Practical Reasoning: The Structure and Foundations of Prudential and Moral Arguments and their Exemplification in Discourse

Practical Reasoning The Structure and Foundations of Prudential and Moral Arguments and their Exemplification in Discourse DAVID P. GAUTHIER ASSISTANT PROFESSOR DEPARTMENT OF PHILOSOPHY UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO OXFORD AT THE CLARENDON PRESS 1963 -iiiOxford University Press, Amen House, London E.C.4 GLASGOW NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE WELLINGTON BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS KARACHI LAHORE DACCA CAPE TOWN SALISBURY NAIROBI IBADAN ACCRA KUALA LUMPUR HONG KONG © Oxford University Press 1963 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN -iv-

PREFACE THE first ten chapters of this study are a considerably shortened version of my doctoral thesis, accepted by the University of Oxford in 1961. The remaining three chapters are based on a study of principles, obligation, and duty undertaken at Oxford in 1961, and financed by a Humanities Research Grant from the University of Toronto. The entire study owes more than may be apparent to Mr. R. M. Hare's excellent book, The Language of Morals, with which I have so often disagreed. It was this book, which I read first as a graduate student at Harvard in 1955, which convinced me that moral philosophy was a profitable field of inquiry, and induced me to begin the investigations of which this is the result. I must express my gratitude to the late Professor J. L. Austin, the original supervisor of my doctoral studies, who clarified my thinking concerning advice, to Mr. Patrick Gardiner of Magdalen College, who read and discussed with me two drafts of my manuscript, to Mr. Aaron Sloman, who took time from his own studies to read and comment voluminously upon my doctoral thesis, and to my colleague, Professor John Hunter, who read and commented upon an earlier draft of Chapter VIII. I am also grateful for the patience of my wife, who understands, and my children, who are too young to understand, why daddy is sometimes so busy.

I should like to believe that I have said something true. But, warned by the fate of others, I shall be content if I have indicated some promising fields for further examination. D. P.G. University of Toronto October 1962 -v-

CONTENTS I. PRACTICAL PROBLEMS I.1 Context I.2 Solution I.2.1 Action I.2.2 Decision II. PRACTICAL JUDGEMENTS 2.1 Formulation 2.2 Judgement and Decision 2.2.1 'Ought' and Decision 2.2.2 Judgement and Reasons 2.3 Prudential and Moral III. THE PRUDENTIAL BASIS 3.1 Aristotle on Deliberation 3.1.1 The Practical Starting-point 3.1.2 Reasoning about Reasons 3.2 Wants and Reasons for Acting 3.2.1 Impulses 3.2.2 Wants and Time 3.2.3 Wishes 3.2.4. Conclusion 3.3 Prudential Inference 3.3.1 Logical Validity 3.3.2 Demonstrability IV. PRUDENTIAL DISCOURSE 4.1 The Imperative 4.2 Advice 4.2.1 Advisee's Point of View 4.3 Other Imperatives 4.3.1 Instruction 4.3.2 Hortation 4.3.3 Command 4.3.4 Request 4.4 Assent to Imperatives

1 1 4 5 6 9 10 12 15 17 18 24 24 27 31 33 36 38 40 42 43 45 48 50 50 53 54 57 57 59 61 62 63

-viiV. APPRAISAL OF ADVICE 5.I Criticisms of the Adviser 5.1.1 Competence 5.1.2 Title 5.1.3 Sincerity 5.2 Criticisms of the Advice 5.2.1 Applicability 5.2.2 Soundness 5.2.3 Extrinsic Criticisms 5.3 Functional Appraisal VI. THE MORAL BASIS 6.1 The Wants of Others 6.2 The Extended Basis 6.2.1 All wants. . .

66 66 66 68 70 72 73 74 75 76 81 81 86 86

6.2.2 . . . of all persons. . . 6.2.3 . . . are to be included 6.3 Further Extensions? 6.3.1 Reasons for Acting VII. LOGIC AND PRACTICE 7.1 The Condition of Practical Inference 7.1.1 Validity 7.2 Justification of the Condition of Practical Inference 7.2.1 Justification of the Condition of Moral Inference VIII. THE RATIONAL AGENT 8.1 Kant on Autonomy 8.2 Morality as Autonomy respecting Autonomy 8.2.1 Autonomy. . . 8.2.2 . . . respecting Autonomy 8.2.3 The Dual Role of Autonomy IX. CONFLICTING WANTS 9.1 Wants and Persons 9.2 Extent of Concern 9.3 Direct Opposition

