u n c e r t a i n t y about the actual outcome. Perhaps
the awful

thing he is doing will be done in vain; the results he hopes for won't occur; t h e
only o u t -

c o m e will be t h e pain he has caused or t h e deceit he has fostered. T h e n

(and only then)

he will indeed have c o m m i t t e d a crime. On the other hand, if the expected

good does

come, then (and only then) he can abandon his guilt feelings; he can say, and the
rest of

us must agree, that he is justified, T h i s is a kind of delayed utilitarianism,

where justifi-

cation is a matter of actual and not at all of predicted outcomes It is not

implausible to

imagine a political actor anxiously awaiting the "verdict of history." But suppose
the

verdict is in his favor (assuming that there is a final verdict or a statute of

limitations on

possible verdicts): he will surely feel r e l i e v e d — m o r e so, no doubt, than

the rest of us. I

can see no reason, however, why he should think himself justified, if he is a good
man

and knows that what he did was wrong. Perhaps the victims of his crime, seeing
the

happy result, will absolve him, but history has no powers of absolution. Indeed,
history

is m o r e likely to play tricks on o u r moral judgment. Predicted outcomes are at

least

thought to follow from our own acts (this is the prediction), but actual outcomes
almost
certainly have a m u l t i t u d e of causes, the combination of which may well be
fortuitous

M e r l e a u - P o n t y stresses the risks of political decision-making so heavily

that be turns

politics into a gamble with time and circumstance. But the anxiety of the
gambler is of

no great moral interest. N o r is it much of a barrier, as M e r l e a u - P o n t y ' s

book makes all

too clear, to t h e commission of the most terrible crimes.

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • vj J*

IV. O n e f u r t h e r c o m m e n t on the third argument: it is worth stress-

ing that to feel guilty is to suffer, and that the men whose guilt

feelings are h e r e called useful are themselves innocent accord-

i n g to the utilitarian account. So we seem to have c o m e u p o n

another case w h e r e the suffering of t h e innocent is p e r m i t t e d

and even e n c o u r a g e d by utilitarian calculation. But surely an

i n n o c e n t man who has d o n e something painful or hard (but jus-

tified) should be helped to avoid or escape the sense of guilt; he

might reasonably e x p e c t t h e assistance of his fellow men, even

of moral philosophers, at such a time. On t h e o t h e r hand, if we

intuitively think it t r u e of s o m e o t h e r man that he should feel

guilty, then we o u g h t to be able to specify t h e n a t u r e of his guilt

(and if he is a good m a n , win his agreement). I think I can c o n -

struct a case which, with only small variation, highlights what is

d i f f e r e n t in these two situations.

C o n s i d e r the c o m m o n practice of distributing rifles loaded

with blanks to s o m e of the m e m b e r s of a firing squad. T h e indi-

vidual m e n are not told w h e t h e r their o w n weapons are lethal,

and so though all of t h e m look like executioners to the victim in

f r o n t of them, n o n e of them know w h e t h e r they are really exe-

cutioners or not. T h e p u r p o s e of this stratagem is to relieve each

m a n of the sense t h a t he is a killer. It can hardly relieve him of

whatever moral responsibility he incurs by serving on a firing

squad, and that is not its purpose, for t h e execution is not

t h o u g h t to be (and let us grant this to be the case) an immoral or

w r o n g f u l act. But the inhibition against killing a n o t h e r h u m a n

b e i n g is so strong that even if the men believe that what they are

doing is right, they will still feel guilty. U n c e r t a i n t y as to their

actual role a p p a r e n t l y reduces the intensity of these feelings. If

this is so, the stratagem is perfectly justifiable, and o n e can only

rejoice in every case w h e r e it succeeds-—for every success sub-

tracts o n e f r o m the n u m b e r of i n n o c e n t m e n who suffer.

But we would feel differently, I think, if we imagine a man

who believes (and let us assume h e r e that we believe also) e i t h e r

that capital p u n i s h m e n t is w r o n g or that this particular victim is

innocent, but who nevertheless agrees to participate in t h e firing

squad for some overriding political or moral r e a s o n — I won't t r y

to suggest what that reason might be. If he is c o m f o r t e d by the

560 • Michael \ alzer

trick with t h e rifles, t h e n we can be reasonably certain that his

opposition to capital p u n i s h m e n t or his belief in t h e victim's

i n n o c e n c e is not morally serious. And if it is serious, he will not

merely feel guilty, he will know that he is guilty (and we will

know it too), t h o u g h he may also believe (and we may agree)

that he has good reasons for i n c u r r i n g t h e guilt. O u r guilt feel-

ings can be tricked away when they are isolated f r o m o u r moral

beliefs, as in the first case, but not when they are allied with

t h e m , as in t h e second. T h e beliefs themselves and the rules

which are believed in can only be overridden, a painful process

which forces a m a n to weigh the w r o n g he is willing to do in

o r d e r to do right, and which leaves pain b e h i n d , and should do

so, even after the decision has been made.

V. T h a t is t h e d i l e m m a of dirty hands as it has been e x p e r i e n c e d by

political actors and written about in the literature of political

action. 1 don't want to argue that it is only a political dilemma.

No d o u b t we can get our hands dirty in private life also, and

sometimes, no doubt, we should. But the issue is posed m o s t

dramatically in politics for the t h r e e reasons that make political

life t h e kind of life it is, b e c a u s e we claim to act for others b u t

also serve ourselves, r u l e over others, and use violence against

t h e m . It is easy to get one's hands dirty in politics and it is often

right to do so. But it is not easy to teach a good man how not to

be good, nor is it easy to explain such a m a n to himself o n c e he

has c o m m i t t e d whatever crimes are required of him. At least, it

is n o t easy o n c e we have agreed to use t h e word "crimes" and to

live with (because we have no choice) t h e d i l e m m a of dirty

hands. Still, t h e a g r e e m e n t is c o m m o n e n o u g h , and on its basis

t h e r e have d e v e l o p e d t h r e e broad traditions of explanation,

t h r e e ways of t h i n k i n g about dirty hands, which derive in some

v e r y general fashion f r o m neoclassical, Protestant, and C a t h o l i c

perspectives on politics and morality. 1 want to try to say s o m e -

t h i n g very briefly about each of t h e m , or r a t h e r about a r e p r e -

sentative e x a m p l e of each of them, for each seems to me partly

right. But 1 don't think I can p u t t o g e t h e r t h e c o m p o u n d v i e w

that m i g h t be wholly right.

T h e first tradition is best r e p r e s e n t e d by Machiavelli, t h e first

man, so far as T know, to state t h e p a r a d o x t h a t I am examining.

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • vj J*

T h e good man who aims to found or r e f o r m a republic must,

Machiavelli tells us, do terrible things to reach his goal. Like

Romulus, he must m u r d e r his brother; like N u m a , he m u s t lie to

t h e people. Sometimes, however, " w h e n t h e act accuses, the

result excuses." T h i s s e n t e n c e f r o m The Discourses is often taken

to m e a n that t h e politician's deceit and cruelty are justified by

the good results he brings about. But if t h e y were justified, it

w o u l d n ' t be necessary to learn w h a t Machiavelli claims to teach:

how not to be good. It would only be necessary to learn how to

be good in a new, m o r e difficult, p e r h a p s r o u n d a b o u t way. T h a t

is n o t Machiavelli's argument. H i s political j u d g m e n t s are

i n d e e d consequentialist in character, but not bis moral j u d g -

ments. We know w h e t h e r cruelty is u s e d well or badly by its

effects over time. But that it is bad to use cruelty we know in

s o m e other way. T h e deceitful and cruel politician is excused (if

he succeeds) only in the sense that the rest of us come to agree

that the results w e r e "worth it" or, m o r e likely, that we simply

forget his crimes when we praise his success.

It is i m p o r t a n t to stress Machiavelli's own c o m m i t m e n t to t h e

existence of moral standards. His paradox d e p e n d s u p o n that

c o m m i t m e n t as it d e p e n d s upon the general stability of the stan-

dards—which be u p h o l d s in bis consistent use of words like good

and bad. If he wants the standards to be disregarded by good m e n

m o r e often than they are, he has n o t h i n g with which to replace

t h e m and no o t h e r way of recognizing the good men except by

their allegiance to those same standards. It is exceedingly rare, he

writes, that a good man is willing to employ bad means to

b e c o m e prince. Machiavelli's p u r p o s e is to p e r s u a d e such a p e r -

son to make the attempt, and he holds out the s u p r e m e political

reward, power and glory, to the man who does so and succeeds.

T h e good m a n is not rewarded (or excused), however, merely for

his willingness to get his hands dirty. He m u s t do bad things well.

T h e r e is no reward for doing bad things badly, though they are

d o n e with t h e best of intentions. And so political action neces-

sarily involves taking a risk. But it should be clear that what is

risked is not personal goodness— that is thrown away—but power

and glory. If the politician succeeds, he is a hero; eternal praise is

the s u p r e m e reward for not being good.

)fi- • Michael .alzer

W h a t t h e penalties are for not being good, Machiavelli

d o e s n ' t say, and it is probably for this reason above all t h a t his

moral sensitivity has so often h e e n questioned. He is suspect not

b e c a u s e he tells political actors they m u s t get their hands dirty,

b u t because he does not specify the state of mind appropriate to

a m a n with dirty hands. A Machiavellian hero has no inward-

ness. W h a t he thinks of himself we don't know. T would guess,

along with most o t h e r r e a d e r s of Machiavelli, that he basks in

his glory. But then it is difficult to account for the scrength of bis

original r e l u c t a n c e to learn h o w not to be good. In any case, he

is t h e sort of man who is unlikely to keep a diary and so we c a n -

n o t find o u t what he thinks. Yet we do want to know; above all,

we want a record of his anguish. T h a t is a sign of our own c o n -

scientiousness and of t h e i m p a c t on us of t h e second tradition of

t h o u g h t that T w a n t to examine, in which personal anguish

s o m e t i m e s seems t h e only acceptable excuse f o r political

cri mes.

T h e second tradition is best r e p r e s e n t e d , I think, by M a x

Weber, who outlines its essential f e a t u r e s with great power at

the very end of his essay "Politics as a Vocation." For Weber, the

good man with dirty hands is a hero still, b u t he is a tragic hero.

In part, his t r a g e d y is t h a t though politics is his vocation, he has

not b e e n called by G o d and so cannot be justified by H i m .

Weber's hero is alone in a world that seems to b e l o n g to Satan,

and his vocation is e n t i r e l y his own choice. He still wanes w h a t

Christian magistrates have always wanted, both to do good in

the world and to save his soul, b u t now these two ends have

c o m e into sharp contradiction. T h e y are c o n t r a d i c t o r y b e c a u s e

of t h e necessity f o r v i o l e n c e in a world w h e r e G o d has not insti-

tuted the sword. T h e politician takes the sword himself, and

only by d o i n g so does he m e a s u r e up to his vocation, W i t h full

consciousness of what he is doing, he does bad in o r d e r to do

good, and s u r r e n d e r s his soul. He "lets himself in," W e b e r says,

"for t h e diabolic forces lurking in all violence." Perhaps M a c h i -

avelli also m e a n t to suggest that his h e r o s u r r e n d e r s salvation in

e x c h a n g e for glory, but he does not explicitly say so. W e b e r is

absolutely clear: "the genius or d e m o n of politics lives in an

i n n e r tension with t h e god of love .. . [which] can at any t i m e

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • vj J*

lead to an irreconcilable conflict."* H i s politician views this

conflict when it comes with a tough realism, never p r e t e n d s t h a t

it might be solved by compromise, chooses politics once again,

and turns decisively away from love. W e b e r writes about this

choice with a passionate h i g h - m i n d e d n e s s that makes a concern

for one's soul seem no m o r e elevated t h a n a concern for one's

flesh. Yet the r e a d e r never doubts that his mature, s u p e r b l y

trained, relentless, objective, responsible, and disciplined polit-

ical leader is also a suffering servant. H i s choices are hard and

painful, and he pays the price n o t only while m a k i n g them b u t

forever after A man doesn't lose his soul o n e day and find it t h e

next.

T h e difficulties with this view will be clear to anyone w h o

has ever m e t a suffering servant. H e r e is a man w h o lies,

intrigues, sends o t h e r men to their d e a t h — a n d suffers. He does

w h a t he m u s t do with a heavy heart. N o n e of us can know, he

tells us, how m u c h it costs him to do his duty. Indeed, we cannot,

f o r he himself fixes the price he pays. And that is t h e t r o u b l e

with this view of political crime. We suspect the suffering ser-

vant of either masochism or hypocrisy or both, and while we are

often wrong, we are n o t always wrong. Weber attempts to

resolve the p r o b l e m of dirty hands entirely within the confines

of t h e individual conscience, b u t I am inclined to think t h a t this

is n e i t h e r possible nor desirable. T h e self-awareness of t h e

tragic h e r o is obviously of great value. We want the politician to

have an inner life at least s o m e t h i n g like t h a t which W e b e r

describes. But s o m e t i m e s the hero's suffering needs to be

socially expressed (for like p u n i s h m e n t , it confirms and r e i n -

forces our sense t h a t certain acts are wrong). And equally

important, it s o m e t i m e s needs to be socially limited. We don't

want to be ruled by men who have lost their souls. A politician

with dirty h a n d s n e e d s a soul, and it is best for us all if he has

some h o p e of personal salvation, however that is conceived. It is

' " P o l i t i c s as a Vocation," pp 125-126. But s o m e t i m e s a political l e a d

e r d o e s c h o o s e t h e

"absolutist" side of the conflict, and W e b e r w r i t e s (p. 127) that it is " i m m

e n s e l y m o v i n g

w h e n a mature m a n ., . aware of a responsibility f o r t h e c o n s e q u e n c e

s of his c o n d u c t . . .

r e a c h e s a point w h e r e he says: ' H e r e I stand; I can do no other.'" U n f o

r t u n a t e l y , he d o e s

n o t suggest just w h e r e that p o i n t is or even w h e r e it m i g h t be.

S64 • Michael "\ alzer

not t h e case that w h e n he does bad in o r d e r to do good he s u r -

r e n d e r s himself forever to the d e m o n of politics. He commits a

d e t e r m i n a t e crime, and he m u s t pay a d e t e r m i n a t e penalty.

