Des éléments de puissance dont se composent les lois de la morale ; et de l’influence qu’exerce la c

CHAP. 18: > Of the elements of power of which the laws of morality are composed; and of the influence that knowledge of these elements exercises on the judgments we pass on human actions and habits.

We have seen previously that the consequences that result from our actions or our habits are composed of a mixture of goods and evils; that these goods and evils almost always spread over a more or less large number of persons; that they manifest themselves at more or less distant intervals, and are distributed only in an unequal manner; we have also seen how morals and laws are perfected as one better knows the diverse phenomena that result from human institutions and habits.

I now have to expound what are the circumstances to which it is necessary to successively direct one's attention, if one wishes to have a complete knowledge of each of these phenomena. One will see here again how the judgments of men vary as their ideas extend, and how the variations one observes in their opinions are always the result of a single principle. In order to make this observation more striking, allow me to take for an example a fact to which no judgment of praise or blame is attached.

A man picks an unknown fruit, brings it to his mouth, and is struck by an agreeable impression; this impression is renewed every time he renews the action that produced it. If experience has never taught this man that the same thing that produces a present pleasure sometimes produces a distant harm, how will he judge this fruit? By the immediate sensation he has received from it: he declares it good, as long as no new phenomenon has come to modify his judgment. If this fruit, though agreeable to the taste, is harmful, if it produces headaches or stomach pains, will that be enough to cause a contrary judgment to be passed on it? No, if one does not perceive the connection that exists between the pain and the cause that produced it. Even if the fruit were mortal, one will continue to consider it salutary, as long as one is ignorant that it causes death. But as soon as one judges it, not only by the immediate effect, but also by the distant effects that result from it, one will pass a completely different judgment on it. In the first case, one had observed only one effect; in the second, one possesses two, the present good and the future harm; and as they both have the same certainty, and as the second far surpasses the first in intensity and duration, it is the latter that will determine the judgment.

If, instead of producing an agreeable effect on the taste, the fruit produces a disagreeable effect, one will declare it bad; one will persist in this opinion, as long as no new observation has modified the first judgment. But, if chance leads to the discovery that this fruit restores strength to weakened organs, that it destroys or prevents certain diseases, or that by means of certain precautions, it can be converted into an agreeable and salutary food, one will form a completely different opinion of it. One will not judge it only by the disagreeable sensation it produces at the very instant one makes use of it, one will also judge it by the advantageous, but distant, effects that are its result. A first experience had given rise to only one observation; repeated experiences will give rise to a greater number. It is therefore natural that one arrives at a different conclusion.It could happen that, in the two cases I have just supposed, the distant effects did not always have the same certainty; that the distant effects of the fruit that flatters the taste were not constant, and were produced only in particular circumstances; that the good effects of the one that produces at first a disagreeable impression were equally uncertain, and that one did not have the means to determine the circumstances in which they occur. It is clear that the greater or lesser certainty of the results would influence the judgment one would pass on the cause: one would hesitate to declare it good or bad, as long as one found its consequences uncertain.

Men proceed, in the assessment of moral actions or habits, in exactly the same way as in the assessment of a material object. It will be easy for us to convince ourselves of this by successively examining the various phenomena produced by the habits called vicious, and those qualified as virtuous. To expound these phenomena, allow me to take an example I have already given, because it is one whose consequences can be best followed.

Let us suppose that a worker, having a wife and children who subsist by means of his labor, receives, on Saturday, the wages for the six workdays of the week, and that instead of employing the sum he has received for the maintenance of his family, he goes to spend the greater part of it in a tavern. This action will evidently produce pleasures and pains: let us see what the ones and the others consist of.

It will first produce a physical pleasure for a single individual: this pleasure may have five or six hours of duration, a little more or a little less; its intensity will be in proportion to the individual's sensuality.

It will produce, on the other hand, physical pains for the wife and for the children; these pains will consist in those that result from the privation of food, clothing, cleanliness, heating, remedies in case of illness.