87 89 90 91 95 95 99 103 104 111 111 115 115 117 120 123 123 127 131

-viiiX. MORAL DISCOURSE 10.1 The Moral Imperative 10.1.1 Moral Counsel and Hortation 10.1.2 Moral Counsel and Command 10.1.3 Moral Counsel and Advice 10.2 Appraisal of Moral Counsel 10.2.1 Criticisms of the Counsellor 10.2.2 Criticisms of the Counsel XI. PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES 11.1 General Practical Judgements 11.1.1 Practical Experience 11.1.2 Defeasibility 11.2 Acting on Principle 11.2.1 Personal Rules 11.2.2 Equity 11.2.3 Assurance 11.3 Principles and Morality 11.3.1 R. M. Hare 11.3.2 P. H. Nowell-Smith 11.3.3 Kurt Baier XII. OBLIGATION 12.1 The Uses of 'Oblige' 12.1.1 The Context of Objectives 12.1.2 The Obliging Factor 12.2 Obligation and Morality 12.2.1 Thomas Hobbes on Obligation 12.2.2 Conclusion XIII. DUTY

135 135 136 137 145 148 148 151 155 155 156 159 160 160 163 165 168 168 170 171 174 174 176 179 183 186 191 193

13.1 The Use of 'Duty' 13.1.1 Duties and Roles 13.1.2 Duties and Obligations 13.2 Duty and Morality 13.2.1 Duties and Rights of a Rational Agent INDEX

193 196 201 202 203 207

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I PRACTICAL PROBLEMS A PRACTICAL problem is a problem about what to do. In saying this we are using the word 'practical' more widely than in everyday discourse, to characterize all problems, individual and social, prudential and moral, whose final solution is found only in doing something, in acting. Practical problems may be contrasted with theoretical problems, whose solution is found in knowing something, in understanding. Each of us is continually faced with practical problems--some trivial, others important, some easily met, others admitting no satisfactory solution. Examples will suggest their variety: I've put tab A in slit A'; what do I do next? How can I convince her that I love her? Which of these suits shall I buy? For which candidate ought I to vote? Should I read for the law, or consider some other profession?. Ought I to engage in civil disobedience, in support of nuclear disarmament? What shall I do this evening? What shall I do, now that George is dead? I ought to visit my aunt this afternoon, but shall I? I could make a tidy sum speculating against sterling, but should I?

1.1. Context A practical problem is related to a particular context. It confronts a certain person (or group) whose capacities, outlook, and achievements limit his actions. It usually arises out of his particular circumstances, and must be met by action on a specified occasion or situation. On the occasion the person concerned must be able to affect what happens by his action, and, if he is to consider the -1problem seriously, must judge one possible effect to be more desirable than another. Theoretical problems do not display this same relation to context. A theoretical problem may arise for a particular person, whose ability to solve it is limited, but the solution is not itself thereby limited. And it may arise out of particular circumstances--one wants to explain why the bathroom pipes froze last night--but it does not specify any occasion or situation in which it must be solved. What to do about a theoretical problem may be a practical problem, dependent on the person concerned and his situation, but the theoretical question may be separated from this context. A practical problem is met by action in a situation, or at a certain time. What shall we serve when the Smiths come to dinner? What shall we do this afternoon? When the situation arises, or the time comes, we must do something--even if we do nothing. But what we do need not solve the problem. For we may well do the wrong thing. When I ask 'What am I to do?', I do not want to know what I shall do, but what I should do.