W h e n he has d o n e so, his hands will be clean again, or as clean

as h u m a n hands can ever be. So the C a t h o l i c C h u r c h has always

t a u g h t , and this t e a c h i n g is central to t h e third tradition t h a t I

want to examine.

O n c e again 1 will take a latter-day and a lapsed representative

of t h e tradition and consider Albert C a m u s 1 The Just Assassins.

T h e heroes of this play are terrorists at work in n i n e t e e n t h -

c e n t u r y Russia. T h e dirt on their hands is h u m a n blood. And yet

C a m u s ' a d m i r a t i o n f o r t h e m , he tells us, is complete. We c o n -

sent to being criminals, one of t h e m says, but t h e r e is n o t h i n g

with which anyone can r e p r o a c h us. H e r e is the d i l e m m a of

dirty hands in a n e w form. T h e heroes are i n n o c e n t criminals,

just assassins, because, having killed, they are p r e p a r e d to d i e —

and will die. O n l y their execution, by t h e s a m e despotic a u t h o r i -

ties they are attacking, will c o m p l e t e t h e action in which they

are engaged: dying, they need make no excuses. T h a t is t h e end

of their guilt and pain. T h e execution is not so m u c h p u n i s h -

m e n t as s e l f - p u n i s h m e n t and expiation. On the scaffold they

wash their hands clean and, unlike t h e suffering servant, they die

happy.

N o w t h e a r g u m e n t of the play when p r e s e n t e d in so radically

simplified a form may seem a little bizarre, and p e r h a p s it is

m a r r e d by t h e moral extremism of C a m u s ' politics. "Political

action has limits," he says in a p r e f a c e to t h e v o l u m e containing

The Just Assassins, "and t h e r e is no good and just action but w h a t

recognizes those limits and if it must go beyond them, at least

accepts death." I am less interested h e r e in t h e violence of that

"at least"—what else does he have in m i n d ? — t h a n in the sen-

sible doctrine that it exaggerates. T h a t d o c t r i n e might best be

described by an analogy: just assassination, I want to suggest, is

like civil disobedience. In both m e n violate a set of rules, go

beyond a moral or legal limit, in o r d e r to do w h a t they believe

they should do. At t h e same time, they acknowledge their

responsibility for the violation by a c c e p t i n g p u n i s h m e n t or

d o i n g penance. Rut t h e r e is also a d i f f e r e n c e between t h e two,

Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands • vj J*

which has to do with t h e difference b e t w e e n law and morality.

In most cases of civil disobedience t h e laws of t h e state are b r o -

ken for moral reasons, and the state provides the p u n i s h m e n t . In

most cases of dirty hands moral rules are broken for reasons of

state, and no one provides the p u n i s h m e n t . T h e r e is rarely a

Czarist e x e c u t i o n e r waiting in the wings for politicians with

d i r t y hands, even t h e most deserving a m o n g them. M o r a l rules

are not usually e n f o r c e d against the sort of actor I am consider-

ing, largely because he acts in an official capacity. If they were

enforced, dirty h a n d s would be no problem. We would simply

h o n o r t h e man who did bad in o r d e r to do good, and at the same

t i m e we would punish him. We would h o n o r him for the good he

has done, and we would punish him for the bad he has done. We

would punish him, that is, for the same reasons we punish any-

one else; it is n o t my p u r p o s e h e r e to d e f e n d any particular view

of punishment. In any case, t h e r e seems no way to establish or

e n f o r c e t h e p u n i s h m e n t . Short of the priest and t h e confes-

sional, t h e r e are no authorities to whom we might e n t r u s t the

task.

1 am nevertheless inclined to think C a m u s ' view the most

attractive of the three, if only because it requires us at least to

imagine a p u n i s h m e n t or a p e n a n c e that fits t h e c r i m e and so to

e x a m i n e closely t h e n a t u r e of t h e crime. T h e others do not

r e q u i r e that. O n c e he has launched his career, the crimes of

Machiavelli's p r i n c e seem subject only to p r u d e n t i a l control.

And the crimes of Weber's tragic hero are limited only by his

capacity for s u f f e r i n g and not, as they should be, by our capacity

for suffering. In n e i t h e r case is t h e r e any explicit r e f e r e n c e back

to t h e moral code, o n c e it has, at great personal cost to be sure,

been set aside. T h e question posed by Sartre's H o e r d e r e r

(whom I suspect of being a suffering servant) is rhetorical, and

the answer is obvious (I have already given it), but the charac-

teristic sweep of both is disturbing. Since it is c o n c e r n e d only

with those crimes t h a t o u g h t to be c o m m i t t e d , the d i l e m m a of

d i r t y hands seems to exclude questions of degree. W a n t o n or

excessive cruelty is not at issue, any m o r e than is cruelty

directed at bad ends. But political action is so uncertain that

politicians necessarily take moral as well as political risks, c o m -

566 • Michael \ alzer

mitring crimes that they only think o u g h t to be c o m m i t t e d .

T h e y override the rules w i t h o u t ever being certain that they

have f o u n d the best way to the results they h o p e to achieve, and

we d o n ' t want t h e m to do that too quickly or t o o often. So it is

i m p o r t a n t that the moral stakes be very h i g h — w h i c h is to say,

t h a t the rules be rightly valued. T h a t , I suppose, is the reason for

C a m u s ' extremism. W i t h o u t the executioner, however, t h e r e is

no o n e to set the stakes or maintain t h e values e x c e p t ourselves,

and probably no way to do either e x c e p t t h r o u g h philosophic

reiteration and political activity.

"We shall not abolish lying by r e f u s i n g to tell lies," says

H o e r d e r e r , "but by u s i n g every means at h a n d to abolish social

classes." I suspect we shall not abolish lying at all, but we might

see to it t h a t fewer lies w e r e told if we contrived to d e n y power

and glory to the greatest liars—except, of course, in t h e case of

those lucky few whose e x t r a o r d i n a r y achievements make us for-

get the lies they told. If H o e r d e r e r succeeds in abolishing social

classes, p e r h a p s he will join the lucky few. Meanwhile, he lies,

m a n i p u l a t e s , and kills, and we must make sure he pays t h e price

We w o n ' t be able to do that, however, w i t h o u t getting o u r own

h a n d s dirty, and t h e n we m u s t find s o m e way of paying the p r i c e

ourselves.

CHAPTER 28

JUDITH JARVIS T H O M S O N

A N D D O N MARQUIS

Raging since the Roe v. Wade decision of 1973, the debate over abor-

tion seems unending. It is the kind of intractable dispute that

prompted Alasdair M a c l n t y r e to believe that Americans' opinions on

the issue were drawn from fragments of different moral traditions.

T h e disagreement often comes down to one side believing that

the fetus is to be treated as a person and the other holding that a fetus

is no more a person than an acorn is an oak. In these two articles,

which have probably been reprinted more than any other philosoph-

ical reflections on the topic, the authors disagree: Thomson is pro-

choice and Marquis pro-life. Interestingly enough, however, the

arguments that they develop do not depend on the seemingly u n r e -

solvable question of the status of the personhood of the fetus.

A professor emeritus of philosophy at the Massachusetts Institute

of Technology, Judith Jarvis Thomson uses some fascinating thought

experiments to establish that even if we assume that a fetus is a per-

son (which she does not), it does not follow that abortion is necessar-

ily wrong. She bids us to imagine, "You wake up in the morning with

an unconscious violinist. A famous unconscious violinist. He has

been found to have a fatal kidney ailment, and the Society of Music

Lovers has canvassed all the available medical records and found that

you alone have the right blood type to help." In order to save the life

of this virtuoso, you will need to be attached for nine months. If you

568 Judith Jarvis Thomson and Don Marquis

unhook yourself the violinist dies. Are you morally obligated to let

the violinist use your body? T h o m s o n thinks not. And from this

experiment she makes the point that our right to life is at bottom a

right not to be killed unjustly. Both moral ahd legal strictures allow

people to take the life of another in certain cases of self-defense. And

for T h o m s o n , many abortions are best understood u n d e r this rubric.

(In her "Killing and Letting Die" philosopher Philippa Foot offers an

interesting critique of Thomson's violinist thought experiment.) As

the reader will learn, T h o m s o n invokes what she terms a principle of

"Minimally Decent Samaritani.sm" to argue that there are cases in

which abortion would be morally reprehensible, e.g., delivery gets in

the way of a vacation.

A professor of philosophy at Kansas University, Don Marquis

maintains that except in very rare cases, "abortion is a serious wrong,"

tantamount to killing. Marquis does not work from religious premises,

nor, to repeat, does his reasoning rely on the idea of the personhood

of the fetus. After rehearsing some of the weaknesses on both sides of

the abortion debate, Marquis proposes that we consider what makes

killing wrong. After all, that killing is wrong is something that both

pro-life and pro-choice people agree upon. Subsequent to consider-

ing and dismissing the claims that taking a life is evil because it either

brutalizes the killer or harms the people left hehind, Marquis con-

cludes that it is wrong to kill because in so doing 1 am robbing the vic-

tim of possible future experience. T h e act of abortion deprives the

fetus, whatever its status might be, of a future and is therefore, like

killing, wrong. Granting Marquis's analysis, Thomson's question

remains: Is abortion necessarily an unjustified form of killing? Mar-

quis responds to Thomson's claim in some of his later work.

A D E F E N S E OF A B O R T I O N

Most opposition to abortion relies on the premise that the fetus is a

h u m a n being, a person, from the moment of conception. T h e p r e m -

ise is argued for, but, as I think, not well. Take, for example, the most

common argument. We are asked to notice that the development of a

h u m a n being f r o m conception through birth into childhood is con-

tinuous; cben it is said that to draw a line, to choose a point in this

development and say "before this point the thing is not a person,

after this point it is a person" is to make an arbitrary choice, a choice

for which in the nature of things no good reason can be given. It is

concluded that the fetus is or anyway that we had better say it is, a

person from the m o m e n t of conception. But this conclusion does not

follow. Similar things might be said about the development of an

acorn into an oak tree, and it does not follow that acorns are oak

trees, or that we had better say they are. Arguments of this form are

sometimes called "slippery slope arguments"-—-the phrase is perhaps

self-explanatory—and it is dismaying that opponents of abortion

rely on them so heavily and uncritically.

I am inclined to agree, however, that the prospects for "drawing a

line" in the development of the fetus look dim. I am inclined to think

also that we shall probably have to agree that the fetus has already

b e c o m e a human person well before birth. Indeed, it comes as a

surprise when one first learns how early in its life it begins to acquire

.»'<»• Judith Jarvis Thomson

h u m a n characteristics. By the t e n t h week, for example, it already has

a face, arms and legs, fingers and toes; it has internal organs, and

brain activity is detectable. On the o t h e r hand', I think that the

premise is false, that the fetus is not a person f r o m the m o m e n t of

conception. A newly fertilized ovum, a newly implanted c l u m p of

cells, is no m o r e a person than an acorn is an oak tree. But I shall not

discuss any of this. For it seems to me to be of great interest to ask

what h a p p e n s if, f o r the sake of a r g u m e n t , we allow the premise.

How, precisely, are we supposed to get from t h e r e to the conclusion

that abortion is morally impermissible? O p p o n e n t s of abortion

c o m m o n l y spend most of their time establishing that the fetus is a

person, and hardly any t i m e explaining the s t e p from there to t h e

impermissibility of abortion. Perhaps they think the step too simple

and obvious to require m u c h c o m m e n t . Or p e r h a p s instead they are

simply being economical in argument. M a n y of those who d e f e n d

abortion rely on the p r e m i s e that the fetus is not a person, b u t only

a bit of tissue that will b e c o m e a person at birth; and why pay o u t

m o r e a r g u m e n t s than you have to? W h a t e v e r the explanation, I

suggest that t h e step they take is n e i t h e r easy nor obvious, that it

calls for closer examination than it is c o m m o n l y given, and that

when we do give it this closer examination we shall feel inclined to

reject it.

I propose, then, t h a t we grant that the fetus is a person f r o m the

m o m e n t of conception. H o w does the a r g u m e n t go f r o m here?

S o m e t h i n g like this, I take it. Every person has a right to life. So the

fetus has a right to life. No d o u b t the m o t h e r has a right to d e c i d e

w h a t shall happen in and to h e r body; everyone would grant that. But

surely a person's right to life is stronger and m o r e stringent than the

mother's' right to decide what h a p p e n s in and to her body, and so

outweighs it. So t h e fetus may not be killed; an abortion may n o t be

p e r f o r m e d .

It sounds plausible. But now let me ask you to imagine this. You

wake up in t h e m o r n i n g and find yourself back to back in bed with

an u n c o n s c i o u s violinist. A f a m o u s u n c o n s c i o u s violinist. He has

been f o u n d to have a fatal kidney ailment, and the Society of M u s i c

Lovers has canvassed all t h e available medical records and f o u n d

that you alone have the right blood t y p e to help. T h e y have t h e r e f o r e

k i d n a p p e d you, and last n i g h t the violinist's circulatory system was

A Defense of Abortion > ',<>

plugged into yours, so that your kidneys can be used to extract

poisons f r o m his blood as well as your own. T h e director of t h e

hospital now tells you, "Look, we're sorry the Society of M u s i c

Lovers did this to y o u — w e would never have p e r m i t t e d it if we had

known. But still, they did it, and the violinist is now plugged into

you. To u n p l u g you would be to kill him. But never mind, it's only

f o r nine months. By t h e n he will have recovered from his ailment,

and can safely be u n p l u g g e d from you." Is it morally i n c u m b e n t on

you to accede to this situation? No d o u b t it would be very nice of

you if you did, a great kindness. But do you have to accede to it?

W h a t if it were not nine months, but n i n e years? Or longer still?

W h a t if t h e director of the hospital says, " T o u g h luck. I agree, but

now you've got to stay in bed, with the violinist plugged into you, for

t h e rest of your life. Because r e m e m b e r this. All persons have a right

to life, and violinists are persons. G r a n t e d you have a right to decide

what happens in and to y o u r body, but a person's right to life

outweighs your right to decide what h a p p e n s in and to y o u r body. So

you cannot ever be u n p l u g g e d f r o m him." 1 imagine you would

regard this as outrageous, which suggests that something really is

w r o n g with that p l a u s i b l e - s o u n d i n g a r g u m e n t I m e n t i o n e d
a

m o m e n t ago.