It will produce, moreover, various moral pains; they will result from the reciprocal spectacle of misery, from the idea of abandonment, from deceived hopes, from fears for the future, from the loss of confidence, from the weakening or extinction of family affections, and from the very contrast of their sufferings with the pleasures of he who was to be their support.

The number of persons over whom these physical and moral pains spread will be equal to that of the members of which the family is composed, and of the individuals who take an interest in it. The least duration they could have will exceed fifteen or twenty times the duration of the pleasures that intemperance will have produced; it could be equal to the life of several members of the family.

The same action, after having produced physical pleasures for a single individual, will produce for him pains of various kinds: it will affect him in his intellectual, moral, and physical faculties; it will first deprive him of the pleasures given by family affections; it will make him discontented with himself, and consequently with others; if it is repeated, it will extinguish his judgment, render him incapable of work, give him various kinds of infirmities, and plunge him into misery, after having made him lose the means of escaping it. The intensity and duration of these evils will far exceed the duration of the pleasures, since the passion and the pains it will have engendered may long outlive the means of satisfying even the most basic needs.

I have not included in this calculation the advantages that have resulted for the merchant from the sale of his goods. That was not necessary, since if the worker had employed the sum he paid him to provide for the needs of his family, this sum would have likewise passed into the hands of those who would have furnished the things necessary for the satisfaction of these needs; it would even have been spread in a more equal manner among several classes of society, and it would consequently have been more usefully spent.

It results from this comparison that the pains produced by intemperance exceed the pleasures, by their kind, by the number of persons they reach, by their intensity, and by their duration. The pleasures are a little more immediate or a little closer than the pains, and they have, consequently, a slight degree of greater certainty; but this difference is so small that it is inappreciable.

If one will take the trouble to seek what are the consequences of the habits or actions to which civilized peoples give the name of vicious, one will everywhere encounter the same elements of calculation; one will see that whenever an action produces on the physical organs, on the moral affections, or on the intellectual faculties of men, a sum of evils more considerable than that of goods, this action is placed in the rank of vicious or criminal actions; one will see that, to calculate the sum of the ones and the sum of the others, all enlightened peoples have taken into consideration the intensity of the good and the evil produced, the number of persons affected by it, the duration of the pleasures and pains, their proximity or distance, their greater or lesser certainty.

Thus, the name of vice is given to the habit a person has of indulging in actions that immediately produce a physical pleasure, but which is followed by more extensive moral pains, by their duration, by their intensity, or by the number of persons they affect. The same qualification is given to the habit of exposing oneself to considerable evils to obtain advantages that have less certainty or less extent; it is in this sense that one says that the passion for gambling is a vicious passion. Finally, the same qualification is given to the habit of sacrificing to an individual or a small number, the interests of a more considerable number: in this respect, there is no passion more vicious than that of a man who, for his personal satisfaction, has thousands of men massacred in those butcheries that are called battles, or who enslaves numerous populations to his caprices and to those of his courtiers.

Actions that immediately produce pleasures for the persons who indulge in them, but which are followed by more serious distant evils, are therefore considered innocent and even honorable, as long as the connection between these evils and the cause that produces them is not clearly perceived. For the same reason, actions that cause immediate and present pains to those who indulge in them, and which produce distant, but more considerable advantages, are despised, as long as one does not see in a very distinct manner how these advantages are consequences of these same actions. Labor and economy are despised among all savage or barbarous peoples. Among these peoples, men honor war and hunting, because they clearly see the profit they can derive from them, and they can consume their booty or their prey as soon as they have seized it. But they leave the despised labors of agriculture to the women and slaves, because its products are distant and uncertain, and their fields can be ravaged before they have gathered the fruits. As long as movable properties were exposed to being the prey of foreign armies, or of pillagers from within, noble or otherwise, governing or not governing, these properties and those who produced them were the object of contempt, among ancient peoples as among modern peoples. The privilege of brigandage was then honored, because only the pleasures of those who practiced it were assured; some respect was granted to territorial properties only because it was less easy to ravish a land or a castle than a purse or a bale of merchandise. But, when the products of labor and economy were assured, when it was demonstrated that the pleasures that could be acquired by these means were as certain and more extensive than the pains by means of which they had to be bought, labor and economy became virtues, and the persons who devoted themselves to them were no longer despised. The profits of pillage having become uncertain, they were less honored; brigandage became contemptible the day the brigands began to be hanged. This explains to us the respect that peoples still have for conquerors, usurpers, and corrupt ministers; it indicates to us, at the same time, what are the only means proper to debase usurpations and corruptions.

