Question

Please Address all those parts of Bentham, Mill and kant:

1) Bentham

Principles?

Utilitarianism?

hedonistic calculus?

Criticisms?

2) Mill

Utilitarianism?

Higher VS Lower Pleasures?

Arguments for preferring higher to lower pleasures?

Criticisms?

3) Kant

Ground work

Good Will?

Acting for duty’s sake?

Answer 1

Bentham’s Utilitarian Calculus

Bentham presents his theory of utility in his Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (1789), which he wrote as a kind of moral guidebook for legislators as they make public policy. Although the bulk of this work focuses on issues of criminal conduct, the opening chapters systematically describe how utility is the ultimate moral standard for all actions. Bentham states his principle of utility here:

By the principle of utility is meant that principle which approves or disapproves of every action whatsoever, according to the tendency which it appears to have to augment or diminish the happiness of the party whose interest is in question: or, what is the same thing in other words, to promote or to oppose that happiness. I say of every action whatsoever; and therefore not only of every action of a private individual, but of every measure of government. [Principles of Morals and Legislation (1789), 1.2]

Two features of Bentham’s theory make it especially unique. First, Bentham offers a bare-bones moral theory consisting of only one factor: the pleasing or painful consequences of actions. Although earlier theorists put forward the basic elements of utilitarianism, they also incorporated non-utilitarian doctrines into their moral theories. Some of these extraneous doctrines are that morality is ultimately founded on the will of God, that sympathy is needed to counterbalance human selfishness, that virtues underlie our moral actions, that we rationally intuit our duty, and that we judge conduct through a moral sense. For Bentham, some of these doctrines are nonsensical, and the rest are irrelevant. His rejection of these more traditional elements of moral theory gave utilitarianism the reputation of being Godless, impersonal, skeptical, and relativistic.

            The second and most important feature of Bentham’s theory is his method for precisely quantifying pleasures and pains, better known as the utilitarian calculus. He argues that the complete range of pleasing and painful consequences of actions can be quantified according to seven criteria: (1) intensity; (2) duration; (3) certainty; (4) remoteness, that is, the immediacy of the pleasure or pain; (5) fecundity, that is, whether similar pleasures or pains will follow; (6) purity, that is, whether the pleasure is mixed with pain; and (7) extent, that is, the number of people affected. In a footnote to a later edition of the Principles, Bentham summarizes these criteria in a rhyme, which he says might assist us in “lodging more effectually, in the memory, these points”:

Intense, long, certain, speedy, fruitful, pure --

Such marks in pleasures and in pains endure.

Such pleasures seek if private by thy end:

If it be public, wide let them extend.

Such pains avoid, whichever by they view:

If pains must come, let them extend to few.

[Principles of Morals and Legislation, 4:2]

            Bentham is very explicit about how the calculus works. For example, if we wanted to determine the morality of executing Karla Faye Tucker, we would first calculate, one at a time, all of the pleasure and pain that she personally would receive from the execution. One specific pleasure/pain that she would experience would involve her contemplating her own death. As she sat in her cell and thought about the fact that she would soon die, she undoubtedly had a strong painful experience of dread. According to Bentham’s calculus, we need to construct a pleasure/pain chart that takes into account the first four criteria listed previously. We also need to assign numerical values to these factors, perhaps on a scale of 1 to 10. In Tucker’s case, we might get these figures:

                                    Pleasure           Pain

Intensity:                     0                      10

Duration:                     0                      2

Certainty:                    0                      10

Immediacy:                 0                      10

Concerning the intensity of her pleasure/pain, we may presume that Tucker derived no pleasure from the events immediately surrounding her death, and she experienced very intense emotional pain at the prospect of losing her life. The duration of the emotional pain would have been relatively brief, but also certain and immediate.