In this case, of course, you were k i d n a p p e d , you didn't v o l u n t e e r

for the operation t h a t plugged the violinist into your kidneys. C a n

those who oppose abortion on the g r o u n d I m e n t i o n e d make an

exception f o r a p r e g n a n c y d u e to rape? Certainly. T h e y can say that

persons have a right to life only if they d i d n ' t c o m e into existence

because of rape; or they can say that all p e r s o n s have a right to life,

b u t that some have less of a right to life than others, in particular,

t h a t those who c a m e into existence b e c a u s e of rape have less. But

t h e s e statements have a r a t h e r u n p l e a s a n t sound. Surely the question

of w h e t h e r you have a right to life at all, or how m u c h of it you have,

s h o u l d n ' t turn on t h e question of w h e t h e r or n o t you are a p r o d u c t

of a rape. And in fact t h e p e o p l e who o p p o s e abortion on the g r o u n d

I m e n t i o n e d do not make this distinction, and h e n c e do n o t make an

exception in case of rape.

N o r do they make an exception for a case in which the m o t h e r has

to spend t h e nine m o n t h s of her p r e g n a n c y in bed. T h e y would agree

that would be a great pity, and hard on the m o t h e r ; but all t h e same,

.»'<»• Judith Jarvis Thomson

all p e r s o n s have a right to life, t h e ferns is a person, and so on, I

suspect, in fact, t h a t they would n o t m a k e an exception for a case in

which, m i r a c u l o u s l y e n o u g h , t h e p r e g n a n c y w e n t on f o r n i n
e years,

or even t h e rest of the m o t h e r ' s life.

S o m e w o n ' t even m a k e an exception for a case in which

c o n t i n u a t i o n of the p r e g n a n c y is likely to s h o r t e n the mother's

life;

they regard abortion as impermissible even to save t h e mother's life.

Such cases are nowadays very rare, and m a n y o p p o n e n t s of abortion

do not accept this e x t r e m e view. All the same, it is a good place to

begin: a n u m b e r of points of interest c o m e o u t in respect to it.

1. Let us call the view t h a t abortion is impermissible even to save

the mother's life "the e x t r e m e view." I want to suggest first that

it does not issue f r o m t h e a r g u m e n t I m e n t i o n e d earlier w i t h o u t

t h e addition of s o m e fairly p o w e r f u l premises. S u p p o s e a

w o m a n has b e c o m e pregnant, and now learns that she has a car-

diac condition such that she will die if she carries the baby to

term, W h a t may be d o n e for her? T h e fetus, being a person, has

a right to life, but as the m o t h e r is a p e r s o n too, so has she a right

to life. P r e s u m a b l y they have an equal right to life. H o w is it

supposed to c o m e out that an abortion may n o t be p e r f o r m e d ? If

m o t h e r and child have an equal right to life, shouldn't we per-

haps flip a coin? Or should we add to the m o t h e r ' s right to life

h e r right to decide what h a p p e n s in and to her body, which

everybody seems to be ready to g r a n t — t h e sum of her rights

now outweighing the fetus's right to life?

T h e most familiar a r g u m e n t h e r e is t h e following. We are

told that p e r f o r m i n g the abortion would be directly killing the

child, whereas doing n o t h i n g would not be killing t h e mother,

b u t only letting h e r die. Moreover, in killing the child, one

would be killing an innocent person, for the child has c o m m i t -

ted no crime, and is n o t aiming at his mother's death. And then

there are a variety of ways in which this m i g h t be-continued. (1)

But as directly killing an i n n o c e n t person is always and

absolutely impermissible, an abortion may n o t be p e r f o r m e d .

Or, (2) as directly killing an i n n o c e n t person is murder, and

m u r d e r is always and absolutely impermissible, an abortion may

n o t be p e r f o r m e d . Or, (3) as one's d u t y to refrain f r o m directly

A Defense of Abortion > ',<>

killing an i n n o c e n t person is m o r e stringent than one's d u t y to

keep a person f r o m dying, an abortion may not be p e r f o r m e d .

Or, (4) if one's only options are directly killing an innocent p e r -

son or letting a p e r s o n die, one m u s t p r e f e r letting t h e person

die, and thus an abortion may not be p e r f o r m e d .

S o m e p e o p l e seem to have t h o u g h t that these are not f u r t h e r

premises which m u s t be added if t h e conclusion is to be

reached, but that they follow from the very fact that an innocent

person has a right to life. But this seems to me to be a mistake,

and perhaps t h e simplest way to show this is to bring out that

while we m u s t certainly grant that i n n o c e n t persons have a right

to life, the theses in (1) through (4) are all false. Take (2), for

example. If directly killing an i n n o c e n t p e r s o n is m u r d e r , and

thus is impermissible, then the mother's directly killing t h e

innocent person inside her is murder, and thus is impermissible.

But it cannot seriously be t h o u g h t to be m u r d e r if the m o t h e r

p e r f o r m s an abortion on herself to save her life. It c a n n o t seri-

ously be said that she must refrain, that she must sit passively by

and wait for her death. L e t us look again at the case of you and

the violinist T h e r e you are, in bed with t h e violinist, and the

director of the hospital says to you, "It's all most distressing, and

I deeply sympathize, but you see this is p u t t i n g an additional

strain on your kidneys, and you'll be dead within the month. But

you have to stay w h e r e you are all the same. Because u n p l u g g i n g

you would be directly killing an i n n o c e n t violinist, and that's

murder, and that's impermissible." If a n y t h i n g in the world is

true, it is that you do not c o m m i t m u r d e r , you do not do w h a t is

impermissible, if you reach around to y o u r back and u n p l u g

yourself from that violinist to save y o u r life.

T h e main focus of attention in writings on abortion has been

on what a third p a r t y may or may not do in answer to a request

f r o m a woman f o r an abortion. T h i s is in a way u n d e r s t a n d a b l e .

T h i n g s being as they are, t h e r e isn't m u c h a woman can safely

do to abort herself. So the question asked is what a third p a r t y

may do, and what the m o t h e r may do, if it is m e n t i o n e d at all, is

d e d u c e d , almost as an a f t e r t h o u g h t , f r o m what it is c o n c l u d e d

that third parties may do. But it seems to me that to treat t h e

m a t t e r in this way is to r e f u s e to grant to the m o t h e r that very

j7* Judith Jarois Thomson

status of person which is so firmly insisted on for t h e fetus. For

we c a n n o t simply read off what a person may do f r o m what a

third p a r t y may do. S u p p o s e you find yourself t r a p p e d in a tiny

h o u s e with a growing child. I mean a very tiny house, and a r a p -

idly growing c h i l d — y o u are already up against the wall of t h e

h o u s e and in a few m i n u t e s you'll be c r u s h e d to death. T h e child

on t h e o t h e r hand won't be crushed to death; if nothing is d o n e

to stop him f r o m growing he'll be hurt, but in t h e end he'll s i m -

ply burst o p e n t h e house and walk o u t a f r e e man. N o w I could

well u n d e r s t a n d it if a bystander w e r e to say, "There's n o t h i n g

we can do for you. We c a n n o t choose b e t w e e n y o u r life and his,

we c a n n o t be t h e ones to decide who is to live, we cannot i n t e r -

vene." But it c a n n o t be c o n c l u d e d that you too can do nothing,

t h a t you cannot attack it to save y o u r life. H o w e v e r innocent t h e

child may be, you do n o t have to wait passively while it c r u s h e s

you to death. Perhaps a p r e g n a n t w o m a n is vaguely felt to have

t h e status of house, to which we don't allow the right of self-

defense. But if the woman houses t h e child, it should be r e m e m -

bered t h a t she is a p e r s o n w h o houses it.

I should p e r h a p s stop to say explicitly t h a t I am not claiming

t h a t p e o p l e have a right to do anything whatever to save their

lives. I think, rather, that t h e r e are drastic limits to the right of

self-defense. If s o m e o n e threatens you with death unless you

t o r t u r e s o m e o n e else to death, I think you have not t h e right,

even to save your life, to do so. But t h e case u n d e r consideration

h e r e is very different. In our case t h e r e are only two p e o p l e

involved, one whose life is t h r e a t e n e d , and one who threatens it.

Both are innocent: t h e o n e who is t h r e a t e n e d is not t h r e a t e n e d

because of any fault, t h e one who t h r e a t e n s does not t h r e a t e n

b e c a u s e of any fault. For this reason we may feel that we

bystanders cannot interfere. But the p e r s o n t h r e a t e n e d can.

In sum, a woman surely can d e f e n d h e r life against t h e t h r e a t

to it posed by t h e u n b o r n child, even if d o i n g so involves its

death. And this shows not merely t h a t the theses in (I) t h r o u g h

(4) are false; it shows also that the e x t r e m e view of abortion is

false, and so we n e e d n o t canvass any o t h e r possible ways of

arriving at it from t h e a r g u m e n t I m e n t i o n e d at the outset.

A Defense of Abortion > ',<>

2. T h e e x t r e m e view could of course be weakened to say that

while abortion is permissible to save t h e mother's life, it may not

be p e r f o r m e d by a third party, b u t only by the m o t h e r herself.

Rut this cannot be right either. For what we have to keep in mind

is that the m o t h e r and t h e u n b o r n child are not like two t e n a n t s

in a small h o u s e which has, by an u n f o r t u n a t e mistake, been

rented to both: the m o t h e r owns the house, T h e fact that she doeS'

adds to the offensiveness of d e d u c i n g that t h e m o t h e r can do

nothing f r o m t h e supposition that third parties can do nothing.

But it does m o r e than this: it casts a bright light on the supposi-

tion that third parties can do nothing. C e r t a i n l y it lets us see that

a third party who says "I cannot choose b e t w e e n you" is fooling

himself if he thinks this is impartiality. If J o n e s has found and

fastened on a certain coat, which he needs to keep him f r o m

freezing, b u t which Smith also n e e d s to keep him f r o m freezing,

then it is n o t impartiality that says "I c a n n o t choose between

you" when Smith owns the coat. W o m e n have said again and

again "This body is my body!" and they have reason to feel angry,

reason to feel that it has been like s h o u t i n g into the wind. Smith,

after all, is hardly likely to bless us if we Say to him, "Of c o u r s e

it's y o u r coat, anybody would grant that it is. But no one may

choose between you and J o n e s who is to have it."

We should really ask what it is that says "no one may choose"

in the face of the fact t h a t the body that houses the child is the

mother's body. It may be simply a failure to appreciate this fact.

But it may be something m o r e interesting, namely the sense that

one has a right to refuse to lay hands on people, even w h e r e it

would be just and fair to do so, even w h e r e justice seems to

require that s o m e b o d y do so. T h u s justice might call for s o m e -

body to get Smith's coat back from Jones, and yet you have a right

to refuse to be the one to lay hands on Jones, a right to refuse to

do physical violence to him. This, I think, must be granted. But

then what should be said is not "no o n e may choose," but only "7

cannot choose," and indeed not even this, but "I will not act,"

leaving it open that somebody else can or should, and in partic-

ular that anyone in a position of authority, with the job of s e c u r -

ing people's rights, both can and should. So this is no difficulty. 1

.»'<»• Judith Jarvis Thomson

have not been arguing chat any given third p a r t y m u s t accede to

the mother's request chat he p e r f o r m an abortion to save h e r life,

but only that he may.

I s u p p o s e that in some views of h u m a n life the mother's body

is only on loan to her, t h e loan not being o n e which gives her any

prior claim to it. O n e w h o held this view might well think it

impartiality to say "1 c a n n o t choose." But I shall simply i g n o r e

this possibility. My own view is that if a h u m a n b e i n g has any

just, prior claim to a n y t h i n g at all, he has a just, prior claim to his

own body. And p e r h a p s this n e e d n ' t be a r g u e d for here anyway,

since, as 1 m e n t i o n e d , the a r g u m e n t s against abortion we are

looking at do grant that the woman has a right to decide what

h a p p e n s in and to her body.

But although they do grant it, I have tried to show that they
do n o t take seriously what is d o n e in g r a n t i n g it. I suggest t h e

s a m e t h i n g will r e a p p e a r even m o r e clearly when we turn away

f r o m cases in which the mother's life is at stake, and attend, as 1

p r o p o s e we now do, to the vastly m o r e c o m m o n cases in which

a w o m a n wants an abortion for s o m e less weighty reason than

p r e s e r v i n g h e r own life.

3. W h e r e the mother's life is not at stake, t h e a r g u m e n t I m e n -

tioned at the outset s e e m s to have a m u c h stronger pull. "Every-

o n e has a right to life, so the u n b o r n p e r s o n has a right to life."

And isn't the child's right to life weightier than anything o t h e r

t h a n the mother's own right to life, which she m i g h t p u t forward

as g r o u n d for an abortion?

T h i s a r g u m e n t treats t h e right to life as if it were u n p r o b l e m -

atic. It is not, and this s e e m s to me to be precisely the source of

t h e mistake.

For we should now, at l o n g last, ask what it comes to, to have

a right to life. In s o m e views having a right to life includes hav-

ing a right to be given at least t h e bare m i n i m u m o n e needs f o r

c o n t i n u e d life. But s u p p o s e that what in fact is t h e bare m i n i -

m u m a man needs for c o n t i n u e d life is s o m e t h i n g he has

no right at all to be given? If I am sick u n t o death, and the only

t h i n g t h a t will save my life is t h e touch of H e n r y Fonda's cool

h a n d on my fevered brow, t h e n all the same, I have no right to

be given the t o u c h of H e n r y Fonda's cool hand on my fevered

A Defense of Abortion > ',<>

brow. It would be frightfully nice of bim to ily in f r o m the West

Coast to provide it. It would be less nice, though no d o u b t well

meant, if my friends flew out to the West Coast and b r o u g h t

H e n r y Fonda back with them. But 1 have no right at all against

anybody that he should do this for me. Or again, to r e t u r n to t h e

story I told earlier, the fact that for c o n t i n u e d life the violinist

n e e d s the c o n t i n u e d use of y o u r kidneys does not establish that

he has a right to be given the c o n t i n u e d use of y o u r kidneys. He

certainly has no right against you that you should give him c o n -

tinued use of y o u r kidneys. For nobody has any right to use y o u r

kidneys unless you give him this right—if you do allow him to

go on using y o u r kidneys, this is a kindness on y o u r part, and n o t

something he can claim from you as his due N o r has he any

right against anybody else that they should give him c o n t i n u e d

use of your kidneys. Certainly he had no right against the Soci-

ety of Music Lovers that they should p l u g him into you in the

first place. And if you now start to u n p l u g yourself, having

learned that you will otherwise have to spend nine years in bed

with bim, there is n o b o d y in the world who m u s t try to p r e v e n t

you, in o r d e r to see to it that he is given s o m e t h i n g he has a right

to be given.

