Philosophy of the Modern Era

Utilitarians

Throughout the period from Kant to Nietzsche, professional philosophers in Britain were scarcely influenced by their German contemporaries; the sole exception was Sir William Hamilton, who himself wielded little influence. While Coleridge and Carlyle were deeply affected by Kant, Fichte, and the German romantics, they did not qualify as philosophers in the specialized sense of the term. Someone once reportedly mentioned Kant in conversation with James Mill, who, after a brief pause, remarked, "I fully understand what the poor man Kant was trying to do." However, such acknowledgment was rare; generally, there was a complete silence regarding the Germans. Bentham and his school inherited the fundamental traits of their philosophy from Locke, Hartley, and Helvétius; they possessed not so much a philosophical significance as a political one—acting as leaders of British radicalism, they inadvertently laid the groundwork for the teachings of socialism.

Jeremy Bentham, the recognized head of "philosophical radicalism," was far from the figure one might expect to lead such a movement. Born in 1748, he only became a radical in 1808. He was painfully shy and could scarcely bear the presence of unfamiliar company without trepidation. As a writer, he was highly prolific, yet he never took the trouble to publish his works himself. What was published under his name had been appropriated and printed by his well-meaning friends. His primary interest lay in jurisprudence, considering Helvétius and Beccaria his most significant predecessors in this field. It was in connection with legal theory that he began to take an interest in ethics and politics.

Bentham founded his entire philosophy on two principles: the "principle of association" and the "principle of the greatest happiness." The principle of association had been emphasized by Hartley in 1749; prior to Hartley, while the association of ideas was acknowledged, it was regarded (for instance, by Locke) merely as a source of trivial errors. Following Hartley, Bentham made it the central principle of psychology. He recognized the association of ideas with ideas, as well as the association of ideas with language. Through this principle, Bentham sought to provide a deterministic interpretation of spiritual phenomena. Essentially, this is the same doctrine as the more modern theory of "conditioned reflexes," based on Pavlov's experiments. The most significant difference between them is that Pavlov's conditioned reflex is physiological, while the association of ideas is purely spiritual. Thus, Pavlov's work can be given a materialistic explanation, as behaviorists have done, whereas the association of ideas leads rather to a psychology that is more or less independent of physiology. There is no doubt that, from a scientific perspective, the principle of the conditioned reflex represents an evolution of the older principle. Pavlov's principle posits that if a reflex exists whereby stimulus B evokes response C, and if it is given that some animal is frequently subjected to stimulus A simultaneously with B, it often happens that, after some time, stimulus A will elicit response C even in the absence of stimulus B. Determining the circumstances under which this occurs is the subject of experimentation. It is evident that if we replace A, B, and C with ideas, Pavlov's principle transforms into the principle of association of ideas.

Both principles are undoubtedly valid within a certain domain; the only contentious issue concerns the boundary of that domain. Bentham and his followers exaggerated the scope of Hartley's principle, much as some behaviorists have exaggerated the applicability of Pavlov's teachings.

For Bentham, determinism in psychology was significant because he desired to establish a code of laws and, more broadly, a social system that would automatically render individuals virtuous. His second principle, the principle of the greatest happiness, became necessary to define the concept of "virtue."

Bentham asserted that good is pleasure or happiness—he used these terms interchangeably—while evil is suffering. Therefore, one state of affairs is preferable to another if the balance tips in favor of pleasures rather than sufferings. Of all possible conditions, the best is the one in which pleasure far exceeds suffering.

In this conception, which came to be known as "utilitarianism," there is nothing new. It was first proposed by Hutcheson in 1725. Bentham attributed it to Priestley, who, however, had no particular claims to it. It was, in fact, also present in Locke. Bentham's merit lies not in the concept itself, but in his vigorous application of this concept to various practical issues.

Bentham argued not only that good is generally happiness but also that every individual invariably strives for what they consider their own happiness. Therefore, it is the duty of the legislator to establish a harmony between public and personal interests. It is in society's interest that I refrain from theft, but my interests also extend to areas where an effective criminal law exists. Thus, criminal law serves as a means of aligning individual interests with those of society. This is its justification.

