What Proof Can Support the Utility Principle

It has already been remarked, that questions of ultimate ends do not admit of proof, in the ordinary acceptation of the term. To be incapable of proof by reasoning is common to all first principles; to the first premises of our knowledge, as well as to those of our conduct. But the former, being matters of fact, may be the subject of a direct appeal to the faculties which judge of fact—namely, our senses, and our internal consciousness. Can an appeal be made to the same faculties on questions of practical ends? Or by what other faculty is cognizance taken of them?

As already noted, questions about ultimate goals cannot be proved in the usual sense of the word. No first principles can be proved by reasoning. This applies both to the basic premises of our knowledge and to those guiding our conduct. But the basic premises of knowledge concern matters of fact. So we may appeal directly to our abilities to judge facts: our senses and our awareness of our own minds. Can we appeal to these same abilities when considering the ultimate goals of our actions? Or what other ability allows us to recognize those goals?

Questions about ends are, in other words, questions what things are desirable. The utilitarian doctrine is, that happiness is desirable, and the only thing desirable, as an end; all other things being only desirable as means to that end. What ought to be required of this doctrine—what conditions is it requisite that the doctrine should fulfil—to make good its claim to be believed?

Questions about ends are, in other words, questions about what things are desirable. Utilitarianism holds that happiness is desirable, and that happiness alone is desirable as an end in itself. All other things are desirable only as means to happiness. What should we require of this doctrine? What conditions must the doctrine meet to deserve our belief?

The only proof capable of being given that an object is visible, is that people actually see it. The only proof that a sound is audible, is that people hear it: and so of the other sources of our experience. In like manner, I apprehend, the sole evidence it is possible to produce that anything is desirable, is that people do actually desire it. If the end which the utilitarian doctrine proposes to itself were not, in theory and in practice, acknowledged to be an end, nothing could ever convince any person that it was so. No reason can be given why the general happiness is desirable, except that each person, so far as he believes it to be attainable, desires his own happiness. This, however, being a fact, we have not only all the proof which the case admits of, but 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 happiness, therefore, a good to the aggregate of all persons. Happiness has made out its title as one of the ends of conduct, and consequently one of the criteria of morality.

The only possible proof that an object is visible is that people actually see it. The only proof that a sound is audible is that people hear it. The same holds for the other sources of our experience. In the same way, I believe, the only possible evidence that anything is desirable is that people actually desire it. Suppose the goal proposed by utilitarianism were not recognized as a goal, both in theory and in practice. Then nothing could ever convince anyone that it was a goal. No reason can be given for why general happiness is desirable except that each person desires their own happiness. Each person desires their own happiness insofar as they believe they can achieve it. But this desire is a fact. So we have all the proof the case allows, and all the proof anyone could possibly require, that happiness is good. Each person's happiness is good for that person. General happiness is therefore good for all people taken together. Happiness has established its claim to be one of the goals of conduct. Consequently, happiness is one of the standards for judging morality.

But it has not, by this alone, proved itself to be the sole criterion. To do that, it would seem, by the same rule, necessary to show, not only that people desire happiness, but that they never desire anything else. Now it is palpable that they do desire things which, in common language, are decidedly distinguished from happiness. They desire, for example, virtue, and the absence of vice, no less really than pleasure and the absence of pain. The desire of virtue is not as universal, but it is as authentic a fact, as the desire of happiness. And hence the opponents of the utilitarian standard deem that they have a right to infer that there are other ends of human action besides happiness, and that happiness is not the standard of approbation and disapprobation.

But this alone has not proved that happiness is the only standard. By the same reasoning, proving that would seem to require more than showing that people desire happiness. It would also require showing that people never desire anything else. Yet people clearly desire things that ordinary language treats as distinct from happiness. For example, people desire virtue and freedom from vice just as genuinely as pleasure and freedom from pain. The desire for virtue is less universal than the desire for happiness, but just as real. So opponents of the utilitarian standard believe they are justified in drawing a conclusion: human action has goals besides happiness, and happiness is not the standard for judging what deserves approval or disapproval.