S o m e p e o p l e are rather stricter about the right to life. In their

view, it does not i n c l u d e t h e right to be given anything, but

amounts to, and only to, the right not to be killed by anybody.

But here a related difficulty arises. If everybody is to refrain

f r o m killing that violinist, t h e n everybody must refrain f r o m

doing a great m a n y different sorts of things. E v e r y b o d y m u s t

refrain from slitting his throat, everybody m u s t refrain f r o m

shooting h i m — a n d everybody must refrain f r o m u n p l u g g i n g

you f r o m him. But does he have a right against everybody t h a t

they shall refrain f r o m u n p l u g g i n g you from him? To refrain

f r o m doing this is to allow him to c o n t i n u e to use your kidneys.

It could be argued that he has a right against us that we should

allow him to c o n t i n u e to use y o u r kidneys. T h a t is, while he had

no right against us that we should give him the use of y o u r kid-

neys, it might be argued that he anyway has a right against us

that we shall n o t n o w i n t e r v e n e and d e p r i v e him of the u s e of

your kidneys. 1 shall c o m e back to t h i r d - p a r t y interventions

.»'<»• Judith Jarvis Thomson

later. But certainly t h e violinist has no right against you that you

shall allow him to c o n t i n u e to use y o u r kidneys. As I said, if you

do allow him to u s e t h e m , it is a kindness on y o u r part, and not

s o m e t h i n g you owe him.

T h e difficulty 1 p o i n t to h e r e is not peculiar to t h e right of

life. It r e a p p e a r s in c o n n e c t i o n with all the o t h e r natural rights,

and it is s o m e t h i n g which an a d e q u a t e account of rights m u s t

deal with. For p r e s e n t p u r p o s e s it is e n o u g h just to draw a t t e n -

tion to it. But I would stress that 1 am not arguing t h a t p e o p l e do

n o t have a right to l i f e — q u i t e to the contrary, it seems to me

that the p r i m a r y control we m u s t place on t h e acceptability of

an a c c o u n t of rights is t h a t it should turn o u t in that a c c o u n t to

be a t r u t h that all persons have a right to life. I am arguing only

that having a right to life does not g u a r a n t e e having e i t h e r a

right to be given the u s e of or a right to be allowed c o n t i n u e d

use of a n o t h e r person's b o d y — e v e n if one needs it for life itself.

So the right to life will n o t serve the o p p o n e n t s of abortion in

t h e very simple and clear way in which they s e e m to have

t h o u g h t it would.

4. T h e r e is a n o t h e r way to bring out the difficulty. In the m o s t

o r d i n a r y sort of case, to deprive s o m e o n e of what he has a right

to is to treat him unjustly. S u p p o s e a boy and his small b r o t h e r

are jointly given a box of chocolates for Christmas. .If the older

boy takes t h e box and refuses to give his b r o t h e r any of t h e

chocolates, he is u n j u s t to him, for t h e b r o t h e r has b e e n given a

right to half of t h e m . But suppose that, having learned t h a t

o t h e r w i s e it m e a n s nine years in bed with that violinist, you

u n p l u g yourself f r o m him. You surely are not being u n j u s t to

him, for you gave him no right to use y o u r kidneys, and no one

else can have given h i m any such right. But we have to notice

that in u n p l u g g i n g yourself, you are killing him; and violinists,

like everybody else, have a right to life, and thus in t h e view we

were considering just now, t h e right not to be killed. So h e r e you

do what he supposedly has a right you shall not do, but you do

not act unjustly to him in d o i n g it.

T h e e m e n d a t i o n which may be m a d e at this p o i n t is this: the

right to life consists not in the right n o t to be killed, but r a t h e r

in t h e right not to be killed unjustly. T h i s r u n s a risk of circular-

A Defense of Abortion > ',<>

icy, but never mind: it would enable us to square the fact that the

violinist has a right to life with the fact that you do not act
unjustly toward him in u n p l u g g i n g yourself, t h e r e b y killing him.

For if you do not kill him unjustly, you do n o t violate his right to

life, and so it is no w o n d e r you do him no injustice.

But if this e m e n d a t i o n is accepted, t h e gap in the a r g u m e n t

against abortion stares us plainly in t h e face: it is by no m e a n s

e n o u g h to show that the fetus is a person, and to r e m i n d us chat

all persons have a right to l i f e — w e n e e d to be shown also t h a t

killing the fetus violates its right to life, i.e., that abortion is

u n j u s t killing. And is it?

1 suppose we may take it as a d a t u m t h a t in a case of p r e g -

n a n c y d u e to r a p e t h e m o t h e r has not given t h e u n b o r n person a

right to the use of h e r body for food and shelter. Indeed, in what

p r e g n a n c y could it be supposed that t h e m o t h e r has given t h e

u n b o r n person such a right? It is not as if t h e r e are u n b o r n p e r -

sons drifting a b o u t the world, to w h o m a woman who wants a

child says "I invite you in."

But it might be a r g u e d that t h e r e are o t h e r ways o n e can have

acquired a right to the use of another person's body than by hav-

ing been invited to use it by that person. Suppose a woman vol-

untarily indulges in intercourse, k n o w i n g of t h e chance it will

issue in pregnancy, and then she does b e c o m e pregnant; is she

not in part responsible for the presence, in fact the very exis-

tence, of t h e u n b o r n person inside her? No doubt she did n o t

invite it in. But d o e s n ' t h e r partial responsibility for its being

there itself give it a right to the use of her body? If so, t h e n h e r

aborting it would be m o r e like t h e boy's taking away the c h o c o -

lates, and less like y o u r u n p l u g g i n g yourself f r o m the violinist—

d o i n g so would be depriving it of what it does have a right to,

and thus would be doing it an injustice.

And then, too, it might be asked w h e t h e r or not she can kill it

even to save her own life: If she voluntarily called it into exis-

tence, how can she now kill it, even in self-defense?

T h e first t h i n g to be said about this is that it is s o m e t h i n g new.

O p p o n e n t s of abortion have been so c o n c e r n e d to make o u t t h e

i n d e p e n d e n c e of t h e fetus, in o r d e r to establish that it has a right

to life, just as its m o t h e r does, that they have t e n d e d to overlook

.»'<»• Judith Jarvis Thomson

the possible s u p p o r t they might gain from m a k i n g out that the

fetus is dependent on t h e mother, in o r d e r to establish that she has

a special kind of responsibility for it, a responsibility that gives

it rights against her which are not possessed by any i n d e p e n d e n t

p e r s o n — s u c h as an ailing violinist who is a stranger to her.

On t h e other hand, this a r g u m e n t would give the u n b o r n p e r -

son a right to its mother's body only if her p r e g n a n c y resulted

from a v o l u n t a r y act, u n d e r t a k e n in full knowledge of the

c h a n c e a p r e g n a n c y m i g h t result f r o m it. It would leave o u t

entirely the u n b o r n person whose existence is due to rape.

P e n d i n g the availability of s o m e f u r t h e r a r g u m e n t , then, we

would be left with t h e conclusion that u n b o r n persons whose

existence is d u e to r a p e have no right to t h e use of their m o t h -

ers' bodies, and thus t h a t aborting them is not depriving t h e m of

a n y t h i n g they have a right to and h e n c e is n o t u n j u s t killing.

And we should also notice that it is not at all plain that this

a r g u m e n t really does go even as far as it p u r p o r t s to. For t h e r e

are cases and cases, and t h e details make a difference. If the

r o o m is stuffy, and I t h e r e f o r e open a w i n d o w to air it, and a

burglar climbs in, it would be absurd to say, "Ah, now he can

stay, she's given him a right to the use of her h o u s e — f o r she is

partially responsible for his p r e s e n c e there, having voluntarily

d o n e w h a t enabled him to get in, in full k n o w l e d g e that t h e r e

are such things as burglars, and that burglars burgle." It would

be still m o r e absurd to say this if I had had bars installed outside

my windows, precisely to p r e v e n t burglars from getting in, and

a burglar got in only b e c a u s e of a defect in t h e bars. It remains

equally absurd if we imagine it is not a b u r g l a r who climbs in,

hut an i n n o c e n t p e r s o n who b l u n d e r s or falls in. Again, s u p p o s e

it were like this: p e o p l e - s e e d s drift about in the air like pollen,

and if you open y o u r windows, o n e may drift in and take root in

y o u r carpets or upholstery. You don't want children, so you fix

up y o u r w i n d o w s with fine mesh screens, the very best you can

buy. As can h a p p e n , however, and on very, very rare occasions

does h a p p e n , o n e of t h e screens is defective, and a seed drifts in

and takes root. Does t h e p e r s o n - p l a n t w h o now develops have a

right to the use of y o u r house? Surely n o t — d e s p i t e the fact that

you voluntarily o p e n e d y o u r windows, you knowingly kept car-

A Defense of Abortion > ',<>

pets and u p h o l s t e r e d furniture, and you knew that screens were

sometimes defective. S o m e o n e may a r g u e that you are respon-

sible for its rooting, that it does have a right to y o u r house,

because after all you could have lived o u t y o u r life with bare

floors and f u r n i t u r e , or with sealed windows and doors. But this

won't d o — f o r by t h e same token a n y o n e can avoid a p r e g n a n c y

d u e to rape by h a v i n g a hysterectomy, or anyway by never leav-

ing h o m e w i t h o u t a (reliable!) army.

It seems to me that t h e a r g u m e n t we are looking at can estab-

lish at most that t h e r e are some cases in which the u n b o r n person

has a right to the use of its mother's body, and t h e r e f o r e some

cases in which abortion is u n j u s t killing. T h e r e is room for m u c h

discussion and a r g u m e n t as to precisely which, if any. Rut I

think we should sidestep this issue and leave it open, for at any

rate t h e a r g u m e n t certainly does not establish that all abortion

is u n j u s t killing.

5. T h e r e is r o o m for yet another a r g u m e n t here, however. We

surely m u s t all grant that t h e r e may be cases in which it would

be morally i n d e c e n t to detach a person f r o m your body at the

cost of his life. S u p p o s e you learn t h a t w h a t the violinist needs is

n o t n i n e years of y o u r life, but only one hour: all you n e e d do to

save his life is to spend one h o u r in that bed with him. S u p p o s e

also that letting him use y o u r kidneys f o r that one h o u r would

not affect y o u r health in t h e slightest. A d m i t t e d l y you were kid-

napped. A d m i t t e d l y you did not give anyone permission to plug

him into you. N e v e r t h e l e s s it seems to me plain you ought to

allow him to use y o u r kidneys f o r that h o u r — i t would be i n d e -

cent to refuse.

Again, suppose p r e g n a n c y lasted only an hour, and consti-

t u t e d no threat to life or health. And suppose t h a t a woman

b e c o m e s p r e g n a n t as a result of rape. A d m i t t e d l y she did not

voluntarily do a n y t h i n g to bring about the existence of a child

A d m i t t e d l y she did nothing at all which would give the u n b o r n

p e r s o n a right to t h e use of her body. All the same it m i g h t well

be said, as in t h e n e w l y e m e n d e d violinist story, that she oughtva

allow it to remain for that h o u r — t h a t it would be i n d e c e n t of

h e r to refuse.

N o w some p e o p l e are inclined to u s e the t e r m "right" in such

.»'<»• Judith Jarvis Thomson

a way that it follows f r o m the fact that you ought to allow a p e r -

son to use your body for the hour he needs, that he has a right to

use your body for the h o u r he needs, even though he has not been

given that right by any person or act. T h e y may say that it follows

also that if you refuse, you act unjustly toward him. T h i s use of the

t e r m is perhaps so c o m m o n that it cannot be called wrong; never-

theless it seems to me to be an u n f o r t u n a t e loosening of what we

would do better to keep a tight rein on. Suppose that box of

chocolates I m e n t i o n e d earlier had not been given to both boys

jointly, but was given only to the older boy T h e r e he sits stolidly

eating his way through the box, his small b r o t h e r watching envi-
ously. H e r e we are likely to say, "You ought not to be so mean. You

ought to give y o u r brother some of those chocolates." My own

view is that it just does not follow f r o m the truth of this that the

b r o t h e r has any right to any of the chocolates. If the boy refuses to

give his brother any, he is greedy, stingy, callous—but not unjust.

I suppose that the people I have in mind will say it does follow

that the brother has a right to s o m e of the chocolates, and t h u s

that the boy does act unjustly if he refuses to give his brother any.

But the effect of saying this is to obscure what we should keep dis-

tinct, namely the difference between the boy's refusal in this case

and the boy's refusal in the earlier case, in which the box was given

to both boys jointly, and in which the small brother thus had what

was f r o m any point of view clear title to half.

A f u r t h e r objection to so using the t e r m "right" that f r o m the

fact that A ought to do a thing for B, it follows that B has a right

against A that A do it for him, is t h a t it is going to make t h e q u e s -

tion of w h e t h e r or not a man has a right to a thing t u r n on how

easy it is to provide him with it; and this seems not m e r e l y

u n f o r t u n a t e , but morally unacceptable. T a k e the case of H e n r y

Fonda again. I said earlier that I had no right to t h e touch of his

cool h a n d on my fevered brow even t h o u g h I n e e d e d it to save

my life. I said it would be frightfully nice of him to fly in f r o m

t h e West Coast to provide me with it, b u t t h a t I had no right

against him that he should do so. But s u p p o s e he isn't on t h e

West Coast. S u p p o s e he has only to walk across t h e room, place

a hand briefly on my b r o w — a n d lo, my life is saved. T h e n surely

he o u g h t to do i t — i t would be i n d e c e n t to refuse. Is it to be said

A Defense of Abortion > ',<>

"Ah, well, it follows that in this case she has a right to the touch

of his hand on h e r brow, and so it would be an injustice in him to

refuse"? So that I have a right to it when it is easy for him to p r o -

vide it, though no right when it's hard? It's rather a shocking idea

that anyone's rights should fade away and disappear as it gets

h a r d e r and h a r d e r to accord them to him.

