Читать книгу The Origin and Development of the Moral Ideas - Edward Westermarck - Страница 72

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

Our analysis will be concerned with moral concepts formed by the civilised mind. Whilst the most representative of English terms for moral estimates have equivalents in the other European languages, I do not take upon myself to decide to what extent they have equivalents in non-European tongues. That all existing peoples, even the very lowest, have moral emotions is as certain as that they have customs, and there can be no doubt that they give expression to those emotions in their speech. But it is another question how far their emotions have led to such generalisations as are implied in moral concepts. Concerning the Fuegians M. Hyades observes, “Les idées abstraites sont chez eux à peu près nulles. Il est difficile de définir exactement ce qu’ils appellent un homme bon et un homme méchant; mais à coup sûr ils n’ont pas la notion de ce qui est bon ou mauvais, abstraction faite de l’individu ou de l’objet auquel ils appliqueraient l’un ou l’autre de ces attributs.”1 The language of the Californian Karok, though rich in its vocabulary, is said to possess no equivalent for “virtue.”2 In the aboriginal tongues of the highlanders of Central India “there seem to be no expressions for abstract ideas, the few such which they possess being derived from the Hindí. … . The nomenclature of religious ceremony, of moral qualities, and of nearly all the arts of life they possess, are all Hindí.”3 On a strict examination of the language of the Tonga Islanders, Mariner could discover “no words essentially expressive of some of the higher qualities of human merit, as virtue, justice, humanity; nor of the contrary, as vice, injustice, cruelty, &c. They have indeed expressions for these ideas,” he adds, but these expressions “are equally applicable to other things. To express a virtuous or good man, they would say, tangata lillé, a good man, or tangata loto lillé, a man with a good mind; but the word lillé, good (unlike our word virtuous), is equally applicable to an axe, canoe, or anything else.”4 Of the Australian natives about Botany Bay and Port Jackson Collins wrote, “That they have ideas of a distinction between good and bad is evident from their having terms in their language significant of these qualities.” A fish of which they never ate, was wee-re, or bad, whereas the kangaroo was bood-yer-re, or good; and these expressions were used not only for qualities which they perceived by their senses, but for all kinds of badness and goodness, and were the only terms they had for wrong and right. “Their enemies were wee-re; their friends bood-yer-re. On our speaking of cannibalism, they expressed great horror at the mention, and said it was wee-re. On seeing any of our people punished or reproved for ill-treating them, they expressed their approbation, and said it was bood-yer-re, it was right.”5

1 Hyades and Deniker, Mission scientifique du Cap Horn, vii. 251.

2 Powers, Tribes of California, p. 22.

3 Forsyth, Highlands of Central India, p. 139.

4 Mariner, Natives of the Tonga Islands, ii. 147 sq.

5 Collins, English Colony in New South Wales, i. 548 sq.

Considering, moreover, that even the European languages make use of such general terms as “good” and “bad” for the purpose of expressing moral qualities, it seems likely that, originally, moral concepts were not clearly differentiated from other more comprehensive generalisations, and that they assumed a more definite shape only by slow degrees. At the same time we must not expect to find the beginning of this process reflected in the vocabularies of languages. There is every reason to believe that a savage practically distinguishes between the “badness” of a man and the “badness” of a piece of food, although he may form no clear idea of the distinction. As Professor Wundt observes, “the phenomena of language do not admit of direct translation back again into ethical processes: the ideas themselves are different from their vehicles of expression, and here as everywhere the external mark is later than the internal act for which it stands.”6 Language is a rough generaliser; even superficial resemblance between different phenomena often suffices to establish linguistic identity between them. Compare the rightness of a line with the rightness of conduct, the wrongness of an opinion with the wrongness of an act. And notice the different significations given to the verb “ought” in the following sentences:—“They ought to be in town by this time, as the train left Paris last night”; “If you wish to be healthy you ought to rise early”; “You ought always to speak the truth.” Though it may be shown that in these statements the predicate “ought” signifies something which they all have in common—the reference to a rule,7—we must by no means assume that this constitutes the essence of the moral “ought,” or gives us the clue to its origin.

6 Wundt, Ethik, p. 36 (English translation, p. 44).

7 Cf. Stephen, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, p. 343 sq.

Discarding all questions of etymology as irrelevant to our subject,8 we shall, in our analysis of moral concepts, endeavour to fix the true import of each concept by examining how, and under what circumstances, the term expressing it is generally applied. We shall restrict ourselves to the principal, typical terms which are used as predicates in moral judgments. If we succeed in proving that they are all fundamentally derived from either moral indignation or moral approval, there can be no reasonable doubt as to the origin of the rest.

8 The attempt to apply the philological method to an examination of moral concepts has, in my opinion, proved a failure—which may be seen from Mr. Baynes’ book on The Idea of God and the Moral Sense in the Light of Language.