The elements of calculation that enter into the assessment of a habit or an action judged virtuous, among a civilized nation, are therefore exactly the same as those that enter into the assessment of a habit judged vicious; there is a difference only in the results. In the first case, the sum of evils exceeds that of goods; in the second, it is that of goods which exceeds that of evils. To demonstrate this truth, I will take for example the habit of economy, and to make the calculation easier, I will suppose a man placed in exactly the same circumstances as the one of whom I have previously spoken.

The immediate effect produced by an act of economy is a privation or a pain. The intensity of this pain is in proportion to the strength of the temptation one feels to consume the thing one puts aside. This pain necessarily has the same duration as the temptation, and it can increase as the acts of economy multiply. But these same acts produce effects of another kind: let us examine what they consist of.

An active and intelligent worker, having a wife and children, earns, I suppose, twenty-five francs per week. Twenty francs and some small profits his wife makes are enough for his household expenses. There remains for him, therefore, every week, a sum of five francs that he can spend at the tavern, at gambling, at the theater, or in passing a day in idleness. Instead of spending it thus, he takes it to the savings bank, and passes Sunday with his family. The privation he imposes on himself every week is an evil whose intensity and duration equal, as I have already observed, the strength and duration of the temptations he feels. This evil becomes, however, weaker and weaker, for the reason that desires are extinguished by the habit of resisting them, whenever the things one desires are not necessary to our existence. The evil that results from the privation is felt only by one individual, and it alters neither his physical faculties, nor his intellectual faculties, nor his moral affections.

By putting aside 5 francs per week, our worker will have taken 260 francs to the savings bank at the end of the year. This sum, invested at five percent, will annually produce a revenue of 13 francs. At the end of ten years, and by means of compound interest, he will be the possessor of a value of 3,250 francs, and of 7,800 francs at the end of twenty years.

This capital, by the sole fact that it exists, and without it being necessary to touch it, nor even to consume its interest, produces several kinds of goods. The first is security; he to whom it belongs, nor the members of his family, no longer have to fear that a suspension of work, caused by an illness or by other accidents, will reduce them to dire necessity. This good of security begins to be felt the very instant the worker makes his first saving, and it increases as the saved values accumulate.

The second good is the increase in strength it gives to family affections. A man who imposes privations on himself to ensure the future of his children, and of his wife if she survives him, is much dearer to them than he would be if he contented himself with providing for their daily existence, having the means to do more. For his part, he has more affection for them, for the very reason that he makes greater sacrifices for them: the pleasures that are born of these affections are purer, because they are free from the fears and anxieties inseparable from a precarious existence.

The third good is that of hope: parents who, by their economy, prepare a happy future for their children, enjoy in advance all the goods they are to possess one day; this pleasure increases as the hope is closer to being realized.

The fourth good is that of independence: a good worker who has amassed a small capital is not obliged to accept the terms of his employer; he treats, in a way, with him as an equal; if he is not satisfied with the deal offered him, he can wait, or move to a place where labor is better paid.

The education of children is the fourth advantage that results from economy. A worker who has made no savings has no means of educating his children; he is obliged to leave them in the lowest ranks of society. He who has accumulated a small capital can have his own enter a more enlightened and more comfortable class: he can place them in a more honorable and more lucrative manner.

The consumption of the revenues of the accumulated capital will produce pleasures of various kinds, not only for him who will have formed it by his savings, and for the members of his family, but for all those who will succeed them to infinity, as long as the capital is not destroyed.