So my own view is that even though you ought to let the vio-

linist use your kidneys for the one h o u r he needs, we should not

conclude that he has a right to do s o — w e should say that if you

refuse, you are, like the boy who owns all the chocolates and will

give none away, self-centered and callous, indecent in fact, but

not unjust. And similarly, that even supposing a case in which a

woman pregnant d u e to rape ought to allow the u n b o r n person to

use her body for the h o u r he needs, we should not conclude that
he has a right to do so; we should say that she is self-centered, cal-

lous, indecent, but not unjust, if she refuses. T h e complaints are

no less grave; they are just different. However, there is no need to

insist on this point. If anyone does wish to d e d u c e "he has a right"

f r o m "you ought," then all the same he must surely grant that

there are cases in which it is not morally required of you that you

allow that violinist to use your kidneys, and in which he does not

have a right to u s e them, and in which you do not do him an injus-

tice if you refuse. And so also for m o t h e r and unborn child.

Except in such cases as the unborn person has a right to demand

i t — a n d we were leaving open the possibility that there may be

such cases—nobody is morally required to make large sacrifices, of

health, of all o t h e r interests and concerns, of all other duties and

commitments, for n i n e years, or even for nine months, in order to

keep another person alive.

6. We have in fact to distinguish between two kinds of Samaritan:

the G o o d Samaritan and what we m i g h t call the M i n i m a l l y

D e c e n t Samaritan. T h e story of the G o o d Samaritan, you will

r e m e m b e r , goes like this:

A certain man went down from Jerusalem to

(ericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped

him of his raiment, and w o u n d e d him, and

departed, leaving him half dead.

.»'<»• Judith Jarvis Thomson

And by chance there came down a certain

priest that way: and when he saw him, he

passed by on t h e other side.

And likewise a Levite, when he was at the

place, came and looked on him, and passed by

on the other side.

But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed,

came where he was, and when he saw him he

had compassion on him.

And went to him, and bound up his wounds,

pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his

own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took

care of him.

And on the morrow, when he departed, he

took out two pence, and gave them to the host,

and said u n t o him, "Take care of him; and

whatsoever thou spendest more, when T come

again, I will repay thee." (Luke 10: 30-35)

T h e G o o d Samaritan went out of his way, at some cost to himself,

to help one in need of it. We are not told what the options were,

that is, whether or not the priest and the Levite could have helped

by doing less than the G o o d Samaritan did, but assuming they

could have, then the fact they did nothing at all shows they were

not even Minimally D e c e n t Samaritans, not because they were not

Samaritans, but because they were not even minimally decent.

T h e s e things are a m a t t e r of degree, of course, but there is a

difference, and it c o m e s o u t perhaps m o s t clearly in the story of

Kitty Genovese, who, as you will r e m e m b e r , was m u r d e r e d

while thirty-eight p e o p l e watched or listened, and did n o t h i n g

at all to help her. A G o o d Samaritan would have rushed out to

give direct assistance against the murderer. Or p e r h a p s we had

b e t t e r allow that it would have been a Splendid Samaritan who

did this, on the g r o u n d t h a t it would have involved a risk of

d e a t h for himself. But t h e t h i r t y - e i g h t not only did not do this,

t h e y did not even t r o u b l e to pick up a p h o n e to call the police.

M i n i m a l l y D e c e n t Samaritanism would call for doing at least

that, and their not having d o n e it was monstrous.

A Defense of Abortion > ',<>

A f t e r telling the story of the G o o d Samaritan, J e s u s said "Go,

and do thou likewise." Perhaps he m e a n t that we are morally

required to act as t h e G o o d Samaritan did. P e r h a p s he was u r g -

ing p e o p l e to do m o r e than is morally required of them. At all

events it seems plain that it was n o t morally required of any of

the t h i r t y - e i g h t t h a t he rush out to give d i r e c t assistance at the

risk of his own life, and that it is n o t m o r a l l y required of anyone

that he give long stretches of his l i f e — n i n e years or n i n e

m o n t h s — t o sustaining the life of a person who has no special

right (we were leaving open the possibility of this) to d e m a n d it.

Indeed, with o n e r a t h e r striking class of exceptions, no one in

any c o u n t r y in t h e world is legally required to do anywhere n e a r

as m u c h as this for anyone else. T h e class of exceptions is obvi-

ous. My main c o n c e r n h e r e is not the state of t h e law in respect

to abortion, b u t it is worth drawing attention to the fact that in

no state in this c o u n t r y is any man c o m p e l l e d by law to be even

a Minimally D e c e n t Samaritan to any person; t h e r e is no law

u n d e r which charges could be b r o u g h t against the t h i r t y - e i g h t

who stood by while Kitty Genovese died. By contrast, in most

states in this c o u n t r y w o m e n are c o m p e l l e d by law to be n o t

merely M i n i m a l l y D e c e n t Samaritans, b u t G o o d Samaritans to

u n b o r n p e r s o n s inside t h e m . T h i s doesn't by itself settle any-

thing o n e way or t h e other, because it m a y well be argued that

there should be laws in this country as t h e r e are in m a n y E u r o -

pean c o u n t r i e s — c o m p e l l i n g at least M i n i m a l l y D e c e n t
Samar-

itanism. But it does show that there is a gross injustice in the

existing state of t h e law. And it shows also that the groups cur-

rently working against liberalization of abortion laws, in fact

w o r k i n g toward having it declared unconstitutional for a state to

p e r m i t abortion, had better start working for the adoption of

G o o d Samaritan laws generally, or earn the charge that they are

acting in bad faith.

1 should think, myself, that M i n i m a l l y D e c e n t Samaritan

laws would be o n e thing, G o o d Samaritan laws quite another,

and in fact highly improper. But we are n o t h e r e c o n c e r n e d with

t h e law. W h a t we should ask is not w h e t h e r anybody should be

c o m p e l l e d by law to be a G o o d Samaritan, b u t w h e t h e r we m u s t

accede to a situation in which s o m e b o d y is being c o m p e l l e d —

.»'<»• Judith Jarvis Thomson

by n a t u r e , p e r h a p s — t o be a G o o d Samaritan. We have, in o t h e r

words, to look now at t h i r d - p a r t y interventions. I have been

a r g u i n g that no person is morally required to make large sacri-

fices to sustain t h e life of a n o t h e r who has no right to d e m a n d

t h e m , and this even w h e r e the sacrifices do not i n c l u d e life itself;

we are not morally required to be G o o d Samaritans or anyway

Very G o o d Samaritans to o n e another. But w h a t if a man c a n n o t

extricate himself f r o m such a situation? W h a t if he appeals to us

to extricate him? It seems to me plain t h a t t h e r e are cases in

which we can, cases in which a G o o d S a m a r i t a n would extricate

him. T h e r e you are, you were k i d n a p p e d , and nine years in bed

with that violinist lie ahead of you. You have your own life to

lead. You are sorry, but you simply c a n n o t see giving up so m u c h

of y o u r life to the sustaining of his. You c a n n o t extricate y o u r -

self, and ask us to do so. I should have t h o u g h t t h a t — i n light of

his having no right to the use of your b o d y — i t was obvious that

we do not have to accede to y o u r being forced to give up so

m u c h . We can do what you ask. T h e r e is no injustice to the vio-

linist in o u r doing so.

7. Following the lead of t h e o p p o n e n t s of abortion, I have

t h r o u g h o u t been s p e a k i n g of t h e fetus merely as a person, and

what I have b e e n asking is w h e t h e r or n o t the a r g u m e n t we

began with, which p r o c e e d s only f r o m t h e fetus's being a p e r s o n ,

really does establish its conclusion. I have argued that it does

not.

But of c o u r s e t h e r e are a r g u m e n t s and arguments, and it may

be said that I have simply fastened on the w r o n g one. It may be

said that what is i m p o r t a n t is not m e r e l y t h e fact that the fetus is

a person, b u t that it is a person for w h o m the woman has a spe-

cial kind of responsibility issuing f r o m t h e fact that she is its

mother. And it m i g h t be argued that all my analogies are t h e r e -

f o r e i r r e l e v a n t — f o r you do n o t have that special kind of r e s p o n -

sibility for t h a t violinist; H e n r y Fonda does not have t h a t special

kind of responsibility for me. And o u r attention might be drawn

to t h e fact t h a t m e n and women both are c o m p e l l e d by law to

provide s u p p o r t for their children

I have in effect dealt (briefly) with this a r g u m e n t in section 4

above; but a (still briefer) recapitulation n o w may be in order.

A Defetise of Abortion • >$"?

Surely we do not have any such "special responsibility" for a

person unless we have assumed it, explicitly or implicitly. If a set

of parents do not try to p r e v e n t pregnancy, do not obtain an

abortion, but r a t h e r take it h o m e with them, then they have

assumed responsibility for it, they have given it rights, and they

c a n n o t now w i t h d r a w s u p p o r t f r o m it at the cost of its life

because they now find it difficult to go on providing for it. But if

they have taken all reasonable p r e c a u t i o n s against having a

child, they do n o t simply by v i r t u e of their biological relation-

ship to the child who comes into existence have a special

responsibility f o r it. T h e y may wish to assume responsibility for

it, or they may not wish to. And I am suggesting that if assuming

responsibility for it would r e q u i r e large sacrifices, then they may

refuse. A G o o d Samaritan would n o t r e f u s e — o r anyway, a

Splendid Samaritan, if the sacrifices that had to be m a d e w e r e

enormous. But t h e n so would a G o o d Samaritan assume r e s p o n -

sibility for that violinist; so would H e n r y Fonda, if he is a G o o d

Samaritan, fly in f r o m the West Coast and assume responsibility

for me.

8. My a r g u m e n t will be found unsatisfactory on two counts by

m a n y of those w h o want to regard abortion as morally permissi-

ble. First, while I do argue that abortion is not impermissible, I

do not argue that it is always permissible. T h e r e may well be

cases in which c a r r y i n g t h e child to t e r m requires only M i n i -

mally D e c e n t Samaritanism of the mother, and this is a standard

we m u s t not fall below. I am inclined to think it a m e r i t of my

account precisely that it does not give a general yes or a general

no. It allows for and s u p p o r t s o u r sense that, for example, a sick

and desperately f r i g h t e n e d f o u r t e e n - y e a r - o l d schoolgirl, p r e g -

n a n t d u e to rape, m a y of course choose abortion, and that any law

which rules this o u t is an insane law. And it also allows for and

supports o u r sense that in o t h e r cases resort to abortion is even

positively indecent. It would be i n d e c e n t in the woman to

request an abortion, and i n d e c e n t in a d o c t o r to p e r f o r m it, if

she is in her seventh m o n t h , and wants the abortion just to avoid

the nuisance of p o s t p o n i n g a trip abroad. T h e very fact t h a t t h e

a r g u m e n t s I have been drawing attention to treat all cases of

abortion, or even all cases of abortion in which the mother's life

.»'<»• Judith Jarvis Thomson

is n o t at stake, as morally on a par ought to have m a d e t h e m sus-

pect at t h e outset.

Second, while I am arguing for t h e permissibility of abortion

in s o m e cases, I am not arguing for t h e right to secure the d e a t h

of t h e u n b o r n child. Tt is easy to confuse t h e s e two things in that

up to a certain p o i n t in t h e life of t h e fetus it is not able to sur-

vive o u t s i d e t h e mother's body; h e n c e r e m o v i n g it f r o m h e r

body guarantees its death. But they are i m p o r t a n t l y different. I

have argued that you are not morally required to spend nine
m o n t h s in hed, sustaining t h e life of that violinist; but to say this

is by no m e a n s to say that if, when you u n p l u g yourself, t h e r e is

a miracle and he survives, you then have a right to turn r o u n d

and slit his throat. You may detach yourself even if this costs

him his life; you have no right to be g u a r a n t e e d his death, by

s o m e o t h e r means, if u n p l u g g i n g yourself does not kill him.

T h e r e are some p e o p l e who will feel dissatisfied by this f e a t u r e

of my argument. A w o m a n may be u t t e r l y devastated by the

t h o u g h t of a child, a bit of herself, p u t o u t for adoption and

n e v e r seen or heard of again. She may t h e r e f o r e want not m e r e l y

t h a t t h e child be d e t a c h e d from her, but more, that it die. S o m e

o p p o n e n t s of abortion are inclined to regard this as b e n e a t h

c o n t e m p t — t h e r e b y showing insensitivity to what is surely a

p o w e r f u l source of despair. All the same, I agree t h a t the desire

for the child's d e a t h is not o n e which a n y b o d y may gratify,

should it turn o u t to be possible to detach t h e child alive.

At this place, however, it should be r e m e m b e r e d that we have

only been p r e t e n d i n g t h r o u g h o u t that t h e fetus is a h u m a n

b e i n g from the m o m e n t of conception. A very early abortion is

surely not the killing of a person, and so is not dealt with by

a n y t h i n g I have said here.

W H Y A B O R T I O N I S I M M O R A L

I. Passions in the abortion debate run high. T h e r e are both plausi-

bilities and difficulties with the standard positions. Accordingly,

it is hardly surprising that partisans of either side embrace with

fervor the moral generalizations that support the conclusions

they preanalytically favor, and reject with disdain the moral

generalizations of their opponents as being subject to inesca-

pable difficulties. It is easy to believe that the counterexamples

to one's own moral principles are merely temporary difficulties

that will dissolve in the wake of further philosophical research,

and that the counterexamples to the principles of one's oppo-

nents are as straightforward as the contradiction between A and

0 propositions in traditional logic. This might suggest to an

impartial observer (if there are any) that the abortion issue is

unresolvable.

T h e r e is a way out of this apparent dialectical quandary. T h e

moral generalizations of both sides are not quite correct.

T h e generalizations hold for the most part, for the usual cases.

This suggests that they are all accidental generalizations, that the

moral claims m a d e by those on both sides of the dispute do not

touch on the essence of the matter.

i'his use of the distinction between essence and accident is

not m e a n t to invoke obscure metaphysical categories. Rather, it

590 • Don Marquis

is i n t e n d e d to reflect the r a t h e r atheoretical n a t u r e of the abor-

tion discussion. If t h e generalization a partisan in the abortion

dispute adopts w e r e derived f r o m the reason why ending t h e life

of a h u m a n being is wrong, then t h e r e could not be exceptions

to t h a t generalization unless s o m e special case obtains in which

t h e r e are even m o r e p o w e r f u l countervailing reasons. Such gen-

eralizations would n o t be m e r e l y accidental generalizations;

they would point to, or be based u p o n , the essence of t h e w r o n g -

ness of killing, w h a t it is that makes killing wrong. All this sug-

gests that a necessary condition of resolving t h e abortion

controversy is a m o r e theoretical account of t h e wrongness of

killing. A f t e r all, if we merely believe, but do not u n d e r s t a n d ,

why killing adult h u m a n beings such as ourselves is wrong, how

could we conceivably show t h a t abortion is either immoral or

permissible?