A person must be punished according to the laws of criminal justice to prevent crimes, not because we hate the offender. It is more important that punishment be inevitable than that it be harsh. In his time, many trivial offenses in England were punishable by death. This led juries to frequently refuse to find defendants guilty, as they deemed the punishment excessive. Bentham advocated for the abolition of the death penalty for all crimes except the most serious, and during his lifetime, the Criminal Code was softened in this regard.

Civil law, Bentham stated, should pursue four objectives: security, abundance, safety, and equality. Notably, he did not mention freedom. In truth, he cared little for freedom. He admired benevolent autocrats who predated the French Revolution: Catherine the Great and Emperor Francis. He held the doctrine of human rights in deep contempt. Human rights, he claimed, are manifest nonsense; inalienable human rights are nonsense on stilts. When the French revolutionaries formulated their Declaration of the Rights of Man, Bentham termed it "a metaphysical work"—"the ne plus ultra of metaphysics." He contended that its provisions could be classified into three categories: 1) obscure, 2) false, and 3) both obscure and false.

Bentham's ideal, like that of Epicurus, was security rather than freedom. "It is better to read about wars and storms than to live better in peace and tranquility."

His gradual evolution toward radicalism had two sources: on one hand, a belief in equality derived from his calculations of pleasure and pain; on the other, an unwavering resolve to subject everything to the judgment of reason as he understood it. His love for equality early compelled him to advocate for the equal division of property among children and against the freedom of wills. Subsequently, it led him to condemn monarchy and hereditary aristocracy and to support full democracy, including voting rights for women. His refusal to believe in anything without reasonable grounds led him to reject religion, including belief in God; it spurred him to sharply criticize the absurdities and injustices within criminal law, no matter how venerable their historical origins. Bentham excused nothing on the grounds of tradition. From a young age, he condemned imperialism—both the English variety in America and that of other nations. He regarded colonies as folly.

The influence of James Mill inspired Bentham to engage in practical politics. James Mill, twenty-five years younger than Bentham, was a fervent follower of his teachings and an active radical. Bentham provided Mill with a house (formerly belonging to Milton) and offered him financial assistance while he wrote his History of India. Upon its completion, the East India Company appointed James Mill to a position, as it later did for his son, until its dissolution due to the Sepoy Rebellion. James Mill idolized Condorcet and Helvétius. Like all radicals of that era, he believed in the omnipotence of education. He applied these theories in the upbringing of his own son, John Stuart. The outcomes were partially good and partially bad. The most significant negative consequence was that John Stuart Mill could never fully emancipate himself from his father's influence, even upon realizing that his father's worldview suffered from narrowness.

James Mill, like Bentham, viewed pleasure as the sole good and suffering as the sole evil. However, akin to Epicurus, he valued moderate pleasures above all. He regarded intellectual joys as superior and moderation as the foremost virtue. “The word ’extremity’ in his mouth always carried a tone of contemptuous condemnation,” his son observes, adding that his father objected to the contemporary emphasis on feelings.

As with the entire utilitarian school, John Stuart Mill was an ardent opponent of romanticism in any form. He believed that reason should govern politics and hoped that public opinion would be shaped by the weight of evidence. If opposing sides in a dispute possessed equal skill, he maintained a moral confidence that the majority would judge correctly. His worldview was limited by the emotional poverty of his nature, yet within that limitation, he possessed such virtues as diligence, impartiality, and reasonableness.

His son, John Stuart, born in 1808, advanced Bentham's ideas in a somewhat softened form until his death in 1873.

Throughout the mid-nineteenth century, the influence of the Benthamites on British legislation and politics was remarkably significant, especially considering their complete lack of emotional appeal.

Bentham presented numerous arguments in defense of the view that the greatest happiness is the summum bonum. Some of these arguments sharply criticized other ethical theories. In his treatise on political sophisms, he employs language that seems to foreshadow Marx, asserting that sentimental and ascetic morality serves the interests of the ruling class and is a product of the aristocratic regime. Those who preach a morality of sacrifice, he continues, are not victims of error; they desire others to sacrifice themselves for them. The moral order, he posits, results from a balance of interests. The ruling corporation strives to convince everyone that a coincidence of interests between the rulers and the ruled already exists. However, reformers reveal that this coincidence has yet to materialize and endeavor to establish it. Bentham asserts that only the principle of utility can provide criteria for morality and legislation and lay the foundations for social science. His primary positive argument in favor of this principle is that it is indeed implied in the most varied ethical systems. This, however, is plausible only if one significantly restricts the range of ethical systems under consideration.