            After we chart out the first four factors, we then consider the other three factors separately. Bentham’s purity factor involves whether an act produces both pain and pleasure. We’ve already taken this into account in our chart by noting that Tucker experienced only pain and no pleasure. The fecundity factor involves any similar long-term residual pleasures and pains that might result from an action. Since Tucker’s execution was carried out successfully, there were no residual pleasures and pains for her. However, if her execution had been botched on its first attempt and she had to go through the process again a month later, then we would need to devise another pleasure/pain chart for the new execution. Our chart quantifies only the psychological anguish that Tucker experienced when contemplating her own death. However, there were other distinct pleasures and pains that she experienced regarding her execution. For example, she would have been distressed at being permanently separated from her family and frustrated with the criminal justice system. For each of these additional pains or pleasures, we need additional pleasure/pain charts.

            Finally, Bentham’s extent factor involves all the pleasures and pains experienced by other people. So, once we fully account for Tucker’s pleasures and pains, we then construct similar pleasure/pain charts for each pleasure and pain experienced by each person affected by Tucker’s execution. This includes the pleasures experienced by people who wanted Tucker dead, such as the victim’s relatives and those who commiserated with the relatives. But it also includes the pains experienced by those who wanted her alive, such as Tucker’s own relatives, and even those like the Pope who oppose capital punishment and are pained by another execution. At this stage, thousands and perhaps millions of pleasure/pain charts would be involved. We then take the combined pleasure score from all charts and compare it to the combined pain score from all charts. If the pleasure column has the higher score, then executing Tucker is moral. But if the pain column has the higher score, then the execution is immoral.

            When Bentham’s Principles first appeared, two book reviewers attacked the work for the excessive detail throughout his entire discussion. The Analytical Review charged that “perhaps the love of discrimination has been sometimes carried too far, and been productive of divisions and subdivisions of little use to a legislator” (Vol. 5, 1789). The Critical Review commented more strongly that “long and intricate discussions end in trifling conclusions; affected refinement sometimes stands in the place of useful distinctions, and the parade of system is so highly labored as frequently to disgust” (Vol. 68,1789). Bentham was well aware of this overall problem with the Principles, and for that reason he delayed its publication for nine years. The problem with his utilitarian calculus in particular is that it imposes a precision on a subject that does not allow for it. Working through even a single example shows that it is virtually impossible to do a complete utilitarian calculus, and this constitutes the strongest argument against it.

            In spite of the problems with Bentham’s theory, his view of utilitarianism gained a following. By the mid-nineteenth century, his name was so strongly linked with utilitarianism that one commentator felt compelled to remind people that Bentham did not invent the doctrine (Simon Laurie, On the Philosophy of Ethics, 1866). The next great step in the development of utilitarianism came with British philosopher John Stuart Mill (1806–1873).

MILL’S UTILITARIANISM

Bentham was John Stuart Mill’s godfather and teacher, and the young Mill was strongly influenced by his mentor’s account of utilitarianism. In early adulthood, Mill suffered an emotional breakdown, which he attributed to his heavily analytic education. When Bentham died shortly thereafter, Mill felt free to reevaluate the ideas of his upbringing. Mill’s early writings show a growing disenchantment with Bentham’s overly technical utilitarian calculus. In his 50s, Mill finally took the opportunity to write a popular defense of utilitarianism to counter the excessively scientific reputation the doctrine had obtained through Bentham. This appeared in three installments in Fraser’s Magazine in 1861 and was published in book form in 1863 under the title Utilitarianism. Because Mill’s Utilitarianism was written in a brief and popular format, one early commentator noted that he expected Mill to follow up with a “longer and more elaborate” book on the subject. But Mill never did. Within a decade, several studies appeared analyzing virtually every aspect of Mill’s theory, and by the turn of the century, Mill’s book became, as one commentator said, “more universally familiar than any other book in the whole literature of English Utilitarianism.”

            Commentators argue that there is little in Mill’s theory that is completely original. In fact, we can outline many features of Mill’s theory simply by listing their similarities to those in previous theories. First, like Bentham, Mill presents a bare-bones account of utilitarianism by not incorporating traditional moral concepts such as the will of God, virtues, a moral sense, or rational intuition. Mill does, though, find a place in his theory for socially oriented moral feelings such as sympathy, which give people the motivation to pursue general happiness. Without such motivation, utilitarianism would be a sterile principle without any practical value.