But does the utilitarian doctrine deny that people desire virtue, or maintain that virtue is not a thing to be desired? The very reverse. It maintains not only that virtue is to be desired, but that it is to be desired disinterestedly, for itself. Whatever may 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 virtuous because they promote another end than virtue; yet this being granted, and it having been decided, from considerations of this description, what is virtuous, they not only place virtue at the very head of the things which are good as means to the ultimate end, but they also recognise as a psychological fact the possibility of its being, to the individual, a good in itself, without looking to any end beyond it; and hold, that the mind is not in a right state, not in a state conformable to Utility, not in the state most conducive to the general happiness, unless it does love virtue in this manner—as a thing desirable in itself, even although, in the individual instance, it should not produce those other desirable consequences which it tends to produce, and on account of which it is held to be virtue. This opinion is not, in the smallest degree, a departure from the Happiness principle. The ingredients of happiness are very various, and each of them is desirable in itself, and not merely when considered as swelling an aggregate. The principle of utility does not mean that any given pleasure, as music, for instance, or any given exemption from pain, as for example health, are to be looked upon as means to a collective something termed happiness, and to be desired on that account. They are desired and desirable in and for themselves; besides being means, they are a part of the end. Virtue, according to the utilitarian doctrine, is not naturally and originally part of the end, but it is capable of becoming so; and in those who love it disinterestedly it has become so, and is desired and cherished, not as a means to happiness, but as a part of their happiness.

But does utilitarianism deny that people desire virtue, or claim that virtue is not worth desiring? Quite the opposite. It holds not only that virtue should be desired, but that virtue should be desired for its own sake. Utilitarian moralists may have various views about what makes virtue virtuous in the first place. They do believe that actions and character traits are virtuous only because they promote a goal beyond virtue. But suppose we accept this belief and use such considerations to decide what is virtuous. Utilitarian moralists then put virtue first among the things that serve as means to the ultimate goal. They also recognize a psychological fact: individuals can come to value virtue in itself, without seeking any further goal. And they hold that the mind is not in the right state unless it loves virtue for its own sake. Without this love, the mind neither meets the standard of Utility nor best promotes general happiness. Virtue must be loved as something desirable in itself, even when a particular virtuous act produces no other desirable results. Usually, virtue tends to produce such results, and those results are the reason virtue is considered virtuous. This view does not depart in the slightest from the Happiness principle. Happiness has many different ingredients, and each is desirable in itself, not merely as an addition to a total. The principle of utility does not mean that a particular pleasure, such as music, is merely a means to happiness. Nor does it mean this about a particular freedom from pain, such as health. Neither should be desired only because it contributes to some collective thing called happiness. Both are desired and desirable for their own sake. Besides being means to the goal, they are part of the goal itself. According to utilitarianism, virtue is not naturally or originally part of that goal, but it can become so. For those who love virtue for its own sake, virtue has become part of the goal. They desire and cherish virtue not as a means to happiness, but as part of their happiness.

To illustrate this farther, we may remember that virtue is not the only thing, originally a means, and which if it were not a means to anything else, would be and remain indifferent, but which by association with what it is a means to, comes to be desired for itself, and that too with the utmost intensity. What, for example, shall we say of the love of money? There is nothing originally more desirable about money than about any heap of glittering pebbles. Its worth is solely that of the things which it will buy; the desires for other things than itself, which it is a means of gratifying. Yet the love of money is not only one of the strongest moving forces of human life, but money is, in many cases, desired in and for itself; the 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 then said truly, that money is desired not for the sake of an end, but as part of the end. From being a means to happiness, it has come to be itself a principal ingredient of the individual's conception of happiness. The same may be said of the majority of the great objects of human life—power, for example, or fame; except that to each of these there is a certain amount of immediate pleasure annexed, which has at least the semblance of being naturally inherent in them; a thing which cannot be said of money. Still, however, the strongest natural attraction, both of power and of fame, is the immense aid they give to the attainment of our other wishes; and it is the strong association thus generated between them and all our objects of desire, which gives to the direct desire of them the intensity it often assumes, so as in some characters to surpass in strength all other desires. In these cases the means have become a part of the end, and a more important part of it than any of the things which they are means to. What was once desired as an instrument for the attainment of happiness, has come to be desired for its own sake. In being desired for its own sake it is, however, desired as part of happiness. The person is made, or thinks he would be made, happy by its mere possession; and is made unhappy by failure to obtain it. The desire of it is not a different thing from the desire of happiness, any more than the love of music, or the desire of health. They are included in happiness. They are some of the elements of which the desire of happiness is made up. Happiness is not an abstract idea, but a concrete whole; and these are some of its parts. And the utilitarian standard sanctions and approves their being so. Life would be a poor thing, very ill provided with sources of happiness, if there were not this provision of nature, by which things originally indifferent, but conducive to, or otherwise associated with, the satisfaction of our primitive desires, become in themselves sources of pleasure more valuable than the primitive pleasures, both in permanency, in the space of human existence that they are capable of covering, and even in intensity. Virtue, according to the utilitarian conception, is a good of this description. There was no original desire of it, or motive to it, save its conduciveness to pleasure, and especially to protection from pain. But through the association thus formed, it may be felt a good in itself, and desired as such with as great intensity as any other good; and with this difference between it and the love of money, of power, or of fame, that all of these may, and often do, render the individual noxious to the other members of the society to which he belongs, whereas there is nothing which makes him so much a blessing to them as the cultivation of the disinterested, love of virtue. And consequently, the utilitarian standard, while it tolerates and approves those other acquired desires, up to the point beyond which they would be more injurious to the general happiness than promotive of it, enjoins and requires the cultivation of the love of virtue up to the greatest strength possible, as being above all things important to the general happiness.

