The Utilitarian John Stuart Mill

Chapter Introduction

Two competing impulses struggle to control the general direction of any society: a desire for change and progress and a desire for security and order. To do justice to both tendencies, free societies struggle to balance individual rights and freedoms with the general social welfare, what's best for everyone. The problem is, not everyone agrees about what's best for everyone. It is vain to talk of the interest of the community, without understanding what is in the interest of the individual. A thing is said to promote the interest, or to be for the interest, of an individual when it tends to add to the sum total of his pleasures; or, what comes to the same thing, to diminish the sum total of his pains. — Jeremy Bentham As contemporary life grows more complex and the world more populous, competing interests, limited resources, and conflicting beliefs make dealing with all sorts of issues increasingly touchy. What seems obvious, fair, and just to one group often seems unfair and unjust to other groups. The wants of the privileged appear to conflict with the wants—and needs—of the many. If you traveled to work or school today on a major roadway, you may have benefited from someone else's loss. Suppose that when the community decided to build the highway that now benefits you and thousands of others, engineers determined that the best route for most people cut straight through a family farm. Based on that information, the local government, on behalf of the majority of citizens, would try to buy the land. Such an offer is technically only a courtesy, for virtually every community in this country can appropriate private land—at a "fair market price"—under what is called the right of eminent domain. If the owners don't want to sell, they can be forced to on the grounds that the general welfare takes precedence over individual preferences. The use of eminent domain to promote the "greater good" is an application of a philosophical principle that's become so entrenched in our culture that many of us take it for granted. It is the principle that, although individual rights and desires must be respected, the good of the majority ultimately takes precedence over the happiness of any one individual or small group of individuals. Greatest-happiness reasoning limits when we can run our loud leaf blowers; it also prevents us from refusing to rent apartments to people of ethnicities, gender orientations, or ages we may not like. Immediately after the events of September 11, 2001, the federal government initiated time-consuming and annoying security checks at airports. A year later, security procedures were modified in an effort to balance security and convenience for the largest number of travelers while jeopardizing the smallest number. From matters of the gravest concern to mundane decisions about what to have for dinner, groups almost instinctively try to make as many people as possible as happy as possible. In this chapter, we'll look at utilitarianism, a modern application of hedonism that was first formulated by the British philosopher Jeremy Bentham. Bentham's simple utilitarianism was refined by his friend and student John Stuart Mill into one of today's most influential moral and social philosophies. (Hedonism is discussed in Chapter 7.)

The Principle of Utility

In contrast to Kant, who would have dismissed Bentham's work as "anthropology," Bentham attempted to base his philosophy on careful consideration and observation of social conditions and actual human behavior. Like Aristippus before him (Chapter 7), Bentham declared that careful observation of actual behavior makes it crystal clear that pain and pleasure shape all human activity. As he says in the famous opening passage of An Introduction to Principles of Morals and Legislation: I. Nature has placed mankind under the governance of two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure. It is for them alone to point out what we ought to do, as well as determine what we shall do. On the one hand the standard of right and wrong, on the other the chain of causes and effects, are fastened to their throne. They govern us in all we do, in all we say, in all we think: every effort we can make to throw off our subjection will serve but to demonstrate and confirm it. In words man pretends to abjure their empire; but in reality he will remain subject to it all the while. The principle of utility recognizes this subjection and assumes it for the foundation of that system, the object of which is to rear the fabric of felicity by the hands of reason and of law. Systems which attempt to question it deal in sounds instead of sense, in caprice instead of reason, in darkness instead of light. In other words, Bentham espouses both psychological hedonism (pain and pleasure "determine what we shall do") and ethical hedonism (pain and pleasure "alone . . . point out what we ought to do"). Thus, the principle of utility is sometimes referred to as the pleasure principle. The term utility has two related meanings. Utility can refer to a thing's usefulness, to how well it performs a specific function. In this sense, a strictly utilitarian automobile might have standard wheels and only the most practical accessories, such as rear-window defrosters or antilock brakes. Although this no-frills notion of utility enters into Bentham's meaning, he generally uses the term to mean pleasure-producing or pain-avoiding. We might simplify that to pleasure-maximizing, if we remember that sometimes the best we can do to maximize pleasure is minimize pain. Having asserted both ethical and psychological hedonism, and having described what he meant by utility, Bentham made a move that revolutionized the concept of hedonism: He enlarged the ethical interests of the hedonist. And since he thought we are all hedonists, whether we know it or not, this amounted to enlarging everyone's general ethical obligation. Bentham transformed personal hedonism into a potent social and ethical philosophy, using the principle of utility: Act always to promote the greatest happiness for the greatest number. Although Bentham's successor John Stuart Mill coined the term utilitarianism, philosophers sometimes also refer to Bentham's philosophy as utilitarianism. To avoid confusion, we'll refer to Bentham's philosophy as simple utilitarianism to distinguish it from Mill's more refined and elaborate version, which we'll refer to as utilitarianism.

The Egoistic Foundation of Social Concern

Like Aristippus, Bentham claimed that psychological egoism is natural and universal. Psychological egoism asserts that we are always interested chiefly in our own welfare, whether or not we admit it. That's not to say we don't care about anyone or anything else, but this caring is based on how things affect our own happiness. People we love give us pleasure, and pleasure is in our self-interest. People we hate cause us pain, which is not in our self-interest. To those who cause us neither pain nor pleasure, we remain indifferent. If the psychological egoist is correct, all ethical systems, regardless of their terminology, attempt to maximize pleasure and minimize pain. They may speak of right and wrong, good and bad, and so forth, but these terms all reduce to pleasure and pain. Reason is simply a tool that helps us determine whether our actions will result in more pain or more pleasure. Bentham's calculating concept of reason contrasts significantly with Kant's concept of the good will (Chapter 11). Building on this egoistic foundation, Bentham thought that if people could be shown how a better society for others would result in less pain and more pleasure for them, genuine social reform would occur. That is, natural self-interest provides an egoistic hook that shows how our individual welfare is inseparable from social welfare. Thus, the proper role of government must be to ensure that the enlightened self-interest of each individual is allowed to develop. Further, to promote the greatest possible happiness for the greatest number, laws and regulations must be not only fair and effective but also designed to motivate people to consider others' welfare as well as their own. Bentham, along with other liberal laissez-faire reformers, made a revolutionary connection between the welfare of the individual and the welfare of the community by trying to show how clear-thinking "selfishness" could produce a better world. Rather than chastise us for being self-interested, Bentham sought to take advantage of it. Have I a genius for anything? What can I produce? . . . What, of all earthly pursuits, is the most important? Legislation. Have I a genius for legislation? I gave myself the answer, fearfully and tremblingly: "Yes." — Jeremy Bentham Let's examine Bentham's egoistic hook by considering an actual issue. During a heated debate over a severe cut in tax money available for schools, a number of letters to the editor of a local newspaper made this basic point: "I have paid my dues. My children are grown and I've paid taxes for years. Why should I pay to send someone else's children to school? Let their families pay." These letters reflected a disappointing lack of enlightened self-interest. It is in every individual's self-interest—even individuals who don't have children themselves—to see that all children get a good education. Poorly educated people are much more likely to be unemployed or dependent on government assistance than are adequately educated ones. Moreover, if poorly educated people turn to crime for survival, the rest of us will have to live in fear and to pay for more judges, district attorneys, police officers, and jails; we'll see a general decline in our own social services. Thus, it is clearly in every individual's interest for as many children as possible to grow up to be well-educated, productive (happy) members of society. Bentham's move was motivationally brilliant. In one fell swoop he found a way to link individual self-interest and the good of the community. Egoistic utilitarian logic is concrete and practical, based on everyday concerns and foreseeable consequences. We need not be able to reason abstractly to understand the basic appeal of the greatest happiness principle. Such reasoning, however, remains egoistic and potentially destructive, for whatever sense of community it creates is based chiefly on selfish concerns, not compassion or empathy.