            Second, like Bentham, Mill believes that the sole criterion of morality is general happiness— that is, the maximum pleasures and the minimum pains that a society of people can experience. Third, like Bentham, Mill believes that this criterion can be expressed somewhat scientifically in the form of a single principle:

Actions are right in proportion as they tend to promote happiness; wrong as they tend to produce the reverse of happiness. [Utilitarianism, 2]

Fourth, like Hutcheson, Mill argues that happiness consists of both higher intellectual pleasures, and lower bodily pleasures. Fifth, like Hume, Mill focuses on the good or bad consequences that emerge from rules of conduct, and as such, Mill is classified as a rule-utilitarian.

            The two features of his theory that distinguish him most from Bentham are and his views of higher pleasure and his rule-utilitarianism, which we will look at in more detail.

General Happiness and Higher Pleasures

The first distinguishing feature of Mill’s utilitarianism is his differentiation between higher intellectual pleasures and lower bodily pleasures. Although Hutcheson also made this general distinction, Mill develops the notion and makes it central to his theory. Mill introduces the topic as a response to the specific criticism that utilitarianism is a doctrine worthy only of swine since swine, too, pursue pleasure. Mill responds that the concept of pleasure includes intellectual as well as bodily pleasures, and pigs clearly cannot experience intellectual pleasures:

Human beings have faculties more elevated than the animal appetites and, when once made conscious of them, do not regard anything as happiness which does not include their gratification. . . . It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. [Utilitarianism, 2]

Lower pleasures traditionally include those from food, sex, self-gratification, and other base instincts. By contrast, higher pleasures are those derived from music, art, and other more lofty intellectual accomplishments. According to Mill, higher pleasures are qualitatively superior to lower pleasures insofar as they are more highly valued even when limited in number. For Mill, Bentham erred by attempting to determine total happiness by assigning numerical values to pleasures and pains, with no regard for their qualitative differences. An early commentator wrote that Mill’s emphasis on higher pleasures established a “new utilitarianism” since higher pleasures are subjective and thus cannot be objectively quantified (Simon Laurie, Notes, 1868). For Mill, then, we cannot technically have a utilitarian calculus in which we tally numbers that represent differing quantities of pleasures and pains.

            Although we cannot calculate general happiness in the way that Bentham describes, Mill nevertheless tried to offer some objective standard for ranking the comparative value of differing pleasures. Specifically, Mill presents a test for determining whether one pleasure is qualitatively superior to another. Take, for example, the pleasures that we may experience from visiting an art museum versus attending a monster truck rally. Assume first that an impartial judge is acquainted with both events. The pleasure from the museum visit will be qualitatively superior if (1) the judge prefers the museum visit to the truck rally, (2) the museum visit is accompanied by some pain, such as a two-hour drive, and (3) the truck rally is quantitatively superior, such as a four-night truck-o-rama in contrast with a two-hour museum visit. Mill believes that an impartial judge will prefer the higher pleasure to the lower because we all have a sense of dignity, at least initially. People sometimes choose the lower pleasure since it is easy to kill our more noble feelings, and we often do not have the opportunity to keep our intellectual tastes alive:

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. [Utilitarianism, 2]

In short, according to Mill, higher pleasures are (1) the main ingredients of general happiness, (2) grounded in our intellectual abilities, (3) qualitatively superior to lower pleasures, (4) spawned by our sense of dignity, and (5) vulnerable to neglect.

Rule-Utilitarianism

The second feature of Mill’s theory that is distinct from Bentham’s concerns the place of moral rules in moral decision making. Bentham is what scholars today call an act-utilitarian, whereas Mill is a rule-utilitarian. The two approaches may be defined this way:

• Act-utilitarianism: morality involves examining the pleasurable and painful consequences of our individual actions.

• Rule-utilitarianism: morality involves examining the pleasurable and painful consequences of the moral rules that we adopt.