To explain this further, remember that virtue is not the only thing first valued as a means to something else. Without that purpose, such things would remain matters of indifference. But through association with what they help us achieve, we come to desire them for themselves, even with extreme intensity. Consider, for example, the love of money. Money is not originally any more desirable than a heap of glittering pebbles. Its value lies entirely in what it can buy. Money allows us to satisfy desires for things other than money itself. Yet the love of money is one of the strongest forces driving human life. In many cases, people also desire money for its own sake. The desire to possess money is often stronger than the desire to use it. That desire keeps growing even as all the desires for things money could obtain grow weaker. We can then truly say that money is desired not as a means to a goal, but as part of the goal. Money began as a means to happiness. It has now become a major part of the individual's idea of happiness. The same can be said of most of the great goals of human life, such as power or fame. But power and fame each bring some immediate pleasure that at least seems to belong naturally to them. The same cannot be said of money. Still, the strongest natural appeal of both power and fame is their enormous help in fulfilling our other wishes. This help creates a strong association between power and fame and everything else we desire. That association gives the direct desire for power and fame its often intense strength. In some people, this desire becomes stronger than all other desires. In these cases, the means have become part of the goal. Indeed, they have become a more important part than anything they help us obtain. What people once desired as a way to achieve happiness, they now desire for its own sake. Yet when they desire something for its own sake, they desire it as part of happiness. Simply possessing it makes them happy, or they think it would. Failing to obtain it makes them unhappy. Desiring it is not separate from desiring happiness, any more than loving music or desiring health is. These desires are included in happiness. They are among the elements that make up the desire for happiness. Happiness is not an abstract idea, but a concrete whole, and these are some of its parts. The utilitarian standard accepts and approves their place within happiness. Life would be poor, with very few sources of happiness, without this natural process. Through it, things originally indifferent become sources of pleasure in themselves. They do so because they help satisfy our basic desires, or are otherwise associated with satisfying those desires. These new pleasures are more valuable than the original pleasures. They are more lasting, can extend across more of human life, and are even more intense. In the utilitarian view, virtue is a good of this kind. Originally, people had no desire for virtue, or motive to pursue it, except its ability to bring pleasure. In particular, virtue offered protection from pain. But through this association, virtue may come to feel like a good in itself. People may desire virtue as intensely as any other good. There is, however, a difference between virtue and the love of money, power, or fame. All these other desires may, and often do, make a person harmful to other members of society. By contrast, nothing makes a person more beneficial to others than developing a love of virtue without self-interest. Consequently, the utilitarian standard tolerates and approves those other acquired desires only up to a certain point. Beyond that point, those desires would harm general happiness more than they would promote it. But the utilitarian standard calls for and requires developing the love of virtue to the greatest possible strength. Above all else, this love of virtue matters to the happiness of everyone.

It results from the preceding considerations, that there is in reality nothing desired except happiness. Whatever is desired otherwise than as a means to some end beyond itself, and ultimately to happiness, is desired as itself a part of happiness, and is not desired for itself until it has become so. Those who desire virtue for its own sake, desire it either because the consciousness of it is a pleasure, or because the consciousness of being without it is a pain, or for both reasons united; as in truth the pleasure and pain seldom exist separately, but almost always together, the same person feeling pleasure in the degree of virtue attained, and pain in not having attained more. If one of these gave him no pleasure, and the other no pain, he would not love or desire virtue, or would desire it only for the other benefits which it might produce to himself or to persons whom he cared for.

The previous arguments show that happiness is, in fact, the only thing people desire. Anything desired not as a means to another end, and ultimately to happiness, is desired as part of happiness itself. People do not desire anything for its own sake until it has become part of their happiness. Those who desire virtue for its own sake do so for one of two reasons, or both. Either knowing they are virtuous gives them pleasure, or knowing they lack virtue causes them pain. In fact, this pleasure and pain seldom exist separately. They almost always occur together. The same person feels pleasure in the degree of virtue they have achieved, and pain at not having achieved more. If being virtuous gave someone no pleasure, and lacking virtue caused them no pain, they would not love or desire virtue. Or they would desire virtue only for the other benefits it might bring them or people they cared about.