Mill's Crisis

When he was twenty, Mill began to pay the high price of his hothouse education in earnest with a depression or breakdown he described as a "dry heavy dejection": I seemed to have nothing left to live for. At first I hoped that the cloud would pass away of itself; but it did not. A night's sleep, the sovereign remedy for the smaller vexations of life, had no effect upon it. In vain I sought relief from my favourite books, those memorials of past nobleness and greatness from which I had always hitherto drawn strength and animation. I read them now without feeling, or with the accustomed feeling minus all its charm; and I became persuaded that my love of mankind, and of excellence for its own sake, had worn itself out. Mill blamed the strict, critical, analytic environment he was raised in for robbing him of his feelings by conditioning him to believe that only facts and reasons, only the objective, mattered. But a finely honed analytic mind, unaided by emotion, cannot provide life with meaning: I was . . . left stranded at the commencement of my voyage, with a well equipped ship and rudder, but no sail; without any real desire for the ends which I had been so carefully fitted out to work for; no delight in virtue or the general good, but also just as little in anything else. Mill was eventually able to pull himself out of his depression and begin the process of becoming a more integrated person by studying music and Romantic poetry. After reading a passage about the way a father's death affected his son in the memoirs of a French writer, Mill had an emotional catharsis that opened him to a wider range of experience. Aided by his superior intellect, Mill developed a fuller and deeper insight into the human condition than his two teachers knew. Although he had bouts of depression for the rest of his life, and although he is reported to have remained rather serious, John Stuart Mill became a compassionate champion of the oppressed and a brilliant defender of classical liberal principles.

Commentary

Although the basic appeal of Bentham's utilitarianism is obvious, Bentham's failure to consider the quality of pleasures is, I think, a fatal flaw. Moreover, the hedonic calculus is arbitrary and subjective, not scientific, as Bentham claimed. It is also probably unworkable. Yet Bentham's attempt to construct a fact-based social ethic is important and generally helpful. It saves both Bentham and Mill from what some philosophers see as Kant's overemphasis on the good will at the expense of actual consequences. It also may provide a more feasible moral code for the average person than does Kant's, since it relies less on abstract reasoning and more on such common practices as calculation of self-interest and desire for basic, identifiable happiness. The difficulties with Mill's philosophy, as might be expected, are more subtle. He fails to completely resolve the tension between hedonism and altruism, though his "altruistic hedonism" is truly different from Bentham's more egoistic hedonism—if indeed Mill's position is hedonistic. Mill's consideration of quality is important and necessary if utilitarianism is to be anything more than another appeal to pleasure. His attempts to rate the quality of pleasures according to the judgment of those who have experienced them is intriguing but probably cannot be empirically supported. After all, couldn't there be some people well versed in, say, both art movies and slasher movies who prefer the latter? And let's not overlook the possible influence of social class and training involved in ranking pleasures. It may be tempting to say that the general public has low taste, but is this anything but the opinion of an educated, culturally conditioned elite? Mill was an aristocrat—by influence, intellect, and training. Today, postmodern philosophers claim that distinguishing between higher and lower pleasures reflects an inbred, elitist cultural bias. Other contemporary moral philosophers have uncovered interesting and troubling problems with utilitarianism in general. Some of these stem from the possibility that an emphasis on the greatest happiness of the greatest number can result in immoral actions. Suppose, for instance, that the vast majority (the greatest number) of a community derives great pleasure (the greatest happiness) from harassing a small minority. There seem to be no clearly utilitarian grounds on which to condemn them. If enough Nazis derive enough pleasure from exterminating a Jewish minority, aren't they thereby generating the greatest happiness for the greatest number? Mill could argue (as he did, in effect, in his essay On Liberty) that the rights of minorities must be protected from what Alexis de Tocqueville called "the tyranny of the majority," since everyone is likely to be in a minority on some issue. But that's a factual prediction. What if the present majority doesn't believe Mill, or care? We should seek the general happiness because it will make us happier. No doubt Mill, like many others, thought that this was true as it may well be. But this is not relevant. For utilitarianism is out to show that we ought to have regard for the interests of other people on moral grounds. — Jan Narveson Problems also arise when we treat the principle of utility as a way of averaging out "units" of happiness. Is there no difference between a community of fifty persons in which one hundred units of pleasure are distributed among twenty people and another fifty-person community in which everybody has two units? In both cases the "totality of pleasure" remains the same. Even if we know an action will result in the greatest possible happiness for the greatest number, we can—and should—still ask, "But is it right?" The fact that such a question is meaningful suggests that morality is based on more than just considerations of happiness, even the happiness of everybody. Indifference to our own or others' happiness violates the Kantian principle of dignity, but so does a strictly utilitarian exclusion of everything but considerations of happiness. All that being so, Bentham and Mill have given us one of the most important ethical philosophies of the modern era. If we look beyond their philosophies, we see two diligent social reformers whose lives certainly transcended hedonism. Both lived altruistically. In their efforts to make philosophy matter, both reaffirm the pursuit of wisdom. And time after time, Mill's strongest arguments move well beyond strictly defined utilitarian principles. Without directly referring to wisdom, Mill's educational philosophy is nonetheless a call to wisdom. Consider, in closing, the following passage from Mill's Autobiography. Referring to the time of his crisis, it reveals that early on, Mill's wisdom was deeper than his utilitarianism could accommodate: In the golden rule of Jesus of Nazareth, we read the complete spirit of the ethics of utility. — John Stuart Mill I never, indeed, wavered in the conviction that happiness is the test of all rules of conduct, and the end of life. But now I thought that this end was only to be attained by not making it the direct end. Those only are happy (I thought) who have their minds fixed on some object other than their own happiness; on the happiness of others, on the improvement of mankind, even on some art or pursuit, followed not as a means, but as itself an ideal end. Aiming thus at something else, they find happiness by the way. The enjoyments of life (such was now my theory) are sufficient to make it a pleasant thing, when they are taken en passant, without being made a principal object. Once make them so, and they are immediately felt to be insufficient. They will not bear a scrutinizing examination. Ask yourself whether you are happy, and you cease to be so. The only chance is to treat, not happiness, but some end external to it, as the purpose of life.