II. In o r d e r to develop such an account, we can start f r o m t h e fol-

lowing u n p r o b l e m a t i c assumption c o n c e r n i n g our own case: it is

w r o n g to kill us. W h y is it wrong? S o m e answers can be easily

e l i m i n a t e d . It m i g h t be said that what makes killing us w r o n g is

t h a t a killing brutalizes the one w h o kills. But t h e brutalization

consists of being inured to t h e p e r f o r m a n c e of an act that is

hideously immoral; hence, t h e brutalization does not explain

t h e immorality. It m i g h t be said that what makes killing us

w r o n g is the great loss others would e x p e r i e n c e d u e to our

absence. Although such hubris is u n d e r s t a n d a b l e , such an expla-

nation does not a c c o u n t for t h e wrongness of killing hermits, or

those whose lives are relatively i n d e p e n d e n t and whose friends

find it easy to make new friends.

A m o r e obvious answer is better. W h a t primarily makes

killing w r o n g is n e i t h e r its effect on t h e m u r d e r e r n o r its e f f e c t

on the victim's friends and relatives, b u t its e f f e c t on the victim.

T h e loss of one's life is one of t h e greatest losses o n e can suffer.

T h e loss of one's life deprives o n e of all t h e experiences, activi-

ties, projects, and e n j o y m e n t s that would otherwise have consti-

tuted one's future. T h e r e f o r e , killing s o m e o n e is wrong, primarily

because t h e killing inflicts (one o f ) t h e greatest possible losses

on t h e victim. To describe this as t h e loss of life can be mislead-

ing, however. T h e c h a n g e in my biological state does n o t by

Why Abortion 'r Immoral • 591

itself make killing me wrong. T h e effect of t h e loss of my

biological life is t h e loss to me of all those activities, projects,

experiences, and e n j o y m e n t s which would otherwise have

constituted my f u t u r e personal life. T h e s e activities, projects,

experiences, and e n j o y m e n t s are e i t h e r valuable for their own

sakes or are m e a n s to s o m e t h i n g else t h a t is valuable for its own

sake. Some parts of my f u t u r e are not valued by me now, but will

c o m e to be valued by me as I grow o l d e r and as my values and

capacities change. W h e n I am killed, I am deprived both of what

I now value which would have been p a r t of my f u t u r e personal

life, but also what I would come to value. T h e r e f o r e , when I die,

I am deprived of all of t h e value of my f u t u r e . Inflicting this loss

on me is ultimately what makes killing me wrong. T h i s being

t h e case, it would seem that w h a t makes killing any adult

h u m a n being p r i m a facie seriously w r o n g is the loss of his or her

future.

H o w should this r u d i m e n t a r y t h e o r y of the wrongness of

killing be evaluated? It cannot be faulted f o r deriving an "ought"

from an "is," for it does not. T h e analysis assumes that killing me

(or you, reader) is p r i m a facie seriously wrong. T h e point of t h e

analysis is to establish which natural p r o p e r t y ultimately

explains the wrongness of the killing, given that it is wrong. A

natural p r o p e r t y will u k i m a t e l y explain the wrongness of killing,

only if (1) the explanation fits with our intuitions about the m a t -

ter and (2) t h e r e is no o t h e r natural p r o p e r t y that provides the

basis for a better explanation of the wrongness of killing. T h i s

analysis rests on the intuition that w h a t makes killing a p a r t i c u -

lar h u m a n or animal w r o n g is what it does to that particular

h u m a n or animal. W h a t makes killing w r o n g is some natural

effect or other of the killing. Some would den}' this. For instance,

a d i v i n e - c o m m a n d theorist in ethics would deny it. Surely this

denial is, however, o n e of those features of d i v i n e - c o m m a n d t h e -

ory which renders it so implausible.

T h e claim that what makes killing w r o n g is the loss of t h e

victim's f u t u r e is directly s u p p o r t e d by two considerations. In

the first place, this t h e o r y explains why we regard killing as o n e

of t h e worst of crimes. Killing is especially wrong, because it

deprives t h e victim of m o r e than p e r h a p s any other crime. In

592 • Don Marquis

t h e second place, p e o p l e with A I D S or cancer w h o know they

are dying believe, of course, that dying is a very bad thing for

them. T h e y believe that the loss of a f u t u r e to t h e m t h a t they

would otherwise have experienced is what makes their p r e m a -

t u r e d e a t h a very bad t h i n g for them. A b e t t e r t h e o r y of t h e

w r o n g n e s s of killing would r e q u i r e a d i f f e r e n t natural p r o p e r t y

associated with killing which b e t t e r fits with t h e attitudes of the

dying. W h a t could it be?

T h e view that what makes killing w r o n g is t h e loss to t h e vic-

tim of the value of the victim's f u t u r e gains additional s u p p o r t

w h e n some of its implications are examined. In t h e first place, it

is incompatible with the view t h a t it is w r o n g to kill only beings

who are biologically h u m a n . It is possible that there exists a dif-

ferent species f r o m another planet whose m e m b e r s have a f u t u r e

like ours. Since having a f u t u r e like that is what makes killing

s o m e o n e wrong, this t h e o r y entails that it would be wrong to kill

m e m b e r s of such a species. H e n c e , this t h e o r y is opposed to the

claim t h a t only life that is biologically h u m a n has great moral

worth, a claim which m a n y anti-abortionists have seemed to

adopt. T h i s opposition, which this t h e o r y has in c o m m o n wich

p e r s o n h o o d theories, seems to be a merit of the theory.

In t h e second place, the claim that t h e loss of one's f u t u r e is

t h e w r o n g - m a k i n g f e a t u r e of one's being killed entails the pos-

sibility that the f u t u r e s of some actual n o n h u m a n m a m m a l s on

o u r own planet are sufficiently like ours that it is seriously w r o n g

to kill t h e m also. W h e t h e r s o m e animals do have the same right

to life as h u m a n beings d e p e n d s on adding to t h e account of t h e

wrongness of killing some additional account of just what it is

about my f u t u r e or the f u t u r e s of other adult h u m a n beings

which makes it w r o n g to kill us. No such additional account will

be offered in this essay. Undoubtedly, the provision of such an

account would be a very difficult matter. Undoubtedly, any such

account would be quite controversial. H e n c e , it surely should not

reflect badly on this sketch of an e l e m e n t a r y theory of the

wrongness of killing t h a t it is i n d e t e r m i n a t e with respect to s o m e

very difficult issues regarding animal rights.

In the third place, the claim that t h e loss of one's f u t u r e is t h e

w r o n g - m a k i n g f e a t u r e of one's being killed does not entail, as

Why Abortion 'r Immoral • 593

sanctity of h u m a n life theories do, that active euthanasia is

wrong. Persons who are severely and incurably ill, w h o face a

f u t u r e of pain and despair, and who wish to die will not have suf-

fered a loss if they are killed. It is, strictly speaking, the value of a

human's f u t u r e which makes killing w r o n g in this theory. T h i s

being so, killing does not necessarily w r o n g s o m e persons who

are sick and d y i n g Of course, t h e r e m a y be o t h e r reasons for a

prohibition of active euthanasia, b u t that is a n o t h e r matter.

Sanctity-of-human-life theories seem to hold that active e u t h a n a -

sia is seriously w r o n g even in an individual case where t h e r e

seems to be good reason for it i n d e p e n d e n t l y of public policy

considerations. T h i s consequence is most implausible, and it is a

plus for t h e claim that the loss of a f u t u r e of value is what makes

killing w r o n g that it does not share this consequence.

In t h e fourth place, the account of the wrongness of killing

d e f e n d e d in this essay does straightforwardly entail t h a t it is

prima facie seriously w r o n g to kill children and infants, for we do

p r e s u m e that they have f u t u r e s of value. Since we do believe t h a t

it is w r o n g to kill defenseless little babies, it is i m p o r t a n t that a

theory of the wrongness of killing easily account for this. Per-

sonhood theories of the wrongness of killing, on the o t h e r hand,

c a n n o t straightforwardly account for t h e wrongness of killing

infants and y o u n g children. Hence, such theories must add spe-

cial ad hoc accounts of the wrongness of killing t h e young. T h e

plausibility of such ad hoc theories seems to be a function of how

desperately o n e wants such theories to work. T h e claim that the

p r i m a r y w r o n g - m a k i n g feature of a killing is the loss to t h e vic-

tim of the value of its f u t u r e accounts for t h e wrongness of killing

young children and infants directly; it makes the wrongness of

such acts as obvious as we actually think it is. T h i s is a f u r t h e r

merit of this theory. Accordingly, it seems that this value of a

future-like-ours t h e o r y of the wrongness of killing shares

strengths of both sanctity-of-life and p e r s o n h o o d accounts while

avoiding weaknesses of both. In addition, it meshes with a central

intuition c o n c e r n i n g what makes killing wrong.

T h e claim t h a t the p r i m a r y w r o n g - m a k i n g f e a t u r e of a

killing is t h e loss to t h e victim of the value of its f u t u r e has obvi-

o u s consequences f o r t h e ethics of abortion. T h e f u t u r e of a

594 • Don Marquis

standard fetus includes a set of experiences, projects, activities,

and such which are identical with t h e f u t u r e s of adult h u m a n

beings and are identical with the f u t u r e s of y o u n g children.

Since t h e reason t h a t is sufficient to explain why it is w r o n g to

kill h u m a n beings a f t e r t h e time of birth is a reason that also

applies to fetuses, it follows t h a t abortion is p r i m a facie seriously

m o r a l l y wrong.

T h i s a r g u m e n t does not rely on t h e invalid i n f e r e n c e that,

since it is w r o n g to kill persons, it is w r o n g to kill potential p e r -

sons also. T h e category that is morally central to this analysis is

t h e category of having a valuable f u t u r e like ours; it is n o t the

category of p e r s o n h o o d . T h e a r g u m e n t to the conclusion that

abortion is p r i m a facie seriously morally w r o n g p r o c e e d e d

i n d e p e n d e n t l y of t h e notion of person or potential person or

any equivalent. S o m e o n e may wish to start with this analysis in

t e r m s of the value of a h u m a n f u t u r e , c o n c l u d e that abortion is,

except p e r h a p s in r a r e circumstances, seriously morally wrong,

infer t h a t fetuses have t h e right to life, and then call fetuses

"persons" as a result of their having the right to life. Clearly, in

this case, the category of person is being u s e d to state t h e conclu-

sion of t h e analysis r a t h e r than to g e n e r a t e t h e argument of t h e

analysis.

T h e s t r u c t u r e of this a n t i - a b o r t i o n a r g u m e n t can be both

illuminated and d e f e n d e d by c o m p a r i n g it to what appears to be

the best a r g u m e n t for the wrongness of t h e wanton infliction of

pain on animals. T h i s latter a r g u m e n t is based on t h e assump-

tion t h a t it is p r i m a facie w r o n g to inflict pain on me (or you,

reader). W h a t is the n a t u r a l p r o p e r t y associated with t h e inflic-

tion of pain which makes such infliction wrong? T h e obvious

answer seems to be t h a t t h e infliction of pain causes suffering

and t h a t suffering is a misfortune. T h e s u f f e r i n g caused by the

infliction of pain is what makes the wanton infliction of pain on

me wrong. T h e wanton infliction of pain on other adult h u m a n s

causes suffering. T h e wanton infliction of pain on animals

causes suffering. Since causing s u f f e r i n g is what makes t h e wan-

ton infliction of pain w r o n g and since t h e wanton infliction of

pain on animals causes suffering, it follows that the wanton

infliction of pain on animals is wrong.

Why Abortion 'r Immoral • 595

T h i s a r g u m e n t for t h e wrongness of t h e wanton infliction of

pain on animals shares a n u m b e r of s t r u c t u r a l features with the

a r g u m e n t for t h e serious prima facie wrongness of abortion.

Both arguments start with an obvious assumption c o n c e r n i n g

what it is w r o n g to do to me (or you, reader). Both then look for

the characteristic or the c o n s e q u e n c e of t h e w r o n g action which

makes the action wrong. Both recognize that t h e w r o n g - m a k i n g

f e a t u r e of these i m m o r a l actions is a p r o p e r t y of actions s o m e -

times directed at individuals other than postnatal h u m a n beings.

If the s t r u c t u r e of the a r g u m e n t f o r t h e wrongness of t h e wan-

ton infliction of p a i n on animals is sound, then the s t r u c t u r e of

the a r g u m e n t for t h e prima facie serious wrongness of abortion

is also sound, for t h e s t r u c t u r e of t h e two a r g u m e n t s is the same.-

T h e s t r u c t u r e c o m m o n to both is the key to the explanation of

how the wrongness of abortion can be d e m o n s t r a t e d w i t h o u t

r e c o u r s e to the category of person. In n e i t h e r a r g u m e n t is t h a t

category crucial.

T h i s defense of an a r g u m e n t for the wrongness of abortion in

t e r m s of a structurally similar a r g u m e n t for the wrongness of

the wanton infliction of pain on animals succeeds only if t h e

account regarding animals is the c o r r e c t account. Is it? In the

first place, it s e e m s plausible. Tn t h e second place, its major c o m -

petition is Kant's account.: Kant believed t h a t we do not have

direct duties to animals at all, because they are n o t persons.

H e n c e , Kant had to explain and justify t h e wrongness of inflict-

ing pain on animals on the grounds t h a t "he who is hard in his

dealings with animals b e c o m e s hard also in his dealing with

men." T h e p r o b l e m with Kant's account is t h a t there seems to be

no reason for a c c e p t i n g this lacter claim unless Kant's account is

rejected. If the alternative to Kant's account is accepted, then it

is easy to u n d e r s t a n d why s o m e o n e who is i n d i f f e r e n t to inflict-

ing pain on animals is also i n d i f f e r e n t to inflicting pain on

humans, for o n e is i n d i f f e r e n t to what makes inflicting pain

w r o n g in both cases. But, if Kant's a c c o u n t is accepted, t h e r e is

no intelligible reason why one who is hard in his dealings with

animals (or crabgrass or stones) should also be hard in his deal-

ings with men. A f t e r all, men are persons: animals are no m o r e

p e r s o n s than crabgrass or stones. Persons are Kant's crucial

.5'96 • Don Marquis

moral category. Why, in short, should a Kantian accept the basic

claim in Kant's a r g u m e n t ?