I have spoken only of the advantages that economy produces for him who makes a habit of it and for the members of his family. But it also produces them for other persons of whom I have not spoken. There is in society a multitude of individuals who can exist and have their families exist only by means of their industry, and no industry can be exercised without capital. To make savings or create a capital is therefore to create the means to put into activity the industry of a part of the population, and consequently to create for it means of existence; it is to enable it to make savings in its turn.

The effects of the habit, whose analysis I have just made, are therefore composed of a mixture of pains and pleasures; but the sum of the latter exceeds the sum of the former by the multiplicity of kinds, by the number of persons they affect, by the intensity, and especially by the duration.

The pleasures exceed the pains by the number of kinds; since one finds among the former moral pleasures, intellectual pleasures, and physical pleasures, whereas one finds among the latter only privations of this last kind. The pleasures exceed the pains by the number of persons they affect; the latter are experienced only by a single individual; the former spread not only over him, but over each of the persons of his family, and over many other members of society.

The pleasures exceed the pains in intensity; the mere physical pleasures that can be bought with the interest of the accumulated capital exceed those that one could have procured with the small sums of which this capital was formed.

The pleasures exceed the pains in duration; the latter are momentary and cannot extend beyond the life of an individual; the former are of every instant, and can pass to the most remote generations.

The pains have a slight degree of greater certainty than the pleasures, even in the most civilized States, since it is not impossible that an accumulated capital may perish, whatever care the capitalist takes to place it well; but this risk, which is easy to assess, is reduced to very little in a country where justice is well administered.

The pains are also a little closer than the pleasures; but the distance that separates them is not great, as could be seen in what precedes.

Economy has therefore been placed in the rank of virtues, because of the advantages that result from it for men; and, if one wishes to seek what are the consequences of the other habits that are considered virtuous, one will see that everywhere the same elements of calculation have been taken as the basis of one's opinions. Whenever peoples have proceeded in this manner, they have marched toward their prosperity; when they have followed a contrary procedure, they have marched toward decadence.

It is therefore easy to form a general idea of the habits to which one gives the name of virtues. This name is given to the habit that a person has of exposing or submitting himself to a present pain, to avoid distant, but more serious pains, or to acquire more considerable advantages. The same name is given to the habit or the disposition to submit to individual privations or pains, to procure for a more or less large number of persons more considerable advantages, or to deliver them from the evils with which they are afflicted or threatened. One evaluates the greatness of the virtue by comparing the goods obtained to the evils at the price of which they are bought: the surplus in good measures the value of the virtue, as the surplus in evil measures the degree of hatred that vice must inspire [91].Whenever men are led to execute certain actions, or to abstain from them by forces inherent in human nature, and without the intervention of governments, these forces are given the name of moral laws, or more simply of morality; thus, to violate the laws of morality is to give oneself over to baneful actions that public authority does not repress: in this sense, it is very true to say that it is not enough for a thing not to have been forbidden by a government, for it to be licit.

Not all peoples agree on giving similar names to the same actions: those that some consider honorable and virtuous are considered by others as shameful or vicious. The reason for this difference is easy to see: all calculate in the same way; but not all perceive the same goods and the same evils. A philosopher can expose himself to the most violent persecutions to propagate an opinion; a monk can tear his skin with lashes of a whip, to obey the directions of his confessor. Each of them is virtuous in his own way: the first does not doubt that the evil to which he submits is more than compensated for by the goods that the opinion he publishes will produce for the human race; the second is no less persuaded that the celestial intelligences take an infinite pleasure in seeing a monk who flogs himself, and that they will reward him, with centuries of felicity, for the agreeable spectacle he gives them. On both sides, it is the same calculation of pleasures and pains; which of the two is mistaken? This question is foreign to our subject.

In the exposition I have just made, I have confined myself to following the procedure that Mr. Bentham followed in his treatises on legislation: it is by means of this procedure that he has brought light into several branches of this science; and it is only by following it that one can hope to advance.