Utilitarian Social Logic

An excellent example of enlightened utilitarian reasoning can be found in a brief examination of the rationale behind school desegregation and busing, which caused so much controversy beginning with the civil rights movement of the 1950s and lasting into the 1970s. At the time, some people argued for "separate but equal" schooling for black and white children. Close analysis of actual conditions showed that "separate but equal" was not possible, because most entirely black schools were in communities with inadequate tax bases to support good schools. Wealthier communities attracted the best teachers because they could offer better salaries, facilities, equipment, and teaching conditions. How could utilitarian social reformers use empirical information to improve education for all children? One utilitarian solution to school integration was to take advantage of the self-interest of those parents with the most social and political influence. How could this be done? By sending their children to schools in other neighborhoods. The corollary to this, of course, involved busing black children to white schools. Even if many families resented school busing and integration, in the long run their unhappiness would be balanced against a greater good for society as a whole. What is utilitarian about this? Recall that Mill argued that we must be dispassionate, impartial spectators to everyone's interest, our own included. When I am not thinking exclusively of my own child, for example, it's clear that everyone is better off if all children go to good schools. But if I cannot—or will not—think dispassionately and objectively, I must be given a personally effective motive, an egoistic hook. One way to hook me is to send my child to an inferior school, so that my self-centered interest in my own child can be tapped to improve that school's quality, which will benefit other people's children as well as my own. Until we all possess the "nobler sentiments" Mill praised, we may need to be moved to act for the general good by considerations of narrow self-interest. Believing that consequences matter at least as much as motives, a utilitarian might be satisfied (at least initially) with getting me to help improve the school system even if I am coerced to do so by law. This kind of forced stretching of my concerns also falls under the heading of ongoing social education.

The Hedonic Calculus

Bentham wanted to make ethics a science. To that end, he tried to base his philosophy on observations of actual conditions and to derive principles of behavior from facts. Bentham thought he had found a scientific way to calculate the proper course of action for any circumstance. He called his technique the hedonic calculus. John Stuart Mill sometimes referred to the calculus as Bentham's "method of detail," because it considered various factors. To introduce mathematical precision to the difficult task of weighing alternative courses of action, Bentham proposed the notion of "units" of pleasure or pain, which he called hedons or lots. (Some contemporary philosophers use the term utiles.) Thus, when contemplating an action, we add units of pleasure or subtract units of pain. Bentham identified four elements that affect pleasure or pain themselves, two that affect action related to pleasure or pain, and one based on the number of people affected. The seven elements are: Intensity. How strong is the pleasure? Duration. How long will the pleasure last? Propinquity. How soon will the pleasure occur? Certainty. How likely or unlikely is it that the pleasure will occur? Fecundity. How likely is it that the proposed action will produce more pleasure? Purity. Will there be any pain accompanying the action? Extent. How many other people will be affected? Positive units of pleasure or negative units of pain can be attached to each of these seven elements. The resulting unit totals can then be compared, and if the balance is on the positive (pleasure) side, the proposed choice is good; if the balance is on the negative (pain) side, the choice is bad. If a hedonic calculation results in more units of pleasure, we should perform the contemplated action; if more units of pain, we should not. Bentham believed that each of us already uses hedonic calculation on a commonsense, intuitive level; in his view, he was simply adding scientific rigor to our informal methods of choosing pleasure and avoiding pain.

The Question Is, Can They Suffer?

By appealing to the egoistic hook, Bentham extended the ethical reach of the pleasure principle beyond the merely human community to include any creature with the capacity to suffer. Although the Introduction to Principles of Morals and Legislation begins with the ringing announcement that nature has placed mankind under the governance of pain and pleasure, Bentham used the fact of suffering to push the moral domain well beyond Kant's kingdom of ends and beyond other Enlightenment philosophies that treat rationality as the source of morality. As far as Bentham was concerned, suffering makes moral claims on us whether or not the sufferer can reason. In this, Bentham disagreed with René Descartes (Chapter 9), whose dualism led him to conclude that bodies are soulless, unself-conscious objects and that, consequently, animals are meaty machines, bodies without souls. Shortly after reading Descartes's ideas about animals in the posthumously published Treatise on Man, the French philosopher Nicolas Malebranche (1638-1715) put Descartes's dualistic thinking into practice as he was walking along with some friends. When a friendly dog came up to them, eagerly looking for attention, Malebranche knelt down and patted it. Then, when he was sure that his friends were watching, he stood up and kicked the poor creature in the stomach as hard as he could. As the dog yelped off, the philosopher noted that it was just a machine. This, then, is our Bentham. He was a man both of remarkable endowments for philosophy, and of remarkable deficiencies for it: fitted, beyond almost any man, for drawing from his premises conclusions not only correct, but sufficiently precise and specific to be practical: but whose general conception of human nature and life furnished him with an unusually slender stock of premises. — John Stuart Mill The Dutch rationalist Baruch de Spinoza (1632-1677) admitted that animals suffer but argued that we are within our moral rights to "use them as we please, treating them in the way which best suits us; for their nature is not like ours, and their emotions are naturally different from human emotions." Immanuel Kant, recall, argued that moral dignity is a function of rationality. Kant, like Spinoza, understood that animals suffer but insisted that they lack any moral worth or dignity. Animals are excluded from the kingdom of ends because they cannot reason from moral maxims. According to Kant, even though we have no duties toward the animals themselves, we should treat them humanely, because treating animals humanely is good practice for treating people humanely: So far as animals are concerned, we have no direct duties. Animals are not self-conscious and are there merely as means to an end. That end is man. ... Our duties towards animals are merely indirect duties toward humanity. ... Thus, if a dog has served his master long and faithfully, his service, on the analogy of human service, deserves reward, and when the dog has grown too old to serve, his master ought to keep him until he dies. Such action helps to support us in our duties towards human beings. ... Tender feelings towards dumb animals develop humane feelings towards mankind. Bentham rejected any notion that animals lack moral worth simply because they cannot reason, comparing such thinking to racist thinking. Note how far Bentham seems to have moved beyond simple, egoistic hedonism in the following passage: The day may come when the rest of animal creation may acquire those rights which never could have been witholden from them but by the hand of tyranny. The French have already discovered that the blackness of the skin is no reason why a human being should be abandoned without redress to the caprice of a tormentor. It may one day come to be recognized that the number of the legs, the villosity of the skin, or the termination of the os sacrum [tailbone], are reasons equally insufficient for abandoning a sensitive being to the same fate. What else is it that should trace the insuperable line? Is it the faculty of reason, or perhaps the faculty of discourse? But a full-grown horse or dog is beyond comparison a more rational, as well as more conversable animal, than an infant of a day, or even, a month old. But suppose they were otherwise, what would it avail? The question is not, Can they reason? nor Can they talk? but, Can they suffer? For all Bentham's personal empathy and kindness, his philosophy remained egoistic at base. Its full moral force did not emerge until John Stuart Mill's suffering produced a more refined, clearly altruistic application of it.