H e n c e , Kant's a r g u m e n t f o r the wrongness of inflicting pain

on animals rests on a claim that, in a world of Kantian moral

agents, is d e m o n s t r a b l y false. T h e r e f o r e , t h e alternative analysis,

being m o r e plausible anyway, should be accepted. Since this

alternative analysis has the s a m e s t r u c t u r e as the anti-abortion

a r g u m e n t being d e f e n d e d here, we have f u r t h e r s u p p o r t for the

a r g u m e n t for the i m m o r a l i t y of abortion being d e f e n d e d in this

essay.

Of course, this value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s a r g u m e n t , if

sound, shows only that abortion is prima facie wrong, not that it

is w r o n g in any and all circumstances. Since the loss of the

f u t u r e to a standard fetus, if killed, is, however, at least as great a

loss as the loss of t h e f u t u r e to a standard adult h u m a n being

who is killed, abortion, like o r d i n a r y killing, could be justified

only by t h e most c o m p e l l i n g reasons. T h e loss of one's life is

almost the greatest m i s f o r t u n e that can h a p p e n to one. P r e s u m -

ably abortion could be justified in s o m e circumstances, only if

the loss c o n s e q u e n t on failing to abort would be at least as great.

Accordingly, morally permissible abortions will be rare i n d e e d

unless, perhaps, they o c c u r so early in p r e g n a n c y that a fetus is

n o t yet definitely an individual. H e n c e , this a r g u m e n t should be

taken as showing t h a t abortion is p r e s u m p t i v e l y very seriously

wrong, w h e r e the p r e s u m p t i o n is very strong-—as strong as the

p r e s u m p t i o n that killing a n o t h e r adult h u m a n being is wrong.

1 1 1 . H o w c o m p l e t e an a c c o u n t of the wrongness of killing does the

value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s a c c o u n t have to be in order that t h e

wrongness of abortion is a consequence? T h i s account does not

have to be an account of the necessary conditions for t h e w r o n g -

ness of killing. S o m e persons in n u r s i n g h o m e s may lack valu-

able h u m a n futures, yet it may be w r o n g to kill t h e m for o t h e r

reasons. F u r t h e r m o r e , this a c c o u n t does n o t obviously have to

be t h e sole reason killing is w r o n g where the victim did have a

valuable future. T h i s analysis claims only that, for any killing

w h e r e the victim did have a valuable f u t u r e like ours, having

t h a t f u t u r e by itself is sufficient to create t h e strong p r e s u m p t i o n

t h a t t h e killing is seriously wrong.

Why Abortion 'r Immoral • 606

O n e way to o v e r t u r n the value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s argu-

m e n t would be to find s o m e a c c o u n t of t h e wrongness of killing

which is at least as intelligible and which has d i f f e r e n t implica-

tions for the ethics of abortion. T w o rival accounts possess at

least some d e g r e e of plausibility. O n e a c c o u n t is based on the

obvious fact that p e o p l e value the e x p e r i e n c e of living and wish

for t h a t valuable e x p e r i e n c e to continue. T h e r e f o r e , it might be

said, what makes killing wrong is the discontinuation of t h a t

experience for the victim. Let us call this t h e discontinuation

account. A n o t h e r rival account is based u p o n t h e obvious fact t h a t

people strongly desire to continue to live. T h i s suggests t h a t

what makes killing us so w r o n g is that it interferes with t h e ful-

fillment of a strong and f u n d a m e n t a l desire, t h e fulfillment of

which is necessary for t h e fulfillment of any other desires we

might have. Let us call this the desire account*

C o n s i d e r first t h e desire account as a rival account of t h e

ethics of killing which would provide the basis for rejecting the

anti-abortion position. Such an a c c o u n t will have to be stronger

than t h e value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s account of the wrongness of

abortion if it is to do the job expected of it. To entail t h e w r o n g -

ness of abortion, t h e value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s account has

only to provide a sufficient, but not a necessary, condition for

the wrongness of killing. T h e desire account, on the o t h e r hand,

must provide us also with a necessary condition for t h e w r o n g -

ness of killing in o r d e r to generate a p r o - c h o i c e conclusion on

abortion. T h e reason for this is that p r e s u m a b l y t h e a r g u m e n t

f r o m the desire account moves from t h e claim that what makes

killing wrong is i n t e r f e r e n c e with a very strong desire to t h e

claim that abortion is not w r o n g because t h e fetus lacks a strong

desire to live. Obviously, this i n f e r e n c e fails if someone's hav-

ing t h e desire to live is not a necessary condition of its being

w r o n g to kill t h a t individual.

O n e problem with t h e desire a c c o u n t is that we do regard it

as seriously w r o n g to kill persons who have little desire to live or

who have no desire to live or, indeed, have a desire not to live.

"Presumably a preference utilitarian would press such an objection. Tooley once

sug-

gested that his account has such a theoretical u n d e r p i n n i n g . See his

"Abortion and

Infanticide," pp 4 4 / 5 .
598 • Don Marquis

We believe it is seriously w r o n g to kill the unconscious, t h e

sleeping, those who are tired of life, and those who are suicidal.

T h e v a l u e - o f - a - h u m a n - f u t u r e a c c o u n t r e n d e r s standard m
o r a l -

ity intelligible in t h e s e cases; these cases appear to be i n c o m p a t -

ible with the desire account.

T h e desire account is subject to a d e e p e r difficulty. We desire

life, b e c a u s e we value t h e goods of this life. T h e goodness of life

is not s e c o n d a r y to o u r desire f o r it. If this were not so, the pain

of one's own p r e m a t u r e death could be d o n e away with m e r e l y

by an a p p r o p r i a t e alteration in the configuration of one's desires.

T h i s is absurd H e n c e , it would seem that it is t h e loss of the

goods of one's f u t u r e , n o t the i n t e r f e r e n c e with t h e fulfillment of

a s t r o n g desire to live, which accounts ultimately for the w r o n g -

ness of killing.

It is worth n o t i n g that, if t h e desire a c c o u n t is modified so

that it does not provide a necessary, b u t only a sufficient, c o n d i -

tion for the wrongness of killing, t h e desire account is c o m p a t i -

ble with the value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s account. T h e c o m b i n e d

accounts will yield an anti-abortion ethic. T h i s suggests that one

can retain what is intuitively plausible about the desire account

w i t h o u t a challenge to the basic a r g u m e n t of this paper.

It is also worth n o t i n g that, if f u t u r e desires have moral f o r c e

in a modified desire a c c o u n t of the wrongness of killing, one can

find s u p p o r t for an anti-abortion ethic even in the absence of a

value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s account. If one decides t h a t a morally

relevant property, t h e possession of which is sufficient to make it

w r o n g to kill some individual, is t h e desire at s o m e f u t u r e t i m e

to l i v e — o n e m i g h t d e c i d e to justify one's refusal to kill suicidal

t e e n a g e r s on t h e s e grounds, for e x a m p l e — t h e n , since typical

fetuses will have t h e desire in the f u t u r e to live, it is wrong to kill

typical fetuses. Accordingly, it does not seem that a desire

a c c o u n t of the wrongness of killing can provide a justification of

a p r o - c h o i c e ethic of abortion which is nearly as a d e q u a t e as t h e

value of a h u m a n - f u t u r e justification of an anti-abortion ethic.

T h e discontinuation account looks m o r e p r o m i s i n g as an

a c c o u n t of t h e w r o n g n e s s of killing. It s e e m s just as intelligible

as t h e value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s account, but it does n o t justify

an a n t i - a b o r t i o n position. Obviously, if it is the continuation of

Why Abortion 'r Immoral • 599

one's activities, experiences, and projects, t h e loss of which

makes killing wrong, then it is not w r o n g to kill fetuses for that

reason, for fetuses do not have experiences, activities, and

projects to be c o n t i n u e d or discontinued. Accordingly, the dis-

continuation a c c o u n t does not have t h e anti-abortion conse-

quences that the value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s account has. Yet, it

seems as intelligible as the value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s account,

for when we think of what would be w r o n g with o u r b e i n g

killed, it does s e e m as if it is the discontinuation of w h a t makes

o u r lives w o r t h w h i l e which makes killing us wrong.

Is the discontinuation account just as good an a c c o u n t as the

value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s account? T h e discontinuation

a c c o u n t will not be adequate at all, if it does not r e f e r to the

value of the e x p e r i e n c e that may be discontinued O n e does not

want t h e discontinuation account to make it w r o n g to kill a

patient who begs f o r d e a t h and who is in severe pain that cannot

be relieved short of killing. (I leave open the question of

w h e t h e r it is w r o n g for o t h e r reasons.) Accordingly, the discon-

tinuation account m u s t be m o r e than a bare discontinuation

account. It m u s t make s o m e r e f e r e n c e to t h e positive value of

the patient's experiences. But, by the same token, the value of a

f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s a c c o u n t cannot be a bare f u t u r e account either.

J u s t having a f u t u r e surely does n o t itself r u l e o u t killing t h e

above patient. T h i s account m u s t m a k e s o m e r e f e r e n c e to the

value of the patient's f u t u r e experiences and projects also.

H e n c e , both accounts involve the value of experiences, projects,

and activities. So far we still have s y m m e t r y b e t w e e n the

accounts.

T h e s y m m e t r y fades, however, w h e n we focus on the t i m e

period of t h e value of the experiences, etc., which has moral

consequences. Although boch accounts leave open the pos-

sibility that the p a t i e n t in our example may be killed, this pos-

sibility is left o p e n only in virtue of t h e u t t e r l y bleak f u t u r e for

the patient. It makes no d i f f e r e n c e w h e t h e r the patient's i m m e -

diate past contains intolerable pain, or consists in being in a

c o m a (which we can imagine is a situation of indifference), or

consists in a life of value. If the patient's f u t u r e is a f u t u r e of

value, we want o u r a c c o u n t to make it w r o n g to kill the patient.

600 • Don Marquis

If the patient's f u t u r e is intolerable, whatever his or her i m m e -

diate past, we want our account to allow killing the patient.

Obviously, then, it is the value of that patient's f u t u r e which is

d o i n g the work in r e n d e r i n g the morality of killing the p a t i e n t

intelligible.

T h i s being the case, it seems clear that w h e t h e r one has

i m m e d i a t e past experiences or not does no work in the explana-

tion of what makes killing wrong. T h e addition t h e d i s c o n t i n u a -

tion account makes to the value of a h u m a n f u t u r e account is

otiose. Its addition to the v a l u e - o f - a - f u t u r e account plays no

role at all in r e n d e r i n g intelligible t h e wrongness of killing.

T h e r e f o r e , it can be discarded with the discontinuation account

of which it is a part.

IV. T h e analysis of the previous section suggests that alternative

general accounts of t h e wrongness of killing are either i n a d e -

q u a t e or unsuccessful in getting around the a n t i - a b o r t i o n conse-

q u e n c e s of t h e value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s argument. A d i f f e r e
n t

strategy f o r avoiding these anti-abortion consequences involves

limiting the scope of the v a l u e - o f - a - f u t u r e a r g u m e n t . M o r e pre-

cisely, the strategy involves arguing that fetuses lack a p r o p e r t y

t h a t is essential f o r the v a l u e - o f - a - f u t u r e a r g u m e n t (or for any

a n t i - a b o r t i o n a r g u m e n t ) to apply to t h e m .

O n e move of this sort is based u p o n the claim that a neces-

sary condition of one's f u t u r e being valuable is t h a t o n e values it.

Value implies a valuer. G i v e n this one m i g h t argue that, since

fetuses c a n n o t value their futures, their f u t u r e s are n o t valuable

to them. H e n c e , it does n o t seriously w r o n g t h e m deliberately to

end t h e i r lives

T h i s move fails, however, because of some ambiguities. Let us

assume that s o m e t h i n g cannot be of value unless it is valued by

s o m e o n e . T h i s does n o t entail that my life is of no value unless

it is valued by me. I may think, in a period of despair, that my

f u t u r e is of no worth whatsoever, b u t I may be w r o n g because

o t h e r s rightly see v a l u e — e v e n great v a l u e — i n it. F u r t h e r m o r

e ,

my f u t u r e can be valuable to me even if I do n o t value it. T h i s is

t h e case when a y o u n g p e r s o n attempts suicide, but is rescued

and goes on to significant h u m a n achievements. Such y o u n g

people's f u t u r e s are u l t i m a t e l y valuable to them, even t h o u g h

Why Abortion 'r Immoral • 601

such f u t u r e s do not seem to be valuable to them at t h e m o m e n t

of attempted suicide. A fetus's f u t u r e can be valuable to it in the

same way Accordingly, this a t t e m p t to limit the anti-abortion

a r g u m e n t fails.

Another similar a t t e m p t to reject the anti-abortion position is

based on Tooley's claim that an entity cannot possess the right

to life unless it has the capacity to desire its c o n t i n u e d existence.

It follows that, since fetuses lack the conceptual capacity to

desire to c o n t i n u e to live, they lack the right to life. Accordingly,

T o o l e y c o n c l u d e s that abortion c a n n o t be seriously prima facie

w r o n g (op. cit., pp. 4 6 / 7 ) .

W h a t could be the evidence for Tooley's basic claim? T o o l e y

o n c e argued that individuals have a prima facie right to what

they desire and that the lack of the capacity to desire s o m e t h i n g

u n d e r c u t s the basis of one's right to it (op. cit., pp. 4 4 / 5 ) . T h i s

a r g u m e n t plainly will not succeed in t h e context of the analysis

of this essay, however, since t h e p o i n t h e r e is to establish the

fetus's right to life on o t h e r grounds. Tooley's a r g u m e n t assumes

that t h e right to life c a n n o t be established in general on s o m e

basis other than t h e desire for life. This position was considered

and rejected in t h e p r e c e d i n g section of this paper.