We have now, then, an answer to the question, of what sort of proof the principle of utility is susceptible. If the opinion which I have now stated is psychologically true—if human nature is so constituted as to desire nothing which is not either a part of happiness or a means of happiness, we can have no other proof, and we require no other, that these are the only things desirable. If so, happiness is the sole end of human action, and the promotion of it the test by which to judge of all human conduct; from whence it necessarily follows that it must be the criterion of morality, since a part is included in the whole.

We now have an answer to the question of what kind of proof the principle of utility allows. Suppose the view I have just stated is psychologically true. That is, suppose human nature leads us to desire only what is part of happiness or a means to happiness. If so, we can have no other proof that these are the only desirable things, and we need no other. Happiness, then, is the only goal of human action. Promoting happiness is therefore the standard for judging all human conduct. It necessarily follows that promoting happiness must also be the standard of morality, since the whole includes every part.

And now to decide whether this is really so; whether mankind 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, dependent, like all similar questions, upon evidence. It can only be determined by practised self-consciousness and self-observation, assisted by observation of others. I believe that these sources of evidence, impartially consulted, will declare that desiring a thing and finding it pleasant, aversion to it and thinking of it as painful, are phenomena entirely inseparable, or rather two parts of the same phenomenon; in strictness of language, two different modes of naming the 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 proportion as the idea of it is pleasant, is a physical and metaphysical impossibility.

Now we must decide whether this is really true. Do people desire anything for its own sake except what gives them pleasure or what causes pain when absent? Clearly, we have reached a question of fact and experience. Like all such questions, it depends on evidence. We can answer it only through practiced awareness and observation of ourselves, helped by observing others. I believe these sources of evidence, considered impartially, will show that desiring something and finding it pleasant are inseparable. Likewise, feeling aversion to something and thinking of it as painful are inseparable. Or rather, each pair consists of two parts of the same experience. Strictly speaking, each pair offers two different ways of naming the same psychological fact. Thinking of something as desirable and thinking of it as pleasant are one and the same thing. The exception is when we desire something for its consequences. And desiring anything beyond the degree to which the thought of it is pleasant is physically and metaphysically impossible.

So obvious does this appear to me, that I expect it will hardly be disputed: and the objection made will be, not that desire can possibly be directed to anything ultimately except pleasure and exemption from pain, but that the will is a different thing from desire; that a person of confirmed virtue, or any other person whose purposes are fixed, carries out his purposes without any thought of the pleasure he has in contemplating them, or expects to derive from their fulfilment; and persists in acting on them, even though these pleasures are much diminished, by changes in his character or decay of his passive sensibilities, or are outweighed by the pains which the pursuit of the purposes may bring upon him. All this I fully admit, and have stated it elsewhere, as positively and emphatically as any one. Will, the active phenomenon, is a different thing from desire, the state of passive sensibility, and though originally an offshoot from it, may in time take root and detach itself from the parent stock; so much so, that in the 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 fact, the power of habit, and is nowise confined to the case of virtuous actions. Many indifferent things, which men originally did from a motive of some sort, they continue to do from habit. Sometimes this is done unconsciously, the consciousness coming only after the action: at other times with conscious volition, but volition which has become habitual, and is put into operation by the force of habit, in opposition perhaps to the deliberate preference, as often happens with those who have contracted habits of vicious or hurtful indulgence. Third and last comes the case in which the habitual act of will in the individual instance is not in contradiction to the general intention prevailing at other times, but in fulfilment of it; as in the case of the person of confirmed virtue, and of all who pursue deliberately and consistently any determinate end. The distinction between will and desire thus understood, is an authentic and highly important psychological fact; but the fact consists solely in this—that will, like all other parts of our constitution, is amenable to habit, and that we may will from habit what we no longer desire for itself, or desire only because we will it. It is not the less true that will, in the beginning, is entirely produced by desire; including in that term the repelling influence of pain as well as the attractive one of pleasure. Let us take into consideration, no longer the person who has a confirmed will to do right, but him in whom that virtuous will is still feeble, conquerable by temptation, and not to be fully relied on; by what means can it be strengthened? How can the will to be virtuous, where it does not exist in sufficient force, be implanted or awakened? Only by making the person desire virtue—by making him think of it in a pleasurable light, or of its absence in a painful one. It is by associating the doing right with pleasure, or the doing wrong with pain, or by eliciting and impressing and bringing home to the person's experience the pleasure naturally involved in the one or the pain in the other, that it is possible to call forth that will to be virtuous, which, when confirmed, acts without any thought of either pleasure or pain. Will is the child of desire, and passes out of the dominion of its parent only to come under that of habit. That which is the result of habit affords no presumption of being intrinsically good; and there would be no reason for wishing that the purpose of virtue should become independent of pleasure and pain, were it not that the influence of the pleasurable and painful associations which prompt to virtue is not sufficiently to be depended on for unerring constancy of action until it has acquired the support of habit. Both in feeling and in conduct, habit is the only thing which imparts certainty; and it is because of the importance to others of being able to rely absolutely on one's feelings and conduct, and to oneself of being able to rely on one's own, that the will to do right ought to be cultivated into this habitual independence. In other words, this state of the will is a means to good, not intrinsically a good; and does not contradict the doctrine that nothing is a good to human beings but in so far as it is either itself pleasurable, or a means of attaining pleasure or averting pain.