Altruism and Happiness

Having added the notion of quality to utilitarianism, Mill expands Bentham's appeal to enlightened self-interest into a full-fledged altruistic social philosophy. We have seen the general utilitarian connection between our own happiness and the happiness of others expressed in Bentham's conception of enlightened self-interest. Mill's argument in this regard is less problematic than Bentham's because it is based on a more solid relationship between the individual and the group. Mill asserts that, ultimately, utilitarianism rests on "the social feelings of mankind; the desire to be in unity with our fellow creatures." Altruism, from the Latin alter, "other," is the capacity to promote the welfare of others; altruism stands in clear contrast to egoism. According to Mill's altruistic utilitarianism, no individual's self-interest is more or less important than any other's self-interest: I must again repeat, what the assailants of utilitarianism seldom have the justice to acknowledge, that the happiness which forms the utilitarian standard of what is right in conduct is not the agent's own happiness, but that of all concerned. As between his own happiness and that of others, utilitarianism requires him to be as strictly impartial as a disinterested and benevolent spectator. Mill wanted to show that as civilization advances, the social spirit grows. In the effort, he made an eloquent defense of the importance of universal education to general happiness. For Mill, the function of education is twofold: to instill the skills and knowledge necessary for an individual to live well and productively and to create healthy, altruistic citizens. But to fulfill the second mandate, education must become a lifelong activity. People must be given opportunities to grow as part of their daily lives. They must be given fulfilling work and sufficient leisure to nurture more than their belly or bank account. The heart of such reform efforts must be widespread, ongoing, high-quality education. "I sometimes think what a terrible punishment it would be for a ghost or an angel to have no body. ... Terribly sad it would be if we should one day return to this earth as ghosts and move silently into our children's bedroom, to see a child lying there in bed and have no hands to fondle him and no arms to clasp him, no chest for his warmth to penetrate to, no round hollow between cheek and shoulder for him to nestle against, and no ears to hear his voice." — Lin Yutang One of the great drawbacks to the self-centered passions is that they afford so little variety. The man who loves only himself cannot, it is true, be accused of promiscuity in his affections, but he is bound in the end to suffer intolerable boredom from the invariable sameness of the object of his devotion. — Bertrand Russell Next to selfishness, Mill says that the principal cause of an inability to be happy for an extended period is a lack of mental cultivation: A cultivated mind (and I do not mean that of a philosopher, but any mind to which fountains of knowledge have been opened, and which has been taught, in any tolerable degree, to exercise its faculties) finds sources of inexhaustible interest in all that surrounds it; in the objects of nature, the achievements of art, the imaginations of poetry, the incidents of history, the ways of mankind, past and present, and their prospects in the future. It is possible, indeed, to become indifferent to all this, and that too without having exhausted a thousandth part of it; but only when one has had from the beginning no moral or human interests in these things, and has sought in them only the gratification of curiosity. Mill was convinced that science and clear utilitarian thinking could produce a better environment, one conducive to altruism as well as the mental, emotional, and physical development and well-being of individuals.

Philosophy and Social Reform

Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) directly challenged the owners, bosses, and ruling classes when he insisted that "each counts as one and none more." Bentham blasted those in power for pursuing their own narrow, socially destructive goals instead of pursuing happiness for everyone. Jeremy Bentham Bentham's solution was to establish democratic rule by the whole people rather than by a select class. If "the rulers are the people," as Bentham believed, then "all government is in itself evil," and the only justification for government is to prevent worse evils. For Bentham, the legitimate functions of government are social reform and the establishment of the conditions most conducive to promoting the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people. This proved to be a nearly irresistible philosophy for many. Although much nineteenth-century philosophy had been a response to Kant's work, with the notable exceptions of G. W. F. Hegel and Arthur Schopenhauer, many philosophers rejected Kant's elaborate systems and transcendental metaphysics. They viewed metaphysics as cumbersome, irrelevant, and meaningless—unverifiable by science and unclear according to the empirical criterion of meaning (see Chapter 10). Philosophers' interest shifted from the search for transcendental truth or systemic coherence to practical remedies for the pressing problems of society. They explored social and political philosophy, empirically based ethics, and the application of scientific knowledge to immediate problems of human happiness. I would have the dearest friend I have to know that his interests, if they come in competition with those of the public, are as nothing to me. Thus I would serve my friends—thus I would be served by them. — Jeremy Bentham Predictably, this secular, fact-oriented approach revived interest in the cultural relativity of values and beliefs. Philosophers no longer felt obliged to produce elaborate theories or systems, since they thought even their own theories were culturally limited. By contrast, particular strategies and factual information were thought to be reliable, provided that they were "scientific" and "objective." Moreover, the new scientific view of an evolving universe made elaborate metaphysical theories seem irrelevant. If the universe and everything in it is slowly changing, then any fixed "grand theory" would apply for a brief time at best. Growing belief in evolution resulted in efforts to identify an evolutionary view of ideas rather than a search for the static truth. In his will, Jeremy Bentham donated his body to the public good. After a public autopsy, his skeleton and head were preserved. In 1850, Bentham's remains were acquired by the University of London, where his skeleton is on display dressed in his own clothes and with a wax head. For some years, Bentham's mummified head was kept in a box at his feet. The replica is referred to as the Auto-Icon. Bruce Dale/National Geographic/Getty Image Lastly, the social change and turmoil generated by the Industrial Revolution, the French Revolution, and the Napoleonic Wars cast serious doubts on the adequacy of Kant's ethic of good will. Looking about them, philosophers noted that what actually happens to people is of supreme importance. A clear need for fact-based, humanistic reform emerged. Science became the new hope for this reform, replacing Enlightenment conceptions of reason. Scientists and reformers believed that the application of scientific methods of inquiry could identify and eliminate poverty, crime, ignorance, and other sources of widespread misery. Social and political issues eventually dominated metaphysical concerns. Epistemology was important only to the extent that it related to verifiable, immediate improvements in society. If the Enlightenment was the Age of Reason, the nineteenth century began as the Age of Reform. (How it ended is another story.)

Summary of Main Points

Jeremy Bentham resurrected hedonism, adding a social component. He reasoned that if pleasure is good, more pleasure is better. This led him to introduce the greatest happiness principle (also known as the principle of utility): That action is best which produces the greatest happiness for the greatest number. The greatest happiness principle was a direct challenge to the conservative ruling class in Britain, since, according to Bentham, "each counts as one and none more," worker and owner alike. Known today as simple utilitarianism, Bentham's philosophy was an attempt to avoid the errors of irrelevant metaphysical theories by basing moral and social policies on experience and scientific principles. Bentham's hedonic calculus was a crude method of reducing issues to simple calculation of units of pleasure versus units of pain. Bentham attempted to take advantage of our "natural" egoism by using reason to show that each individual's welfare ultimately depends on the welfare of the community. The appeal to self-interest as a way of improving overall social conditions is known as the egoistic hook. Bentham extended the ethical reach of the pleasure principle beyond the human community to any creature with the capacity to suffer, arguing that the notion that animals lack moral worth simply because they cannot reason is akin to racist thinking. According to Bentham, suffering makes moral claims on us whether or not the sufferer can reason. John Stuart Mill coined the term utilitarianism and refined Bentham's principle of utility by distinguishing between pleasures on the basis of quality as well as quantity. Mill's concept of happiness is more complex than Bentham's and extends beyond simple concern with pleasure. Mill believed that there is an empirical basis supporting his claim that refined pleasures are objectively better than crude ones: Those familiar with both consistently prefer refined pleasures (philosophical speculation, classical music, poetry) to crude pleasures (eat, drink, and be merry). Mill disagreed with Bentham's insistence that all motives are egoistic and based his more refined philosophy on "the social feelings" of all people for unity with each other. Mill believed in the possibility of altruism, the capacity to promote the welfare of others. He argued that lack of altruistic feelings and ignorance of the higher pleasures were products of poor education and harsh conditions, not qualities of human nature. According to Mill, selfishness and lack of mental cultivation are the chief causes of unhappiness, and both can be cured with a proper education and legislation. Sarah Conly rejects Mill's faith in individual liberty, arguing that we too often make poor choices that are collectively and individually destructive. In place of liberty, Conly advocates coercive paternalism in the form "nudges" that prohibit foolish and unhealthy choices. Like other critics of Enlightenment optimism, Conly advocates taking away most freedom of choice because, left to our own devices, we simply don't choose well.