Act-utilitarianism involves a two-tiered system of moral evaluation: (1) selecting a particular action, and (2) evaluating that action by appealing to the criterion of general happiness. For example, according to act-utilitarianism, it would be wrong for me to steal my neighbor’s car since this particular act would produce more general unhappiness. Rule-utilitarianism, though, involves an intermediary step and so is a three-tiered system of moral evaluation: (1) selecting a particular action, (2) evaluating that action by appealing to moral rules, and (3) evaluating moral rules by appealing to the criterion of general happiness. For example, according to rule-utilitarianism, it would be wrong to steal my neighbor’s car since this act would violate the rule against stealing, and we endorse the rule against stealing since it promotes general happiness.

            Mill develops his view of rule-utilitarianism in reaction to two distinct issues. The first concerns whether we have enough time to calculate the consequences of our actions before performing them. Throughout the day there are countless actions that we perform, and it would be completely impractical to perform a utilitarian cost-benefit analysis beforehand on each one. Some of these actions are urgent and require quick decisions. Should we help rescue someone from drowning? Should we call the police when witnessing an assault? But even with less urgent actions, they are so numerous that it would become a bureaucratic nightmare to evaluate the general happiness of each one. A simple act such as selecting toothpaste may involve a pleasure-pain calculus of purchasing one toothpaste brand versus another. Also, could I justify spending my time watching TV, which benefits no one but me, rather than doing volunteer work for a charity group which will benefit many other people? It seems that virtually every action that we perform might require some pleasure-pain analysis, which would be humanly impossible to carry out.

            According to Mill, the above problem arises only for act-utilitarians who attempt to evaluate the general happiness of each action. For rule-utilitarians, though, the problem disappears. With each choice that we face throughout the day, we simply follow the moral rules that society has already established for us. For Mill, “the whole past duration of the human species” has consisted of efforts to learn through experience which types of actions bring about general happiness. Those well-established rules, then, are the guides for our behavior. Society has already determined that as a rule we should help others in need. Thus, we instantly know that we should try to rescue someone from drowning and call the police when we see an assault. Society has also determined that not every decision in our lives rises to the level of moral urgency, and some are matters of personal preference. There are no established moral rules that regulate what toothpaste we purchase or the leisure activities that we engage in, such as watching TV. We would not be promoting general happiness by making hard-and-fast rules about these decisions. Instead, general happiness would be better served if we endorsed a rule that allows each of us a range of free activity.

            The second issue behind Mill’s rule-utilitarianism involves how we resolve moral dilemmas. As noted, according to Mill we appeal to the utilitarian principle only to establish moral rules, but not to judge the morality of individual actions. However, on rare occasions we may be caught in a moral dilemma between two conflicting rules. Suppose I borrow your gun and promise to return it when you ask for it. The next day, you have a dispute with your boss and, in a fit of rage, ask for the gun back. I am now caught in a dilemma between two conflicting moral rules: I should keep my promises, yet I should not contribute to the harm of others. In such rare cases, I can determine the proper course of action by appealing directly to the utilitarian principle to see which rule has priority. Mill explains this point here:

We must remember that only in these cases of conflict between secondary principles [that is, rules] is it requisite that first principles [of general happiness] should be appealed to. There is no case of moral obligation in which some secondary principle is not involved . . . [Utilitarianism, 2]

In this case, I bring about more happiness by following the rule to avoid harming others, and so I should hold onto your gun. Thus, the only time we should directly examine the consequences of an individual action is settle a conflict between conflicting rules.

            To summarize, these are the main points of Mill’s utilitarianism:

• General happiness is the sole criterion of morality, and “happiness” is defined as pleasure.

• Higher intellectual pleasures are more valuable than lower bodily pleasures.

• We cannot quantifiably calculate which rules produce the greatest pleasure, although we can objectively determine whether one pleasure is higher than another.

• We appeal to the principle of greatest happiness only when evaluating rules of conduct, and not individual actions.

CRITICISMS OF UTILITARIANISM

Early defenders of utilitarianism offered their theories as radical alternatives to the more conventional approaches to morality that emphasized God, natural law, and instinctive duties. From the start, utilitarian theories were challenged by more conventional theorists. We will look at four important criticisms of utilitarianism.