Bentham's system contains a glaring flaw. If each person pursues their own pleasure, how can we ensure that the legislator will care for the pleasure of humanity as a whole? Bentham's own instinctive benevolence (which his psychological theories failed to reveal to him) obscured this problem. Were he tasked with drafting a code of laws for some country, he would base it on what he believed to be the interests of society. He would not pursue his own interests or (consciously) the interests of his class. However, had he acknowledged this fact, he would have had to revise his psychological doctrine. Apparently, he believed that through democracy combined with appropriate oversight, legislators could be controlled in such a way that they could pursue their personal interests only by being beneficial to society. In his time, there was scant material to form judgments about the activities of democratic institutions, so his optimism is excusable, but in our disillusioned age, it appears somewhat naïve.

In his "Utilitarianism," John Stuart Mill offers an argument so erroneous that it is hard to understand how he himself could believe in its validity. He states: “Pleasure is the only thing that is desired. Therefore, pleasure is the only desirable thing.” He argues that the only things that can be seen are those that are visible, the only things that can be heard are those that are audible, and similarly, the only things that can be desired are those that are wished for. He fails to notice that something is "visible" if it can be seen, but "desirable" if it ought to be desired. Thus, "desirable" is a term that presupposes some ethical theory. We cannot deduce what is desirable from what is wished for. Furthermore, if each person truly and inevitably pursues their own pleasures, it is pointless to state that they ought to do something else. Kant insisted that "You ought" implies "You can," and conversely, if you cannot, it is futile to say that you ought to. If every person must always strive for their own pleasures, ethics is reduced to prudence. You must act rightly to promote the interests of others in the hope that they will in turn promote your own interests. Similarly, in politics, cooperation becomes a matter of mutual benefit. No other conclusions can be reasonably derived from the premises of utilitarians.

Here, two distinct questions arise: 1) Does every individual genuinely strive for their own happiness? 2) Is the collective happiness indeed the ultimate goal towards which human action ought to aspire?

The assertion that every person desires their own happiness can possess two interpretations, one of which is a truism, while the other is false. Regardless of what I may happen to desire, I will derive some pleasure from fulfilling that desire. In this sense, everything I wish for amounts to some form of pleasure, and it can be stated—albeit somewhat too generally—that I desire pleasures. This interpretation embodies the truism.

However, if we consider the claim that when I desire something, it is because of the pleasure it brings me, such a statement is generally inaccurate. When I am hungry, I wish to eat, and as long as hunger persists, food provides me with pleasure. Yet hunger—the desire—comes first, while pleasure is the consequence of that desire. I do not deny that there are instances where one directly desires pleasure. For example, if you decide to spend a free evening at the theater, you will choose a theater that you believe will yield the greatest pleasure. But such actions, defined by a direct desire for pleasure, are exceptional and not of great significance. The primary activities of any individual are determined by desires that precede calculations of pleasure and suffering.

The object of desire can be anything: for instance, a masochist may wish to experience pain. Undoubtedly, the masochist derives pleasure from the pain they desire; yet this pleasure arises from the desire, not vice versa. A person may wish for something that does not personally affect them, except for the desire itself; for example, they may desire a certain country to win a war in which their own nation remains neutral. They might wish for an increase in general happiness or a decrease in collective suffering. Alternatively, they may, like Carlyle, wish for the exact opposite. As their desires change, so too do their pleasures.

Ethics is necessary because the desires of different people often conflict with one another. The primary cause of conflicts is egoism: most individuals are more concerned with their own well-being than with the well-being of others. However, conflicts can arise even when the element of egoism is absent. One person may desire that everyone become Catholics, while another wishes for everyone to become Calvinists. Such non-egoistic desires often incite social conflicts. Ethics has a dual purpose: first, to find criteria for distinguishing between good and bad desires; second, to uphold good desires through praise and criticism while suppressing the bad.