John Stuart Mill

John Stuart Mill (1806-1873), one of the most interesting figures in philosophy, began life with nearly equal doses of favor and misfortune. A lucid defender of individual liberty, his childhood was severely restricted, his emotional needs virtually ignored. John Stuart Mill Mill's parents were estranged—in his words, living "far apart, under the same roof, as the north pole from the south." Mill's contemporary biographer, A. Bain, described John Stuart Mill's father, James Mill, as unfeeling. James Mill believed that the best way to love his children was by identifying and prohibiting their "vices." Few but those whose mind is a moral blank, could bear to lay out their course of life on the plan of paying no regard to others except so far as their own private interest compels. — John Stuart Mill John Stuart Mill's destiny was sealed when Jeremy Bentham befriended his father, who became one of Bentham's younger disciples. From Bentham, James Mill came to believe that all minds are the same at birth and that proper education—begun early enough—would produce a healthy, rational child. Bentham and James Mill decided to use little John Stuart to show just how effective Bentham's ideas were. They gave him a rigorous education, carefully planned to produce a champion of utilitarianism. Basing their program in part on Bentham's own experiences as a child prodigy, the experimenters saw to it that John Stuart learned Greek and arithmetic at three; Latin, geometry, and algebra at eleven; and logic and philosophy at twelve. Though not everything went smoothly (young John Stuart had some trouble with Plato's Theaetetus), he was such a whiz at math that he had to teach himself once he had surpassed his father's abilities. In an effort to refine John Stuart's thinking and to prevent "the mere cramming of the memory," James Mill forced John Stuart to try to learn everything for himself before James would even consider explaining it. In his touching Autobiography, John Stuart Mill characterized his education: Most boys or youths who have had much knowledge drilled into them have their mental capacities not strengthened, but overlaid by it. They are crammed with mere facts, with the opinions and phrases of other people, and these are accepted as a substitute for the power to form opinions of their own; and thus the sons of eminent fathers, who have spared no pains in their education, so often grow up mere parroters of what they have learnt, incapable of using their minds except in the furrows traced for them. Mine . . . was not an education of cram. My father never permitted anything that I had learnt to degenerate into a mere exercise of memory. He strove to make the understanding not only go along with every step of teaching, but, if possible, precede it. Anything which could be found out by thinking, I never was told, until I had exhausted my efforts to find it out for myself. Because John Stuart Mill ultimately proved to be brilliant, Bentham and James Mill "produced" not just a champion of utilitarianism but a true genius. John Stuart Mill said his education gave him a quarter of a century advantage over others his age—but added that any average, healthy boy or girl could achieve the same results with the same training. The personal cost, however, was high: Mill's education robbed him of his childhood. His father's strict control, though typical of the time, stifled any expression of emotion or spontaneity: I was so much accustomed to expect to be told what to do, either in the form of direct command or of rebuke for not doing it, that I acquired a habit of leaving my responsibility as a moral agent to rest on my father, my conscience never speaking to me except by his voice. Later, a friend would say of Mill, "He had never played with boys; in his life he never knew any." In an early version of his Autobiography, Mill said: "Mine was not an education of love but of fear. ... My father's children neither loved him, nor, with any warmth of affection, anyone else." This is not true of Mill himself, for as we'll see, Mill dearly loved one woman his entire adult life.

Higher Pleasures

Mill argued that there are empirical grounds for asserting that what we might call "refined pleasures" are preferable to and hence better than the "cruder pleasures:" Now it is an unquestionable fact that those who are equally acquainted with, and equally capable of appreciating and enjoying, both, do give a most marked preference to the manner of existence which employs their higher faculties. Few human creatures would consent to be changed into any of the lower animals, for a promise of the fullest allowance of a beast's pleasures; no intelligent human being would consent to be a fool, no instructed person would be an ignoramus, no person of feeling and conscience would be selfish and base, even though they should be persuaded that the fool, the dunce, or the rascal is better satisfied with his lot than they are with theirs. They would not resign what they possess more than he for the most complete satisfaction of all the desires which they have in common with him. If they ever fancy they would, it is only in cases of unhappiness so extreme that to escape from it they would exchange their lot for almost any other, however undesirable in their own eyes. A being of higher faculties requires more to make him happy, is capable probably of more acute suffering, and certainly accessible to it at more points, than one of an inferior type; but in spite of these liabilities, he can never really wish to sink into what he feels to be a lower grade of existence. This is an interesting argument. Consider typical reactions to individuals with diminished mental or emotional capacities. We love and, perhaps, pity those who are developmentally disabled, but we do not wish to join them. Techniques to control emotional disturbances by removing the possibility for emotion are properly seen as a last resort. Though we may jokingly claim that ignorance is bliss, few of us would consciously choose bliss if the price is ignorance. Not everyone agrees with Mill that the "higher" faculties and their pleasures are superior, however. Many people live as if their values regarding pleasures are just the opposite from Mill's. Not only are their lives not devoted to the use and development of their higher faculties, but these people also seem actively to discourage their higher faculties. Why are the "higher" pleasures unpopular if they are objectively superior?