This seems so obvious to me that I expect hardly anyone will dispute it. Instead, the objection will concern the difference between will and desire. The objection will not be that desire can ultimately aim at anything except pleasure and freedom from pain. Rather, someone firmly committed to virtue, or anyone with settled purposes, carries out those purposes without thinking about pleasure. Such people need not consider the pleasure of contemplating their purposes or the pleasure they expect from achieving them. They keep acting on those purposes even when changes in character or diminished sensitivity greatly reduce these pleasures. They persist even when the pains of pursuing their purposes outweigh those pleasures. I fully accept all this. Elsewhere, I have stated it as firmly and emphatically as anyone. Will is an active process, while desire is a passive state of feeling. Although will originally grows out of desire, will may eventually take root and become independent. When a purpose becomes habitual, we often no longer will something because we desire it. Instead, we desire it only because we will it. But this is simply an example of the familiar power of habit, and is by no means limited to virtuous actions. People continue doing many morally neutral things out of habit, although they originally had some motive for doing them. Sometimes they act unconsciously, becoming aware of the action only afterward. At other times they consciously exercise their will, but that exercise has become habitual. Habit sets their will in motion, perhaps against their deliberate preference. This often happens to people who have developed habits of immoral or harmful indulgence. The third and final case concerns habitual acts of will that fulfill, rather than contradict, a person's general intention. Such acts express the intention that guides the person at other times. This happens with people firmly committed to virtue, and with everyone who deliberately and consistently pursues a definite goal. Understood this way, the distinction between will and desire is a real and highly important psychological fact. But the fact amounts only to this: will, like every other part of our nature, can be shaped by habit. Through habit, we may will something we no longer desire for itself, or desire only because we will it. Still, will is originally produced entirely by desire. Here, desire includes both the repelling force of pain and the attractive force of pleasure. Now consider someone whose will to do right is not yet firmly established. Their virtuous will remains weak, vulnerable to temptation, and not fully reliable. How can that will be strengthened? How can the will to be virtuous be established or awakened when it lacks sufficient strength? Only by making the person desire virtue. We must lead the person to see virtue as pleasurable, or its absence as painful. We can associate doing right with pleasure, or doing wrong with pain. Or we can draw out the pleasure naturally involved in doing right, or the pain involved in doing wrong. We can make that pleasure or pain vivid and bring it home through the person's experience. Only through these means can we awaken the will to be virtuous. Once firmly established, that will acts without any thought of pleasure or pain. Will is the child of desire. Will escapes its parent's control only to come under the control of habit. The fact that something results from habit gives us no reason to assume it is good in itself. Nor would we have reason to want the commitment to virtue to become independent of pleasure and pain, except for one fact. The pleasurable and painful associations that encourage virtue cannot ensure completely consistent action without the support of habit. In both feeling and conduct, habit alone provides certainty. Others need to be able to rely absolutely on our feelings and conduct. We also need to be able to rely on our own. Because that reliability matters, we ought to develop the will to do right until it gains this habitual independence. In other words, this state of the will is a means to good, not something good in itself. Nor does this contradict the principle that something is good for human beings only insofar as it is pleasurable itself, or helps them gain pleasure or avoid pain.

But if this doctrine be true, the principle of utility is proved. Whether it is so or not, must now be left to the consideration of the thoughtful reader.

But if this doctrine is true, the principle of utility is proven. Whether the doctrine is true must now be left for the thoughtful reader to consider.