Mill’s easily readable prose ensured a wide audience for his exposition of utilitarianism, but as a philosopher he was markedly inferior to the last of the 19th-century utilitarians, Henry Sidgwick (1838–1900). Sidgwick’s Methods of Ethics (1874) is the most detailed and subtle work of utilitarian ethics yet produced. Especially noteworthy is his discussion of the various principles of what he calls common sense morality—i.e., the morality accepted, without systematic thought, by most people. Price, Reid, and some adherents of their brand of intuitionism thought that such principles (e.g., truthfulness, justice, honesty, benevolence, purity, and gratitude) were self-evident, independent moral truths. Sidgwick was himself an intuitionist as far as the basis of ethics was concerned: he believed that the principle of utilitarianism must ultimately be based on a self-evident axiom of rational benevolence. Nonetheless, he strongly rejected the view that all principles of common sense morality are self-evident. He went on to demonstrate that the allegedly self-evident principles conflict with one another and are vague in their application. They could be part of a coherent system of morality, he argued, only if they were regarded as subordinate to the utilitarian principle, which defined their application and resolved the conflicts between them.
Sidgwick, HenryHenry Sidgwick.BBC Hulton Picture Library
Sidgwick was satisfied that he had reconciled common sense morality and utilitarianism by showing that whatever was sound in the former could be accounted for by the latter. He was, however, troubled by his inability to achieve any such reconciliation between utilitarianism and egoism, the third method of ethical reasoning dealt with in his book. True, Sidgwick regarded it as self-evident that “from the point of view of the universe” one’s own good is of no greater value than the like good of any other person, but what could be said to the egoist who expresses no concern for the point of view of the universe, taking his stand instead on the fact that his own good mattered more to him than anyone else’s? Bentham had apparently believed either that self-interest and the general happiness are not at odds or that it is the legislator’s task to reward or punish actions so as to see that they are not. Mill also had written of the need for sanctions but was more concerned with the role of education in shaping human nature in such a way that one finds happiness in doing what benefits all. By contrast, Sidgwick was convinced that this could lead at best to a partial overlap between what is in one’s own interest and what is in the interests of all. Hence, he searched for arguments with which to convince the egoist of the rationality of universal benevolence but failed to find any. The Methods of Ethics concludes with an honest admission of this failure and an expression of dismay at the fact that, as a result, “it would seem necessary to abandon the idea of rationalizing [morality] completely.” The Continental tradition from Spinoza to Nietzsche Spinoza
If Hobbes is to be regarded as the first of a distinctively British philosophical tradition, the Dutch-Jewish philosopher Benedict de Spinoza (1632–77) appropriately occupies the same position in continental Europe. Unlike Hobbes, Spinoza did not provoke a long-running philosophical debate. In fact, his philosophy was neglected for a century after his death and was in any case much too self-contained a system to invite debate. Nevertheless, Spinoza held positions on crucial issues that sharply contrasted with those taken by Hobbes, and these differences were to grow over the centuries during which British and continental European philosophy followed their own paths.
Benedict de Spinoza.© Photos.com/Jupiterimages
The first of these contrasts with Hobbes is Spinoza’s attitude toward natural desires. As has been noted, Hobbes took self-interested desire for pleasure as an unchangeable fact about human nature and proceeded to build a moral and political system to cope with it. Spinoza did just the opposite. He saw natural desires as a form of bondage. One does not choose to have them of his own will. One’s will cannot be free if it is subject to forces outside itself. Thus, one’s real interest lies not in satisfying these desires but in transforming them by the application of reason. Spinoza thus stands in opposition not only to Hobbes but also to the position later to be taken by Hume, for Spinoza saw reason not as the slave of the passions but as their master.
The second important contrast is that, whereas individual humans and their separate interests are always assumed in Hobbes’s philosophy, this separation is simply an illusion from Spinoza’s viewpoint. Everything that exists is part of a single system, which is at the same time nature and God. (One possible interpretation of this is that Spinoza was a pantheist, believing that God exists in every aspect of the world and not apart from it.) Humans too are part of this system and are subject to its rationally necessary laws. Once this is understood, it becomes apparent how irrational it would be to desire that things should be different from the way they are. This means that it is irrational to envy, to hate, and to feel guilt, for these emotions presuppose the possibility of things being different. So one ceases to feel such emotions and finds peace, happiness, and even freedom—in Spinoza’s terms the only freedom there can be—in understanding the system of which one is a part.
A view of the world so different from everyday conceptions as that of Spinoza cannot be made to seem remotely plausible when presented in summary form. To many philosophers it remains implausible even when complete. Its value for ethics, however, lies not in its validity as a whole but in the introduction into continental European philosophy of a few key ideas: that one’s everyday nature may not be one’s true nature; that humans are part of a larger unity; and that freedom is to be found in following reason. Leibniz
The German philosopher and mathematician Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716), the next great figure in the tradition of rationalism, gave scant attention to ethics, perhaps because of his belief that the world is governed by a perfect God and hence must be the best of all possible worlds. As a result of Voltaire’s hilarious parody in Candide (1759), this position has achieved a certain notoriety. It is not generally recognized, however, that it does at least provide a consistent solution to a problem that has baffled Christian thinkers for many centuries: how can there be evil in a world governed by a God who is all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-good? (See evil, problem of.) Leibniz’s solution may not be plausible, but there may be no better one if the premises above are allowed to pass unchallenged.
Leibniz, Gottfried WilhelmGottfried Wilhelm Leibniz.© iStockphoto/Thinkstock
Rousseau
It was the French philosopher and writer Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712–78) who took the next step. His A Discourse on Inequality (1755) depicted a state of nature very different from that described by Hobbes as well as from Christian conceptions of original sin. Rousseau’s “noble savages” lived isolated, trouble-free lives, supplying their simple wants from the abundance that nature provided and even going to each other’s aid in times of need. Only when someone claimed possession of a piece of land did laws have to be introduced, and with them came civilization and all its corrupting influences. This is, of course, a message that resembles one of Spinoza’s key points: the human nature that one sees in one’s fellow citizens is not the only possibility; somewhere, there is something better. If a way to reach it could be found, it would mean the solution to all ethical and social problems.