Refined Utilitarianism

Mill could not accept Bentham's simple version of hedonism, for Bentham, like Aristippus, leveled all pleasures. He did not assign higher importance to moral, intellectual, or emotional pleasures. His only criteria are those included in the hedonic calculus. All other factors being equal, for Bentham, the crucial difference between two pleasures is merely intensity. "Prejudice apart, the [child's] game of push-pin is of equal value with the arts and sciences of music and poetry. If the game of push-pin furnish more pleasure, it is more valuable than either." Bentham even referred to a "moral thermometer," implying that the only difference among various kinds of behavior was the "degree" of pleasure they produced. Mill, who had been salvaged and made whole by love, music, and poetry, knew better. He knew from personal experience that pleasures differ in kind as well as in degree and identified with the Epicurean hedonists: "There is no known Epicurean theory of life which does not assign the pleasures of the intellect, of the feelings and imagination, and of the moral sentiments, a much higher value as pleasure than those of mere sensation." By introducing the notion of quality into utilitarianism, Mill refuted the orthodoxy he had been raised to defend. In his analysis of this crucial issue, Mill offers a most persuasive solution to a question we have encountered before: Is there any way to prove that supposedly "enlightened" opinions and judgments are more than mere opinions? Mill doesn't address the issue directly in terms of wisdom and enlightenment, but he does address the heart of the matter: Is there an objective way to settle disagreements involving "levels" of knowledge and value disputes? Among the great social thinkers of the nineteenth century . . . Mill alone tried to do justice to all the competing drives and motives of human nature; he would never banish from his consciousness the many-sidedness and many-leveledness of social reality. — Lewis S. Feuer Having inherited a dislike of abstract theories and systems and having been trained as a social empiricist, Mill approached this ancient problem in a straightforward way. He included an objective component in the assessment of pleasure. In Utilitarianism, Mill writes: If I am asked what I mean by difference of quality in pleasures, or what makes one pleasure more valuable than another merely as a pleasure, except its being greater in amount, there is but one possible answer. Of two pleasures, if there be one which all or almost all who have experience of both give a decided preference, irrespective of any feeling of moral obligation to prefer it, even though knowing it to be attended with a greater amount of discontent, and would not resign it for any quantity of the other pleasures which their nature is capable of, we are justified in ascribing to the preferred enjoyment a superiority in quality, so far outweighing quantity as to render it, in comparison, of small account. In other words, only those fully acquainted with two pleasures can decide which, if either, is better. If there is no consensus among them, then there is no objective difference in quality, only difference in taste or preference. For example, only people well enough versed in two (or more) kinds of music actually know whether one is qualitatively better than another. This is a necessary, empirical criterion. Many of us can only (honestly) say, "I don't like such and such, but then I've never really tried to understand it." If we really want to compare various kinds of music, we must either listen widely and carefully or ask those who know a great deal about music. If a consensus exists among those familiar with the types being compared, then on Mill's criterion, we have discovered a qualitative difference. Of course, the same pattern applies to comparing the competing pleasures/values of reading Shakespeare or romance novels or playing basketball or playing checkers. Philosophical Query Can you identify any pleasures "which all or almost all who have experience of both give a decided preference, irrespective of any feeling of moral obligation to prefer it, even though knowing it to be attended with a greater amount of discontent, and would not resign it for any quantity of the other pleasures which their nature is capable of"? Mill claimed that some pleasures are qualitatively better than others. How did Mill make his case? What method did he provide for ranking pleasures? Compare playing video games to playing classical music using Mill's method for assessing the relative qualities of various pleasures.

Mill's Persistent Optimism

Mill thought that no insurmountable reasons or conditions existed to prevent the emergence of a truly healthy society: Genuine private affections, and a sincere interest in the public good, are possible, though in unequal degrees, to every rightly brought up human being. In a world in which there is so much to interest, so much to enjoy, and so much also to correct and improve, everyone who has this moderate amount of moral and intellectual requisites is capable of an existence which may be called enviable; and unless such a person, through 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 suffering—such as indigence, disease, and the unkindness, worthlessness, or premature loss of objects of affection. According to Mill, the chief task of all right-thinking, well-intentioned people is to address those causes of social misfortune that can be avoided or altered. Mill argued that liberties of thought and speech are absolutely necessary for the general happiness, since we can determine the truth only by an ongoing clash of opinions. He worried about what has been called "the tyranny of the majority" and warned against the very great, and often ignored, dangers of assigning too much weight to majority beliefs. (When we succumb to rule by majority rule, we elevate considerations of quantity over more substantial qualitative matter.) In the end, Mill remained an optimist who believed that by applying reason and good will, the vast majority of human beings could live with dignity, political and moral freedom, and harmonious happiness. He believed that "the wisdom of society, combined with the good sense and providence of individuals," could extinguish poverty completely and that scientific progress, along with "good physical and moral education," could alleviate the scourge of disease: John Stuart Mill argued that, for our own peace of mind, we need to provide social support for those in need—because we never know when we will need help. The quality of life without general assistance would diminish for all of us, Mill insisted. Spencer Grant/Photo Researchers As for the vicissitudes of fortune, and other disappointments connected with worldly circumstances, these are principally the effect of either gross imprudence, of ill-regulated desires, or of bad or imperfect social institutions. All these grand sources, in short, of human suffering are in a great degree, many of them almost entirely, conquerable by human care and effort; and though their removal is grievously slow—though a long succession of generations will perish in the breach before the conquest is completed, and this world becomes all that, if will and knowledge were not wanting, it might easily be made—yet every mind sufficiently intelligent and generous to bear a part, however small and inconspicuous, in the endeavor will draw a noble enjoyment from the contest itself, which he would not for any bribe in the form of selfish indulgence consent to be without. Mill's optimism is based on his view of a social human nature and a deep, nearly universal, sense of connectedness. It is a vision that sees no inevitable competition between my needs and yours, between ours and everyone else's: The deeply rooted conception which every individual even now has of himself as a social being tends to make him feel it is one of his natural wants that there should be harmony between his feeling and aims and those of his fellow creatures. If differences of opinion and mental culture make it impossible for him to share many of their actual feelings—perhaps make him denounce and defy those feelings—he still needs to be conscious that his real aim and theirs do not conflict; that he is not opposing himself to what they really wish for, namely, their own good, but is contrary, promoting it. ... This conviction is the ultimate sanction of the greatest happiness morality. In so many ways, our lives, and those of people in many other countries, have directly benefited from the seed Jeremy Bentham and James Mill planted in John Stuart Mill—in my opinion the finest archetype of a utilitarian social reformer so far.

Redemption and Balance

Mill's rigid training was also balanced and softened by his remarkable relationship with Harriet Taylor. The couple fell in love when Mill was twenty-four and Harriet was married to a merchant quite a bit older than she was. The relationship began with discussions of Mill's writings and Harriet's plans (she wanted to be a writer also). As Mill began to spend all his free time at the Taylors' house, it eventually became obvious to Harriet's husband that the relationship was more than simple friendship. John Stuart Mill credited his wife Harriet Taylor (1819-1887) with helping him add a "human element" to his philosophy and writing and with enriching his life. Hulton Archive/Getty Images Ultimately, an arrangement was worked out so that Mill could stay with Mrs. Taylor when her husband was away, and she could stay with Mill during the summer and on weekends. This arrangement lasted more than fifteen years. Two years after Harriet's husband died, she and Mill were finally married. After seven years of marriage, Harriet Taylor Mill died suddenly, while the couple was in Avignon. A grieving Mill said, "The spring of my life is broken." Mill credited his wife with influencing his work for the better, saying: What was abstract and purely scientific was generally mine; the properly human element came from her: in all that concerned the application of philosophy to the exigencies of human society and progress, I was her pupil. ... Her mind invested all ideas in a concrete shape, and formed to itself a conception of how they would actually work: and her knowledge of the existing feelings and conduct of mankind was so seldom at fault that the weak point of any unworkable suggestion seldom escaped her. "Mill on Women's Rights" As I have already said more than once, I consider it presumption in anyone to pretend to decide [what] women are or are not, can or cannot be, by natural constitution. They have always hitherto been kept, as far as regards spontaneous development, in so unnatural a state that their nature cannot but have been greatly distorted and disguised; and no one can safely pronounce that if women's nature were left to choose its direction as freely as men's, and if no artificial bent were attempted to be given to it except that required by the conditions of human society, and given to both sexes alike, there would be any material difference, or perhaps any difference at all, in the character and capacities which would unfold themselves. John Stuart Mill, "On the Subjection of Women," in Human Worth, eds. Richard Paul Janaro and Darwin E. Gearhart (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1972), p. 53. Those who knew them both suggested that Mill's vision of Harriet was more loving than it was objective. There may be some truth to that, but there can be no doubt that her relationship with Mill was beneficial and encouraging. Mill insisted that Harriet gave him a better sense of what truly mattered—and what did not—than he had on his own. Mill's writings show the breadth and balance he worked so hard to develop: System of Logic (1843), Principles of Political Economy (1848), On Liberty (1859), Representative Government (1861), Utilitarianism (1863), the posthumous Autobiography (1873), and Three Essays on Religion (1874). His "On the Logic of the Moral Sciences" has been described as "the most enduring essay on the method of the social sciences which has ever been written." In 1873, a fatigued Mill went to Avignon, where Harriet had died so suddenly in 1858. After an especially strenuous day, he developed a high fever and died at sixty-seven on May 7, 1873. John Stuart Mill was buried in Avignon beside his beloved Harriet. So ended the remarkable life of this archetypal utilitarian, a lover of liberty and equality, reason and feeling, who worked tirelessly to improve the lot of all people.