Gisborne’s Criticism: We Cannot Know All of the Consequences

One of the first criticisms of the utilitarian theory was presented by English clergyman Thomas Gisborne (1758–1846). According to Gisborne, we are incapable of knowing all of the consequences of our actions. As we attempt to hunt down the various consequences, we will never be in a position to discover all of the relevant effects and form a conclusion about the overall happiness or unhappiness that results. He offers a picturesque analogy for this point:

As well might a fisherman infer, that his line, which has reached the bottom of the creek in which he exercises his trade, is therefore capable of fathoming the depths of the Atlantic. . . . He, who has had sufficient humility to become convinced. . . how few are the consequences which he can foresee, compared with those which are wrapped in obscurity, will be the most ready to confess his ignorance of the universal effects of his actions. [The Principles of Moral Philosophy Investigated (1789)]

Imagine that I use a 15 foot line to fish in a local creek, and with that I can reach its bottom. I then conclude that this same 15 foot line would be sufficient for me to fish in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean, which, obviously, it is not. By analogy, in our ordinary lives we are good at figuring out some of the immediate consequences of our actions. If I break a cup, it will cost me $5 to replace. If I set my alarm clock to the wrong time, then I’ll be late for work the next day. However, this skill in discovering immediate consequences of ordinary actions does not equip us to discover all the long term effects of many of our other actions. If I steal my neighbor’s car, can I really say with certainty that the consequences, when all tallied, will produce more unhappiness than happiness? It may well be that my neighbor did not like his car and would prefer the insurance money that he’d get when reporting it stolen. It may well be that the police catch me and send me to jail, which in turn reforms me and makes me a more productive and responsible citizen. I just do not know what all the remote consequences will be. In Gisborne’s words, “the limited knowledge of expediency attainable by the wisest of men is unfit to be adopted as the basis of moral rectitude” (ibid).

            How might the utilitarian respond to Gisborne’s criticism? Rule-utilitarians like Mill have the easiest answer. When determining the rightness or wrongness of moral rules, like “do not steal,” it is never up to a single individual to calculate all the consequences. Through trial and error over many generations, our ancestors have experienced and evaluated the long term results of all sorts of actions. They kept records of these in stories and histories, and constructed laws to minimize the unhappy consequences that some courses of actions bring about. We are the beneficiaries of these efforts, and we can safely say that adopting a rule like “do not steal” will bring about more long term happiness than unhappiness. It makes no difference whether we as individuals lack the mental vision to detect all the remote consequences of our actions. Like so many other areas of our lives, we rely on cultural tradition to teach us lessons that we could not individually discover.

            But even the act-utilitarian has some response to Gisborne. Let’s grant that I as an individual have a limited ability to envision all the long term consequences of a given action, like stealing my neighbor’s car. Nevertheless, nature has provided me with enough foresight to assist me in planning my life and my community. The ability to project the consequences of actions is a critical survival skill. While I cannot literally see into the future to evaluate all the remote consequences of my actions, I can set up scenarios that are more likely than others. If I steal my neighbor’s car, it is not really likely that he’ll be happy about it and prefer the insurance money. I can also project that I’ll likely get caught and go to jail. And, even if I reform in prison, that experience is not likely to improve my life when I get out, but will instead permanently restrict my career options. I also know my act of theft will place a burden on my family, the insurance industry and the criminal justice system. In the end, I can make a good best guess that my act of theft will produce more unhappiness than happiness.

This is not a 100% foolproof assessment, but it’s good enough for me to make a reasonable assessment of how I should morally behave. It is also not that much different than other critical decisions that I make in my life that are not strictly speaking moral ones. When choosing to accept a job offer, I try to make a reasonable cost-benefit analysis based on the limited knowledge that I have. So too with decisions about marrying someone, buying a home, and having children. Whether my actions are morally significant or morally neutral, nature has not left me helpless when it comes to projecting their most likely long term consequences.