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

The moral law is expressed by the term ought, a term which, in modern ethics, generally occupies a central position among moral predicates. The notion which it embodies is frequently looked upon as ultimate and incapable of analysis—“too elementary” (to quote Professor Sidgwick) “to admit of any formal definition.”9 This view, I think, instead of simplifying the matter, has been one of the chief causes of the prevailing confusion in ethical thought.

9 Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, p. 33.

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

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

The conation expressed in “ought” is determined by the idea that the mode of conduct which ought to be performed is not, or will possibly not be, performed. It is also this idea of its not being performed that determines the emotion which gives to “ought” the character of a moral predicate. The doing of what ought not to be done, or the omission of what ought not to be omitted, is apt to call forth moral indignation—this is the most essential fact involved in the notion of “ought.” Every “ought”-judgment contains implicitly a negation. Nobody would ever have dreamt of laying down a moral rule if the idea of its transgression had not presented itself to his mind. We may reverse the words of the Apostle,10 and say that where no transgression is, there is no law. When Solon was asked why he had specified no punishment for one who had murdered a father, he replied that he supposed it could not occur to any man to commit such a crime.11 Similarly, the modern Shintoist concludes that the primæval Japanese were pure and holy from the fact that they are represented as a people who had no moral commandments.12 It is this prohibitive character of “ought” that has imparted to duty that idea of antagonism to inclination which has found its most famous expression in the Kantian ethics, and which made Bentham look upon the word itself as having in it “something disagreeable and repulsive.”13 It is the intrinsic connection between “ought” and “wrong” that has given to duty the most prominent place in ethical speculation whenever moral pessimism has been predominant. Whilst the ancient Greeks, with whom happiness was the state of nature, never spoke of duty, but held virtue to be the Supreme Good, Christianity, on the other hand, which looked upon man as a being born and bred in sin, regarded morals pre-eminently as the science of duty. Then, again, in modern times, Kant’s categorical imperative came as a reaction against that moral optimism which once more had given the preference to virtue, considering everything in the world or in humanity as beautiful and good from the very beginning.14 It is also worth noting that the feeling of self-complacency connected with the consciousness of having acted in accordance with the law of duty, has no distinctively expressive name in ordinary language, while the opposite feeling is known by so familiar and distinctive a term as “remorse.” This is not, as has been said,15 “a significant indication of the moral condition of mankind,” but a significant indication of the true import of the notion of duty itself.

10 Romans, iv. 15.

11 Diogenes Laërtius, Solon, 10. Cicero, Pro S. Roscio Amerino, 25.

12 Griffis, Religions of Japan, p. 72.

13 Bentham, Deontoiogy, i. 10.

14 Ziegler, Social Ethics, pp. 22, 75 sq.

15 Murray, Introduction to Ethics, p. 108.

It is not, then, in the emotion of approval that we must seek for the origin of this concept. We may undoubtedly applaud him who is faithful to his duty, but the idea of duty involves no applause. There is no contradiction in the omission of an act being disapproved of and the performance of it being praised. “Ought” and “duty” express only the tendency of an omission to call forth disapproval, and say nothing about the consequences of the act’s performance. The conscientious man refuses the homage paid to him, by saying, “I have only done my duty.” Duty is a “stern lawgiver,” who threatens with punishment, but promises no reward.16

16 The intrinsic connection between duty and disapproval has previously been noticed by Stuart Mill (in a note to James Mill’s Analysis of the Human Mind, ii. 325), according to whom “no case can be pointed out in which we consider anything as a duty, and any act or omission as immoral or wrong, without regarding the person who commits the wrong and violates the duty as a fit object of punishment.” Cf. also Bain, Emotions and the Will, ch. 15, and Gizycki, Introduction to the Study of Ethics, English adaptation by Stanton Coit, p. 102 sq.

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

"Wrong” is popularly regarded as the opposite of right, and they are really contradictories, but only within the sphere of positive moral valuation. We do not call the actions of irresponsible beings, like animals or infants, “right,” although they are not wrong; nor do we pronounce morally indifferent actions of responsible beings to be “right,” unless we wish thereby especially to mark their moral value as not being wrong. An act which is permissible is of course not wrong, and so far it may be said to be right; but it would be more accurate to say that people have a right to do it. The adjective “right,” in its strict sense, refers to cases from which the indifferent is excluded. A right action is, on a given occasion, the right action, and other alternatives are wrong. “Right” is thus closely related to “ought,” but at the same time "right” and “obligatory” are not identical. I cannot quite subscribe to the view of Professor Sidgwick, that “in the recognition of conduct as ‘right’ is involved an authoritative prescription to do it.”17 What is right is in accordance with the moral law; the adjective “right” means that duty is fulfilled. It is true that the super-obligatory also is right. But “right” takes no notice of the super-obligatory as distinct from the obligatory, and what goes beyond duty always involves the fulfilment of some duty. It may be admitted to be “not only right,” but not to be more right. Right has no comparative. A duty is either fulfilled or not, and unless it be perfectly fulfilled the conduct is wrong. There are degrees of wrongness and of goodness, as the moral indignation and the moral approval may be stronger or weaker, but there are no degrees of rightness.