Happiness and Mere Contentment

Mill, however, was not satisfied with merely modifying behavior. He wanted to reform character, too. In this regard, he distinguished between what he called happiness and "mere contentment." Mere contentment, as Mill understood it, is a condition of animals and those unfortunate people limited to enjoying lower pleasures. A major goal of Mill's utilitarianism is to make as many people as possible as happy as possible, not as content as possible: The ultimate end, with reference to and for the sake of which all other things are desirable (whether we are considering our 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 . . . secured to all mankind; and not to them only, but so far as the nature of things admits, to the whole sentient creation. Mill argued that the principal cause of unhappiness is selfishness. He believed that happiness requires a balance between tranquillity and excitement, and selfishness robs us of both. It robs us of tranquillity because it is never satisfied, and it diminishes our possibilities for excitement (or stimulation) by narrowing our range of interests. Could that be why so many people seem to need artificial or extravagantly orchestrated excitement? When people who are tolerably fortunate in their outward lot do not find in life sufficient enjoyment to make it valuable to them, the cause generally is, caring for nobody but themselves. To those who have neither public nor private affections, the excitements of life are much curtailed, and in any case dwindle in value as the time approaches when all selfish interests must be terminated by death; while those who leave after them objects of personal affection, and especially those who have also cultivated a fellow-feeling with the collective interests of mankind, retain as lively an interest in life on the eve of death as in the vigor of youth and health. For Deeper Consideration How does Mill distinguish between happiness and contentment? Why is this distinction vital to his utilitarian philosophy? What role does education play in Mill's philosophy? Has your education lived up to Mill's hopes? If yes, in what ways? If no, why not?

Social Hedonism

Modern utilitarianism developed as a response to social conditions created by the Industrial Revolution—which in Britain ran roughly from 1780 to 1835. As the term implies, this era was characterized by massive social change and upheaval generated by new scientific manufacturing techniques that, in turn, produced geographic, familial, spiritual, and economic disruption as a newly created class of "workers" competed for jobs that were often repetitious, dangerous, and poorly paid—degrading and dehumanizing. The advantages of the Industrial Revolution came at a high price for many of the working poor, who found themselves crowded into slums and tenements near the great factories and workhouses that sprang up as labor became increasingly centralized and standardized. The Field Lane Refuge pictured here was founded in 1842 to provide shelter for homeless men. Mansell/Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images The advent of efficient steam and water power made large factories practical. Cloth weaving, for example, had once been a cottage industry, but the textile mills could make cloth much more cheaply. Hordes of workers sought jobs in the mill towns and cities, creating large slums. Between 1800 and 1831, the English cities of Leeds, Sheffield, Manchester, and Liverpool nearly doubled in population. Shabbily constructed buildings rented at such high prices that they paid for themselves in five years. Of course, such high rents resulted in overcrowding, as poorly paid workers lived two and three families to an apartment. In Manchester in 1845, for example, twenty-seven cases were documented of up to seven people trying to sleep in one bed. It is clear that any society where the means of subsistence increase less rapidly than the numbers of the population is a society on the brink of an abyss. ... Destitution is fearfully prolific. — M. Louis Blanc In 1798, Thomas Malthus (1766-1834), an Anglican minister, published a work titled An Essay on the Principle of Population as It Affects the Future Improvement of Society. In it, Malthus expressed grave doubts about the feasibility of social reform: I have read some . . . speculations, on the perfectibility of men and society, with great pleasure. I have been warmed and delighted with the enchanting picture which they hold forth. I ardently wish for such happy improvements. But I see great and, to my understanding, unconquerable difficulties in the way to them. The "great difficulties" Malthus feared were overpopulation and underproduction of food. He argued that although food production increases arithmetically (1 to 2 to 3 to 4 to 5 to 6, and so on), unchecked population growth progresses geometrically (1 to 2 to 4 to 8 to 16 to 32, and so forth). Thus, according to Malthus, unchecked population inevitably outgrows the food supply. Troubled by both the growing slums in the cities and efforts to improve living conditions for the poor, Malthus concluded that there could be no justification for helping the disadvantaged. Raising wages would only enable the poor to marry younger and have even more children; the population would outgrow the food supply, and poverty would return anyway. Welfare programs would only result in increased "idleness" and encourage large families—with the same result. Malthus argued that the only way to avoid such harsh "natural cures" as epidemics and the "historical cure" of war or rebellion was to stop helping the poor and remove all restraints on the free enterprise system. Buyers, sellers, bosses, workers, and owners must be left to their own struggle. The law of supply and demand would make it more difficult for the poor to afford to marry early or support very many children, thereby checking the geometric rise of population. The conservative British ruling class eagerly embraced Malthusian principles. Factory owners and businessmen were able to justify low wages as their "duty." The evils of the Industrial Revolution could be rationalized away by blaming the miserable living and working conditions of the poor on the poor themselves. And certainly these conditions were discouraging. In such a context, Jeremy Bentham's insistence that legislators consider the greatest happiness of the greatest number of people can be seen as the radical philosophy that it was.

Lower Pleasures

To the person with a toothache, even if the world is tottering, there is nothing more important than a visit to the dentist. — George Bernard Shaw Mill argues that there is no inconsistency between an appreciation of the superiority of the higher pleasures and succumbing to the temptation of more easily secured lesser pleasures. He recognizes that character and habit are major components of our judgment and behavior: Men often, from infirmity of character, make their election for the nearer good, though they know it to be the less valuable; and this no less when the choice is between two bodily pleasures than when it is between bodily and mental. They pursue sensual indulgences to the injury of health, though perfectly aware that health is the greater good. It may be further objected that many who begin with youthful enthusiasm for everything noble, as they advance in years sink into indolence and selfishness. But I do not believe that those who undergo this very common change voluntarily choose the lower description of pleasures in preference to the higher. I believe that before they devote themselves exclusively to the one, they have already become incapable of the other. Capacity for the nobler feelings is in most natures a very tender plant, easily killed, not only by hostile influences, but by mere 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 not favorable to keeping that higher capacity in exercise. Men lose their high aspirations as they lose their intellectual tastes, because they have not time or opportunity for indulging them; and they addict themselves to inferior pleasures not because they deliberately prefer them, but because they are either the only ones to which they have access or the only ones which they are any longer capable of enjoying. It may be questioned whether anyone who has remained equally susceptible to both classes of pleasures ever knowingly and calmly preferred the lower; though many, in all ages, have broken down in an ineffectual attempt to combine both. The only part of the conduct of anyone for which he is amenable to society is that which concerns others. Over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is sovereign. — John Stuart Mill When Mill speaks of character, he refers to socially conditioned habits. Though there are always exceptions, consider the enormous social pressures that can interfere with nurturing "higher" sentiments: Can we reasonably expect children raised in extreme poverty, violence, turmoil, and instability to develop their higher faculties in school, if every afternoon they return to an empty apartment or social jungle? Can we reasonably expect working parents to find time to work extra hours, raise healthy children, maintain their homes, and then develop and nurture their own higher faculties? Compare the numbers of people flocking to inane but easily understood movies with those trickling into museums or art houses. Bombarded on all sides by seductive chemicals and toys, fatigued from self-imposed and inescapable pressures, we find that the lure of philosophy or literature or poetry can pale beside the temptations of a new mountain bike, escapist movie, relationship, or basketball game.