Bradley’s Criticism: Utilitarianism Conflicts with Ordinary Moral Judgments

A second criticism of utilitarianism, presented by British philosopher F. H. Bradley (1846–1924), is that utilitarian moral judgments often conflict with our ordinary conceptions of moral obligation. For example, it is theoretically possible that you cheating on your spouse will maximize general happiness. It may make you and your lover happy, and as long as you keep it a secret, your spouse will not be unhappy. But even in this situation our ordinary moral judgment is that adultery is wrong:

Let us take the precept, Do not commit adultery. How are we to prove that no possible adultery can increase the overplus of pleasurable feeling? . . . To put the whole matter in to words; the precepts of Hedonism are only rules, and rules may always have exceptions: they are not, and, so far as I see, they can not be made out to be laws. [Ethical Studies (1876), 3]

According to Bradley, there are morally proper behaviors that “we should choose even if no pleasure came from them,” such as being faithful to one’s spouse. Thus, utilitarianism fails as a guideline of proper conduct.

            We can illustrate Bradley’s point further by considering cases in which we might exploit someone if doing so would produce general happiness. For example, suppose that I capture and enslave an unimportant person who has no relatives, and force him to perform all the menial tasks that I and my family hate. We have him clean the house, do the laundry, mow the yard, change the cat litter box, fix broken appliances, and so on. The slave surely suffer, but, overall, this results in more happiness with me and my family through the slaves’ labor. However, we commonly feel that it is simply wrong to enslave someone, in spite of the overall happiness that this might produce. According to Bradley’s reasoning, then, utilitarianism is an inadequate moral theory since it can be used to justify this kind of exploitation in the name of general happiness.

            In response to Bradley’s criticism, again, rule-utiltarians have the easiest job of providing an answer. According to rule-utilitarians such as Mill, we do not calculate the consequences of each action, such as whether general happiness is maximized when Jones in particular cheats on his wife. Instead, we calculate the consequences of each rule we adopt, such as “adultery is wrong.” As Hume argued, it is only through the adoption of this general rule against adultery that we maximize social utility by better preserving the family unit. So too with exploitive acts like slavery. We do not calculate the benefit of enslaving Jones in particular, but, instead, the benefit of rules like “Slavery is wrong.” When we focus on these rules, it becomes clear that adopting them will produce more happiness than unhappiness. Further, rule-utilitarians can safeguard against all isolated acts of exploitation, and not just slavery, by adopting a rule like “We may never exploit individuals, even for an alleged greater good.” Even if some instances of exploitation do serve the general happiness, most exploitation will result in unhappiness. So, a rule prohibiting all exploitation will be one that, on balance, serves the general happiness.

            Act-utilitarians also have a response to Bradley’s criticism. When utilitarian reasoning conflicts with ordinary moral judgments, it is often because we focus only on the short-term benefits of one’s conduct, neglecting the long-term ones. In the situation of adultery, there is the realistic possibility that one’s spouse will eventually find out, or that one’s lover may feel taken advantage of and take revenge. With slavery there is the long term problem of slave rebellions, and creating an underclass of people that society may never fully recover from even after slavery is outlawed. In fact, the long-term negative consequences of slavery in the United States are still unfolding. The problem that Bradley exposes is not so much with act-utilitarianism itself, but with human nature and our tendency to prefer short term benefits over long term ones. It was much easier for slave owners to focus on the immediate economic benefits of slavery than the long term social and economic devastation that it would create. While the focus on long term consequences may not resolve all of utilitarianism’s conflicts with ordinary moral judgments, it goes a long way in reducing the force of Bradley’s criticism.

Grote’s Criticism: Utilitarianism Only Perpetuates the Status Quo

Suppose we wanted to determine whether an action like the execution of Karla Faye Tucker is morally permissible. According to utiltarians, we find this out by looking at how much pleasure and pain result from actually putting people to death. This involves an experiential inspection of the various consequences—an approach that, in essence, grounds morality in our factual observations. In his posthumously published An Examination of the Utilitarian Philosophy(1870), John Grote (1813–1866) criticizes this purely experiential approach to determining our moral obligations.