17 Sidgwick, op. cit. p. 106.

The fact that the right action is a duty fulfilled accounts for the erroneous opinion so generally held by ethical writers that “right” is intrinsically connected with moral approval.18 The choice of the right alternative may give us satisfaction and call forth in us an emotion of approval. This emotion may be the motive for our pointing out the rightness of the act, and the judgment in which we do so may even intrinsically contain applause. The manner in which the judgment “That is right,” is pronounced, often shows that it is meant to be an expression of praise. But this does not imply that the concept “right” by itself has reference to moral approval and involves praise. It only means that in one word is expressed a certain concept—the concept that a duty is fulfilled—plus an emotion of approval. That “right” per se involves no praise is obvious from the fact that we regard it as perfectly right to pay a debt and to keep a promise, or to abstain from killing, robbing, or lying, although such acts or omissions generally have no tendency whatever to evoke in us an emotion of moral approval.

18 Hutcheson, Essay on the Nature and Conduct of the Passions and Affections, with Illustrations on the Moral Sense, p. 279. Clifford, Lectures and Essays, pp. 294, 304 sq. Fowler and Wilson, Principles of Morals, ii. 199. Alexander, Moral Order and Progress, p. 399.

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

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

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

It is commonly said that rights have their corresponding duties. But if this expression is to be used, it must be remembered that the duty which “corresponds” to a right, as a matter of fact, is either included in that right or simply identical with it. The identity between the right and the duty, then, consists in this, that the notion of a right belonging to a person is identical with the notion of a duty towards him. Rights and duties are not identical in the sense that it is always a duty to insist on a right, though this has been urged.19 If anybody prevents me from making use of my right it may no doubt be deemed a duty on my part not to tolerate the wrong committed against me, but nothing of the kind is involved in the concept of a right. And the same may be said with reference to the assertion that a right to do a thing is always, at the same time, a duty to do it—an assertion which is a consequence of the doctrine that there is nothing morally indifferent and nothing that goes beyond duty; in other words, that all conduct of responsible beings is either wrong or obligatory. Even if this doctrine were psychologically correct—which it is not—even if there were a constant coincidence between the acts which a person has a right to perform and acts which it is his duty to perform, that would not constitute identity between the concepts of rights and duties. According to the meaning of a right, A’s right may be B’s duty towards A, but A’s right cannot be A’s duty towards B or anybody else.

19 Alexander, op. cit. p. 146 sq.

Closely connected with the notions of wrongness and rightness are the notions of injustice and justice. Injustice, indeed, is a kind of wrongness. To be unjust is always to be unjust to somebody, and this implies a doing of wrong to somebody, a violation of somebody’s right. “Justice,” again, is a kind of rightness. It involves the notion that a duty to somebody, a duty corresponding to a right, is fulfilled;20 we say that justice “demands” that it should be fulfilled. As an act is “right” if its omission is wrong, so an act is “just,” in the strict sense of the word, if its omission is unjust. But, like the adjective “right,” the adjective “just” is also sometimes used in a wider sense, to denote that something is “not unjust.” As non-obligatory acts that are “not wrong” can hardly be denied to be “right,” so non-obligatory acts that are “not unjust” can hardly be denied to be “just,” although they are not demanded by justice.

20 According to the Institutiones of Justinian (i. 1. 1) “justice is the constant and perpetual will to render to each one his right,”—“justitia est constans et perpetua voluntas jus suum cuique tribuens.”

At the same time, “injustice” and “justice” are not simply other names for violating or respecting rights. Whenever we style an act “unjust,” we emphasise that it involves partiality. We do not denominate murder and robbery unjust, but wrong or criminal, because the partiality involved in their commission is quite obscured by their general wrongness or criminality; but we at once admit their gross injustice when we consider that the murderer and robber indulged their own inclinations with utter disregard of their neighbours’ rights. And we look upon “unjust” as an exceedingly appropriate term for a judge who condemns an innocent man with the intention to save the culprit, and for an employer who keeps for himself a profit which he ought to share with his employees. Again, when we style an act “just,” in the strict sense of the term, we point out that an undue preference would have been shown to somebody by its omission. It is true that, as Adam Smith observes, “we may often fulfil all the rules of justice by sitting still and doing nothing,”21 and that the man who barely abstains from violating either the person or the estate or the reputation of his neighbours so far does justice to them; but in such a case we hardly apply the epithet “just,” simply because there is no reason for emphasising the partiality involved in the opposite mode of conduct. On the other hand, we say it is just, or, more emphatically, that justice demands, that the innocent should not suffer in the place of the guilty, or that the employer should give his employees all their dues.