O n e might a t t e m p t to defend Tooley's basic claim on the

grounds that, because a fetus cannot a p p r e h e n d continued life as

a benefit, its continued life cannot be a benefit or cannot be some-

thing it has a right to or cannot be something that is in its interest.

This might be defended in terms of the general proposition that,

if an individual is literally incapable of caring about or taking an

interest in some X, then one does not have a right to Xoi A'is not

a benefit or A'is not something that is in one's interest.

Each m e m b e r of this family of claims seems to be open to

objections. As J o h n C. Stevens has p o i n t e d out, o n e may have a

right to be treated with a certain medical p r o c e d u r e (because of

a health i n s u r a n c e policy one has purchased), even t h o u g h o n e

c a n n o t conceive of the n a t u r e of the p r o c e d u r e . And, as T o o l e y

himself has p o i n t e d out, persons who have been indoctrinated,

or drugged, or r e n d e r e d temporarily unconscious may be liter-

ally incapable of caring about or taking an interest in s o m e t h i n g

that is in their interest or is s o m e t h i n g to which t h e y have a

602 • Don Marquis

right, or is s o m e t h i n g t h a t benefits t h e m . H e n c e , the T o o l e y

claim t h a t would restrict the scope of t h e value of a f u t u r e - l i k e -

ours a r g u m e n t is u n d e r m i n e d by c o u n t e r e x a m p l e s .

Finally, Paul Bassen has argued that, even though the

prospects of an e m b r y o m i g h t s e e m to be a basis for the w r o n g -

ness of abortion, an e m b r y o cannot be a victim and t h e r e f o r e

c a n n o t be wronged. An embryo c a n n o t be a victim, he says,

b e c a u s e it lacks sentience. His central a r g u m e n t for this seems

to be that, even t h o u g h plants and the p e r m a n e n t l y u n c o n s c i o u s

are alive, they clearly c a n n o t be victims. W h a t is t h e explanation

of this? Bassen claims that the explanation is that their lives con-

sist of m e r e m e t a b o l i s m and m e r e metabolism is not e n o u g h to

g r o u n d victimizability. M e n t a t i o n is required.

T h e p r o b l e m with this a t t e m p t to establish the absence of

victimizability is that both plants and t h e p e r m a n e n t l y u n c o n -

scious clearly lack w h a t Bassen calls "prospects" or what I have

called "a f u t u r e life like ours." H e n c e , it is surely open to o n e to

argue that the real reason we believe plants and the p e r m a -

nently unconscious c a n n o t be victims is t h a t killing t h e m c a n n o t

deprive them of a f u t u r e life like ours; t h e real reason is not their

absence of p r e s e n t mentation.

Bassen recognizes t h a t his view is subject to this difficulty,

and he recognizes t h a t the case of children seems to s u p p o r t this

difficulty, for " m u c h of what we do f o r children is based on

prospects." He argues, however, that, in the case of children and

in o t h e r such cases, "potentiality c o m e s into play only w h e r e

victimizability has been secured on o t h e r g r o u n d s " {ibid., p. 333).

Bassen's d e f e n s e of his view is p a t e n t l y question-begging,

since w h a t is a d e q u a t e to secure victimizability is exactly w h a t

is at issue. His examples do not s u p p o r t his own view against t h e

thesis of this essay. Of course, embryos can be victims: w h e n

their lives are deliberately terminated, they are deprived of their

f u t u r e s of value, their prospects. T h i s makes t h e m victims, for it

directly wrongs t h e m .

T h e s e e m i n g plausibility of Bassen's view stems from the fact

that p a r a d i g m a t i c cases of imagining s o m e o n e as a victim

involve empathy, and e m p a t h y requires m e n t a t i o n of the victim.

T h e victims of flood, famine, rape, or child abuse are all persons

Why Abortion 'r Immoral • 603

with whom we can empathize. T h a t e m p a t h y seems to be p a r t of

seeing them as victims.

In spite of t h e strength of these examples, t h e attractive i n t u -

ition that a situation in which t h e r e is victimization requires t h e

possibility of e m p a t h y is subject to c o u n t e r e x a m p l e s . C o n s i d e r
a

case t h a t Bassen himself offers: " P o s t h u m o u s obliteration of an

author's work constitutes a m i s f o r t u n e for him only if he had

wished his work to e n d u r e " (op. cit, p. 318). T h e conditions

Bassen wishes to impose u p o n the possibility of being victim-

ized here seem far too strong. P e r h a p s this author, d u e to his

unrealistic standards of excellence and his low self-esteem,

regarded his work as u n w o r t h y of survival, even though it pos-

sessed g e n u i n e literary merit. D e s t r u c t i o n of such work would

surely victimize its author. In such a case, e m p a t h y with t h e vic-

tim c o n c e r n i n g t h e loss is clearly impossible.

Of course, Bassen does not make t h e possibility of e m p a t h y a

necessary condition of victimizability; he requires only m e n t a -

tion. H e n c e , on Bassen's actual view, this author, as I have

described him, can be a victim. T h e p r o b l e m is that the basic

intuition t h a t r e n d e r s Bassen's view plausible is missing in the

author's case. In o r d e r to a t t e m p t to avoid c o u n t e r e x a m p l e s ,

Bassen has m a d e his thesis too weak to be s u p p o r t e d by t h e i n t u -

itions that suggested it.

E v e n so, the m e n t a t i o n r e q u i r e m e n t on victimizability is still

subject to c o u n t e r e x a m p l e s . S u p p o s e a severe accident r e n d e r s

me totally unconscious for a m o n t h , after which I recover.

Surely killing me while I am u n c o n s c i o u s victimizes me, even

t h o u g h I am incapable of m e n t a t i o n d u r i n g that time. It follows

that Bassen's thesis fails. Apparently, attempts to restrict t h e

value of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s a r g u m e n t so that fetuses do not fall

within its scope do n o t succeed.

V. In this essay, it has been argued that the correct ethic of the

wrongness of killing can be extended to fetal life and used to show

that there is a strong presumption that any abortion is morally

impermissible. If the ethic of killing adopted here entails, how-

ever, that contraception is also seriously immoral, then t h e r e

would appear to be a difficulty with the analysis of this essay.

But this analysis does n o t entail that contraception is wrong.

604 • Don Marquis

Of course, c o n t r a c e p t i o n prevents the actualization of a possible

f u t u r e of value. H e n c e , it follows f r o m the claim that f u t u r e s of

value should be m a x i m i z e d that c o n t r a c e p t i o n is prima facie

immoral. T h i s obligation to maximize does not exist, however;

f u r t h e r m o r e , n o t h i n g in the ethics of killing in this p a p e r entails

that it does. T h e ethics of killing in this essay would entail that

c o n t r a c e p t i o n is w r o n g only if s o m e t h i n g were denied a h u m a n

f u t u r e of value by c o n t r a c e p t i o n . N o t h i n g at all is denied such a

f u t u r e by c o n t r a c e p t i o n , however.

C a n d i d a t e s for a subject of h a r m by c o n t r a c e p t i o n fall into

four categories: (1) s o m e s p e r m or other, (2) s o m e ovum or

other, (3) a s p e r m and an o v u m separately, and (4) a s p e r m and

an o v u m together. Assigning the h a r m to s o m e sperm is u t t e r l y

arbitrary, for no reason can be given for m a k i n g a s p e r m t h e sub-

ject of h a r m r a t h e r t h a n an ovum. Assigning the h a r m to s o m e

o v u m is u t t e r l y arbitrary, for no reason can be given for m a k i n g

an o v u m the subject of h a m i r a t h e r than a s p e r m . O n e m i g h t

a t t e m p t to avoid these problems by insisting that c o n t r a c e p t i o n

deprives both the s p e r m and the ovum separately of a valuable

f u t u r e like ours. On this alternative, too m a n y f u t u r e s are lost.

C o n t r a c e p t i o n was s u p p o s e d to be wrong, b e c a u s e it deprived us

of one f u t u r e of value, not two. O n e m i g h t a t t e m p t to avoid this

p r o b l e m by holding that contraception deprives the c o m b i n a -

tion of s p e r m and o v u m of a valuable f u t u r e like ours. But h e r e

the definite article misleads. At the time of contraception, t h e r e

are h u n d r e d s of millions of sperm, o n e (released) o v u m and mil-

lions of possible c o m b i n a t i o n s of all of these. T h e r e is no actual

c o m b i n a t i o n at all. Is the subject of the loss to be a merely pos-

sible combination? W h i c h one? This alternative does not yield

an actual subject of h a r m either. Accordingly, the i m m o r a l i t y of

c o n t r a c e p t i o n is not entailed by the loss of a f u t u r e - l i k e - o u r s

a r g u m e n t simply b e c a u s e t h e r e is no nonarbitrarily identifiable

subject of the loss in the case of contraception.

VI. T h e p u r p o s e of this essay has been to set o u t an a r g u m e n t for

t h e serious p r e s u m p t i v e wrongness of abortion subject to t h e

assumption that the moral permissibility of abortion stands or

falls on t h e moral status of the fetus. Since a fetus possesses a

property, t h e possession of which in adult h u m a n beings is suffi-

Why Abortion 'r Immoral • 605

cient to make killing an adult h u m a n being wrong, abortion is

wrong. This way of dealing with the p r o b l e m of abortion seems

s u p e r i o r to other approaches to t h e ethics of abortion, because it

rests on an ethics of killing which is close to self-evident,

because the crucial morally relevant p r o p e r t y clearly applies to

fetuses, and because the a r g u m e n t avoids the usual equivoca-

tions on " h u m a n life," "human being," or "person." T h e a r g u -

m e n t rests n e i t h e r on religious claims nor on Papal dogma. It is

not subject to t h e objection of "speciesism." Its soundness is

compatible with t h e moral permissibility of euthanasia and con-

traception. It deals with our intuitions concerning y o u n g chil-

dren.

Finally, this analysis can be viewed as resolving a standard

p r o b l e m — i n d e e d , the standard p r o b l e m — c o n c e r n i n g t h e
ethics

of abortion. Clearly, it is w r o n g to kill adult h u m a n beings.

Clearly, it is not w r o n g to end t h e life of s o m e arbitrarily chosen

single h u m a n cell. Fetuses seem to be like arbitrarily chosen

h u m a n cells in s o m e respects and like adult h u m a n s in other

respects. T h e p r o b l e m of the ethics of abortion is the p r o b l e m of

d e t e r m i n i n g the fetal p r o p e r t y that settles this moral c o n t r o -

versy. T h e thesis of this essay is t h a t t h e p r o b l e m of the ethics of

abortion, so u n d e r s t o o d , is solvable.
Document Outline

CONTENTS
PART I
PLATO
EUTHYPHRO
CRITO
THE REPUBLIC: BOOK II
ARISTOTLE
NICOMACHEAN ETHICS
EPICTETUS
THE ENCHIRIDION
ST. AUGUSTINE
CITY OF GOD: BOOK XIX
ST. THOMAS AQUINAS
SUM MA THEOLOGICA: QUESTION XCIV
THOMAS HOBBES
LEVIATHAN: PART I. OF MAN
PART II. OF COMMONWEALTH
DAVID HUME
AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS
IMMANUEL KANT
FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF THE METAPHYSICS OF
MORALS
JOHN STUART MILL
UTILITARIANISM
ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER
PARERGA AND PARALIPOMENA
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
ON THE GENEALOGY OF MORALITY
S0REN KIERKEGAARD
THE SICKNESS UNTO DEATH: PART II
PART II
RUTH BENEDICT
ANTHROPOLOGY AND THE ABNORMAL
MARY MIDGLEY
 TRYING OUT ONE'S NEW SWORD
JEAN'PAUL SARTRE
EXISTENTIALISM AND HUMAN EMOTION
PHILIP HALLIE
FROM CRUELTY TO GOODNESS
ROBERT COLES
THE DISPARITY BETWEEN INTELLECT AND CHARACTER
DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.
LETTER FROM A BIRMINGHAM JAIL
JOHN RAWLS
A THEORY OF JUSTICE
ALASDAIR MACINTYRE
AFTER VIRTUE
NEL NODDINGS
CARING: A FEMININE APPROACH TO ETHICS AND MORAL
EDUCATION
THOMAS NAGEL
MORTAL QUESTIONS
SUSAN WOLF
MORAL SAINTS*
ALDO LEOPOLD
A SAND COUNTY ALMANAC: THE LAND ETHIC
PETER SINGER
RICH AND POOR
TOM REGAN
THE CASE FOR ANIMAL RIGHTS
MICHAEL WALZER
POLITICAL ACTION: THE PROBLEM OF DIRTY HANDS*
JUDITH JARVIS THOMSON AND DON MARQUIS
A DEFENSE OF ABORTION
WHY ABORTION IS IMMORAL
 Table of Contents
CONTENTS
PART I
PLATO
EUTHYPHRO
CRITO
THE REPUBLIC: BOOK II
ARISTOTLE
NICOMACHEAN ETHICS
EPICTETUS
THE ENCHIRIDION
ST. AUGUSTINE
CITY OF GOD: BOOK XIX
ST. THOMAS AQUINAS
SUM MA THEOLOGICA: QUESTION XCIV
THOMAS HOBBES
LEVIATHAN: PART I. OF MAN
PART II. OF COMMONWEALTH
DAVID HUME
AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS
IMMANUEL KANT
FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF THE METAPHYSICS OF MORALS
JOHN STUART MILL
UTILITARIANISM
ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER
PARERGA AND PARALIPOMENA
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
ON THE GENEALOGY OF MORALITY
S0REN KIERKEGAARD
THE SICKNESS UNTO DEATH: PART II
PART II
RUTH BENEDICT
ANTHROPOLOGY AND THE ABNORMAL
MARY MIDGLEY
TRYING OUT ONE'S NEW SWORD
JEAN'PAUL SARTRE
EXISTENTIALISM AND HUMAN EMOTION
PHILIP HALLIE
FROM CRUELTY TO GOODNESS
ROBERT COLES
THE DISPARITY BETWEEN INTELLECT AND CHARACTER
DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.
LETTER FROM A BIRMINGHAM JAIL
JOHN RAWLS
A THEORY OF JUSTICE
ALASDAIR MACINTYRE
AFTER VIRTUE
NEL NODDINGS
CARING: A FEMININE APPROACH TO ETHICS AND MORAL
EDUCATION
THOMAS NAGEL
MORTAL QUESTIONS