Against Liberty

Today, John Stuart Mill remains a signally influential political and social philosopher even though, according to some contemporary critics, On Liberty is outdated and has been for some time. In Against Autonomy: Justifying Coercive Paternalism, the philosopher Sarah Conly argues that Mill's defense of personal liberty needs to be rethought. According to Conly, our liberties need to be curtailed in light of new knowledge about our limits as rational thinkers and agents. Conly rejects the liberal principle that respect for our dignity as individuals rests on the freedom to make poor, even irrational, choices. In place of Mill's liberal approach to utilitarianism, she advocates restrictive laws to "nudge" us to do—according to those who know best—whatever is necessary to improve the well-being of society and individuals (ourselves included). Intriguingly, Conly argues that, misled by his belief that paternalistic laws always result in monolithic, conservative (totalitarian) societies, Mill failed to recognize our "natural, even biological, tendency toward social conformity." Mill, she argues, placed too much faith in our ability to take full, rational, advantage of our liberties. In so doing, he overestimated our individual capacities to act autonomously and to do what we "need" to do to improve our situations. So we need help from those who know better than we do; we need nudges to do what wiser souls recommend. Bluntly put, we need coercion because, "Left to our own devices, free of pressure to do otherwise, we often continue to dig ourselves into a deeper and deeper pit, wondering the while why we haven't yet succeeded in getting out." According to Conly, despite what Mill and other Enlightenment thinkers said, we are not always rational when it comes to making the best life choices and even when we are rational, we are often unable to do what we know is good for us. That being the case, Conly argues for a reconsideration of Mill's optimism because it is too expensive socially. She argues that even though our foolish and unhealthy choices may not bother us, may even please us, added together they detract from the general welfare. In the real world, autonomy is too expensive, economically, legally, morally, and physically because, according to Conly: The truth is that we don't reason very well, and in many cases there is no justification for leaving us to struggle with our own inabilities and to suffer the consequences. Those who say we should respect autonomy by letting people hurt themselves irreparably do not, on my view, show as much respect for human value as they purport to. The common rationale for letting people choose poorly is that autonomy requires that people suffer the results of their own actions, for good or ill, but here respect becomes a justification for inhumanity: the principle that those who fail deserve to fail isn't one that is geared to support equality and mutual respect. What we need to do is to help one another avoid mistakes so that we may all end up where we want to be. For Deeper Consideration Consider the preceding words from Conly as you reflect on these questions: Who should decide what counts as a mistake for you in regard to your own well-being? Is it more humane to treat people who make choices we see as unreasonable and unhealthy as children in need of parental guidance or as adults entitled to be imperfect? Is there a limit to paternalism? That is, should certain types of music, certain books, television shows, and movies be illegal? Should we establish risk committees to determine which risks are tolerable? Conly's work addresses one of the great, persistent dilemmas at the heart of all philosophically liberal social theories, striking a balance between liberty and order and between respect for individual rights and social welfare. In recent years, many communities and social institutions have adopted paternalistic policies limiting the size of soft drinks, placing salt shakers on restaurant tables, and prohibiting sugary snacks in lunches children bring to school, all in the name of individual and common well-being. In one way or another, autonomy is being challenged as unrealistic and costly. Conly says: That we should respect autonomy is taken as obvious—it is taken to be the only way to manifest our belief that all people have intrinsic value. While we may interfere with people when they harm others—when they interfere with others' autonomy by imposing actions on them that they don't want—we are held, for the most part, to be morally bound to allow people to choose when it comes to determining how they themselves want to live. ... There is ample evidence, however, from the fields of psychology and behavioral economics, that in many situations this is simply not true. The incidence of irrationality is much higher than our Enlightenment tradition has given us to believe, and keeps us from making the decisions we need to reach our goals. The ground for respecting autonomy is shaky. "It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, is of a different opinion, it is because they only know their own side of the question. The other party to the comparison knows both sides." — John Stuart Mill London Stereoscopic Company/Getty Images Of course it is one thing for us, as philosophers in our studies or as social scientists in our labs, to agree in principle, with both Mill and Conly, that accidents of birth, social conditions, and personal idiosyncrasies impede the emergence of a truly healthy society—assuming that such a society can be more than an ideal. It is another, far more difficult, thing to identify those who "know best" where the line between liberty and coercion should be drawn. Then, too, we must be aware of objectifying the very people we see as needing a nudge or two. Consider, for example, what some critics decry as nudgers' elitist characterizations of individuals who resist doing what is best for themselves (according to those who know better), in passages such as this: Some of those who ignore the nudge towards the fruit and go for the pork rinds will be wedging unhealthy, cholesterol-ridden bodies under the cafeteria table, because after years of such food they have a craving for fat and salt that no nudge will override, even while such a diet will give them shorter, more painful lives. Conly's suggested corrective to Mill strikes some philosophers as evidence that Mill was right to distrust paternalism, even in the form of impeccably well-intentioned nudges. Critics wonder if there isn't at least an element of precisely the sort of monolithic totalitarianism that Mill feared running through Conly's and other nudge-arguments against autonomy. To "know best" implies knowing what is best for other people, no matter what they may believe to the contrary. And in this case, it also means requiring other people to live as we think they should. As we have seen again and again, the lines between reasons and desires, sentiments and facts, rationalists and empiricists keep shifting as philosophers wrestle with and refine perennial problems. Granting that both Mill and Conly want us all to live the best possible lives, want happiness for the greatest possible number, we're still faced with the contradictions that plague attempts to improve society without sacrificing either individual liberty or the general welfare (according to those who know best). And so, as a society, we wax and wane between political conservatism and political liberalism, between riding free with the wind in our hair and riding safely according to mandatory helmet laws, between free speech and laws against hate speech, between salted peanuts and no salt shakers on restaurant tables. Conly, like other critics of Enlightenment optimism, has an altogether different vision of our rational capabilities and the path to a better society. She advocates taking away most freedom of choice because, left to our own devices, we simply don't choose well: What we need is a democratically elected government, but one in which the government is allowed to pass legislation that protects citizens from themselves, just as we now allow legislation to protect us from others. I argue for the justifiability of coercive paternalism, for laws that force people to do what is good for them. Mill, as we know, was an optimist who favored liberty over coercion, even as he recognized that a "long succession of generations" would perish in the effort to alleviate the suffering caused by social conditions. He believed that happiness eludes us when we are coerced and when we make it our direct goal. Both Mill and Conly wrestle with what may be the dilemma at the heart of every free society.