For Grote, appeals to experience will only perpetuate the status quo, and it will not include an ideal moral goal toward which we should aim. There is no room for anyone with special moral vision to expose the flaws with our current moral standards and put us on the path to moral reform. In Grote’s words, utilitarianism bases morality only on what is the case, not on what ought to be the case. Morality should include guidelines for moral improvement, but we will never get such guidelines by appealing only to what is the case. Grote makes this point here:

Man has improved as he has, because certain portions of his race have had in them the spirit of self-improvement, or, as I have called it, the ideal element; have been unsatisfied with what to them at the time has been the positive, the matter of fact, the immediately utilitarian; have risen above the cares of the day. . . [An Examination of the Utilitarian Philosophy (1870), 13]

According to Grote, to obtain ideal guidelines, we need an intuitive knowledge of morality, which goes beyond mere experience and a utilitarian analysis.

            There are two distinct aspects of Grote’s criticism: (1) whether utilitarianism would ever allow standards of morality to shift beyond the status quo, and (2) whether utilitarianism has any room for people with special moral vision. Utilitarians have a response to both of these aspects. Regarding the first, imagine an isolated village where nothing ever changes. The population is stable and they have consistent growing seasons with no unpredictable droughts or insect infestations. There have been no technological advances in hundreds of years, and work routines are firmly established. Their political structure is stable, with no conflicts between social groups. There is no contact with outsiders who might introduce foreign customs or pose threats of war. In this situation, there would be no utilitarian grounds to move morality beyond the status quo. The village’s customs and moral values evolved around a fixed and unchanging social environment, and no additional experience would require a new assessment of what will bring about the greatest happiness for the greatest number. For this particular village, Grote is correct: utilitarianism would only perpetuate the status quo. However, very few societies are like this today, and probably have not been since the dawn of human civilization.

Within most societies, there are continual changes as a result of population fluctuations, natural disasters, epidemics, clashes with foreigners, new technologies, social inequalities, political factions, and differing religions. Where there is constant change within societies, there will always be a need to reexamine which actions and policies bring about the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people. Some tried and true moral rules will never change, such as “do not kill” and “do not steal.” But others may shift with the times such as with capital punishment, abortion, euthanasia, cloning, church and state relations, universal health care, internet neutrality and a host of other hot button issues that divide society. Where there is heated debate, the status quo is not fixed, and there is a need to draw on utilitarianism to make society a happier place.

            The second aspect of Grote’s criticism—whether utilitarianism has any room for people with special moral vision—can be answered with a similar response. Within the isolated village described above, moral visionaries seeking to reform the status quo would only be troublemakers who would risk disrupting the efficient traditions of that past. In spite of their good intentions, their efforts at reform might produce more unhappiness than happiness. Again, in this village Grote is correct: utilitarianism has no room for the moral visionary. However, when we turn to societies that are ever-changing with constant social clashes, there is an important role for utilitarian moral visionaries. They are the ones who propose new ideas for mediating social conflict and bringing about the greatest happiness for the greatest number.

A key theme throughout Mill’s Utilitarianism is that, over time, the status quo of general happiness will improve through education and science. The moral visionary is the one who brings these new social ideas to the public and attempts to gain consensus with them. The visionary will not seek guidance from an inner and intuitive sense of morality, as Grote suggests. Instead, the visionary will seek out areas of discontent within society and propose ways of remedying it. Some discontent will be so overwhelming that it may call for radical changes to set society on a long-term path of general happiness. The abolition of slavery and the civil rights movement are cases in point, and the leaders of these movements could fully justify their reforming efforts with utilitarian reasoning.