The ethical component of utilitarianism, which is logically independent of its psychological aspect, posits that those desires and actions that genuinely promote collective happiness are good. In this context, what matters is not the intention behind the action, but its outcome. Are there substantial theoretical arguments for or against this doctrine? We have already encountered a similar question regarding Nietzsche. His ethics diverges from utilitarianism, as he believes that only a minority of the human race is ethically significant, and the happiness or unhappiness of the rest should be of no consequence. I do not believe that this disagreement can be resolved through theoretical arguments akin to those used in scientific matters. It is evident that those excluded from Nietzsche's aristocracy will object to this. Thus, the subject of dispute becomes political rather than theoretical.

Utilitarian ethics is democratic and anti-romantic. Democrats are inclined to accept it, but those who prefer a Byronic worldview can, in my opinion, be refuted only through practice, rather than through arguments appealing solely to facts and not to desires.

Philosophical radicalism served as an intermediary school. It gave rise to two systems more significant than itself, namely Darwinism and socialism. Darwinism is the application of Malthus's population theory to all animal and plant life, which was a crucial aspect of the politics and economics of Bentham's followers. It embodies universal free competition, where victory is awarded to those animals most resembling the fortunate capitalist. Darwin himself was influenced by Malthus and generally sympathized with philosophical radicalism. However, there is a significant distinction between the competition praised by orthodox economists and the struggle for existence proclaimed by Darwin as the driving force of evolution. "Free competition" in orthodox economics is a highly artificial concept bound by legal constraints. You may sell at a lower price than your competitor, but you are not permitted to kill them. You must not employ the armed forces of the state to aid in triumphing over foreign manufacturers. Those unfortunate enough to lack capital should not seek to improve their fortunes through revolution. The "free competition" as understood by Bentham's followers was in no way genuinely free.

Darwinian competition lacks these constraints. "Below the belt" strikes are not prohibited. In the animal kingdom, there are no limitations imposed by law. Warfare as a method of competition is also not excluded. The use of the state to defeat a competitor was against the rules in the understanding of Bentham's followers, yet it cannot be dismissed from the struggle, according to Darwin. Indeed, while Darwin was a liberal and Nietzsche never referred to Darwin without disgust, Darwin's notion of "the survival of the fittest" leads, if thoroughly comprehended, to something much more reminiscent of Nietzsche's philosophy than of Bentham's. Such conclusions from Darwin's teaching, however, pertain to a later period, as Darwin's "On the Origin of Species" was published in 1859, and its political implications were not immediately recognized.

In contrast, socialism emerged in the days of the flourishing of Benthamism as a direct result of the evolution of orthodox economics. Ricardo, closely associated with Bentham, Malthus, and J. Mill, taught that the exchange value of a commodity is entirely dependent on the labor expended in its production. He published his theory in 1817, and eight years later, Thomas Hodgskin, a former naval officer, published the first socialist pamphlet, "Labour Defended Against the Claims of Capital." He argued that if, as Ricardo teaches, all value is created by labor, then all remuneration should belong to the laborers. The share currently received by landowners and capitalists is nothing more than sheer extortion.

Meanwhile, Robert Owen, after a lengthy career as a manufacturer, arrived at a doctrine that soon came to be known as socialism. (The term "socialist" was first applied in 1827 to Owen's followers.) He asserted that machines are displacing manual labor, and laissez-faire does not provide the working class with sufficient means to combat the might of machines. The method he proposed for addressing this evil was the earliest form of modern socialism.

Though Owen was a friend of Bentham, who invested a significant sum in Owen’s endeavors, the philosophical radicals did not embrace Owen’s new teachings. In fact, the advent of socialism rendered them less radical and less philosophical than they had previously been. Godkin garnered a following in London, which alarmed J. Mill. He wrote:

“Their notions of property appear grotesque... they seem to believe that there should be no property and that its existence is a bane for them. I have no doubt that among them there are charlatans... Fools! They do not see that what they wish for in their madness would be such a calamity for them that no one could inflict it upon them but themselves.”

This letter, penned in 1831, can be regarded as the beginning of a long struggle between capitalism and socialism. In a subsequent letter, J. Mill attributes the teachings of socialism to Godkin’s “mad nonsense” and adds: “These opinions, if they were to spread, would amount to a subversion of civilized society, worse than the devastating invasions of the Huns and Tatars.”

Socialism, as a political and economic doctrine, does not pertain to the realm of the history of philosophy. However, in the hands of Karl Marx, socialism acquired a philosophical foundation. His philosophy will be examined in the next chapter.