Albee’s Criticism: Higher Pleasures are Inconsistent with Hedonism

A final criticism focuses specifically on Mill’s version of utilitarianism. We saw that the most distinctive feature of his theory is that happiness consists of both higher and lower pleasures, and that higher pleasures are qualitatively superior to lower ones. The problem is that Mill appears to offer two separate standards of general happiness: (1) pleasure and (2) dignity. If we see pleasure as the sole criterion, then we must deemphasize dignity; if we see dignity as the principal criterion, then we must deemphasize pleasure. American philosopher Ernest Albee (1865–1929) concisely states the central issue here:

The inconsistency, in truth, may be expressed in a word: If all good things are good in proportion as they bring pleasure to oneself or others, one cannot add to this statement that pleasure itself, the assumed criterion, is more or less desirable in terms of something else (e.g., human dignity) which is not pleasure. [A History of English Utilitarianism (1902), 12]

The problem here is a serious one, and it appears that Mill simply cannot hold up both pleasure and dignity as the principal standard of happiness.

            One option is to set aside the notion of dignity, and simply to see pleasure as the standard of happiness. This solution brings Mill closer to Bentham, since any difference between pleasures would then have to be quantitative. This even allows for the possibility of a utilitarian calculus of differing quantities of pleasure. However, this resurrects the problem that Mill hoped to avoid—namely, that utilitarianism is a doctrine worthy only of swine since swine also pursue pleasure. Thus, this is not the best option for Mill. The very uniqueness of his version of utilitarianism rests on the concept of higher pleasure, and, so, we must try to answer Albee’s criticism while preserving that concept.

            A second option is to redefine the notion of human pleasure to make it inseparable from the notion of human dignity. That is precisely what Mill tried to do when distinguishing between higher and lower pleasures. The lower ones are bodily in nature, which even animals can experience. By contrast, the higher ones are uniquely human and involve human dignity. The challenge for Mill is to explain how a pleasure can be a dignifying one, and still be an actual “pleasure” in any meaningful sense of the word. His slogan “It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied” does not help his case since it looks like the human being is not experiencing any real pleasure at all. It is here that Mill needs help.

            To assist Mill with this problem, let’s start by considering a common distinction between pain and suffering. Suppose that both I and my pet hamster break a leg as a result of an accident. We both will experience physical pain from our respective injuries. However, I, with my more complex brain, will reflect on my pain in ways that the hamster cannot. I’ll worry how long the pain will last, how long it will take to heal, whether I’ll be able to function normally when it does heal, and whether I’ll be treated differently by my peers throughout the healing process. What I am experiencing now is not just pain, but suffering. The specific formula is pain plus reflection produces suffering. While suffering of this sort may not be a uniquely human experience, it would at best be restricted to higher animals sophisticated thought processes.

            Consider now how I and my hamster would react to a pleasurable experience of, say, eating our favorite meal. The hamster eats its food pellets and I eat a pizza. We both experience gastronomic pleasure, but, because of my more sophisticated thought process, I reflect on it in different ways. I think about the subtle interplay of ingredients, the manner in which it was cooked, its visual appearance, how it compares to other pizzas I’ve had, and what beverage would go well with it. I also think about how many calories I’m eating, whether the ingredients are processed or whole foods, and how it fits into a balanced diet for the day. While my gastronomic pleasure is similar to that of the hamster, my overall enjoyment of the experience is entirely different since it is filtered through my higher thought processes. At least some of this thought process involves a sense of dignity. I’m not simply shoveling food into my mouth to satisfy a craving, but by reflecting on these additional elements I am elevating the experience to a level that fits into my sense of human worth. The formula here is ordinary pleasure plus reflection produces higher pleasure. Now I do not always do this when I eat pizza, and sometimes my experience is no better than a hamster’s. But, on the occasions that my eating enjoyment is connected with my higher functions, my experience is more valuable. With a sense of human adventure, I might expand beyond my usual eating routine and try different foreign foods and enjoy them. Similarly, I might expand beyond the action-adventure movies that I watch and try foreign films and documentaries, and enjoy them as well.

In all of these cases, the higher pleasure that I’m experiencing is a genuine pleasure that is rooted in an ordinary pleasure, such as good eating, drama, suspense, intrigue, romantic passion. But as it becomes elevated to a higher pleasure, it cannot be separated from my human dignity. In this way, contrary to Albee, higher pleasures are not inconsistent with hedonism.