Practical problems are solved by doing something--but only by doing the right thing, by performing the correct action. Once the action, whatever it may be, is performed, the possibility of solving the problem is past--if it has not then been solved, it can never be solved. The problem specifies the occasion of its possible solution-it demands resolution at this time, but may not receive it. The relation of practical problems to their context is of the first importance in considering the methods of practical reasoning. These methods must enable us to solve a problem under the limitations which the context imposes. If we are not able to determine what to do, but only what, had we but known, we should have done, we are not able to solve our practical problems. Thus it is quite mistaken to employ ideal standards in justifying practical judgements; the standards must relate to the judgement or decision as contributing to the solution of the actual problem. The dynamic aspect of the context of practical problems also affects the methods of practical reasoning. Although we consider what to do before we act, yet we act in the light of what we are already doing, of what is presently happening, and of what we propose to -2do, of what we expect to happen. When confronted with a practical problem, we do not and cannot bring ourselves and our world to rest, and then set everything once more in motion by our actions. This possibility is perhaps most nearly realized if the course of a man's life is brought to a sudden halt--his family is killed, or his business is ruined--and he must consider what to do to begin anew. But such extreme situations are fortunately rare. General formulae for the solution of practical problems, or for the justification of proposed solutions, which do not take account of the dynamic context, can offer little practical guidance to the agent. A rigorous nineteenth-century utilitarian would insist that any question about what to do ought to be answered by considering what action would provide the greatest happiness for the greatest number, or would satisfy some subordinate principles derived from this supreme criterion. But in practice the answer to a practical question must depend, not only on an appeal to a hierarchy of principles, but far more on an appeal to a context of activity, in which the general programme of action is already fixed. Practical reasoning often consists in showing that an action fits into such a context. Rather than a hierarchy of principles, a hierarchy of problems confronts us in practical reasoning. Suppose, for example, that I am undecided about what to do this morning. After reflecting on several alternatives, I decide to work in my garden. I then consider what I shall do there, and settle on weeding the lawn. And after making all preparations, I may hesitate just for a moment, and ask myself where to begin. The subdivision of problems suggested in this example is by no means necessary. I might equally well, on first considering what to do, have settled immediately on weeding the lawn. On the other hand, I might merely have elected to work at home, rather than to go to the university to continue a philosophical paper, or to the railway to watch trains. The individuation of problems within a hierarchy depends on the questions the person concerned actually considers. There is no

simple correspondence between actions and problems. One problem may determine, in a general way, an entire sequence of actions (as -3in the example), or it may--should one decide to do nothing about some matter--determine no actions whatever. One action may be intended to contribute to tee solution of quite independent problems (as those who insist that business may be combined with pleasure assure us) or--as a random or reflex action--to the solution of no problem at all. Problems which belong entirely within a hierarchy, although common, are of little interest in the study of practical reasoning. The arguments used to resolve them, or to justify a solution adopted, do not present considerations of importance. Only when, through failure satisfactorily to solve them, we are forced to reconsider the context within which they arise, do they give rise to more interesting patterns of reasoning. Most frequently we find, not only a satisfactory, but a definite, conclusive answer to questions such as 'How do I weed my garden?' or 'What do I do after putting tab A in slit A'?' Problems of this type may be termed procedural; they will receive brief further mention in 4.3.1 But many of our problems, even if they begin as procedural, cannot be confined to a simple hierarchy. Having adopted an objective, I consider how to attain it, but, in so doing, issues relevant to other activities in which I am engaged, or objectives which I seek, may arise. Again, such problems may raise quite different issues, such as the effect of my actions upon the activities of other persons, which introduce questions extending beyond my entire range of objectives. When we are faced with problems which cannot be treated as procedural, our reasons for acting are not fully established in advance. Only as we consider what we can do or not do, can we determine what wants and desires, aims and ends, may be affected by our action. As a result of this inquiry we establish practical judgements.

1.2. Solution To clarify the role of practical judgements, it is necessary to consider more fully the nature of the solution to a practical problem. Certain terminological distinctions will prove useful here. The verbal formulation of a practical problem I shall call a practical -4question. Thus the exemplification of practical problems at the beginning of this chapter consisted of a series of practical questions. An action, or set of actions, performed by the person in the situation specified in the problem, I shall call the solution. A decision taken by the person concerning what to do in the situation, I shall call the resolution. A judgement about what to do in the situation, or an injunction to do something, I shall call the answer to the practical question. Whether these three are completely distinct, and whether each is always present, will have to be considered, as will the distinction between judgement and injunction.

1.2.1. Action However resolved we may be on what to do, however certain we may be of what we should do, unless we do in fact perform the action decided upon, we do not satisfactorily meet our practical problem. The answers to practical questions are intended, not merely to increase our knowledge, but to guide our actions. Decisions, although they end our deliberations and hence our practical worries, are intended only to determine our actions. I may know how to convince her that I love her, but unless I put my knowledge into practice, I shall not convince her, and hence I shall not achieve the objective which sets my problem. Thus it is reasonable to use 'solution' to refer to the action, rather than the decision or judgement, provided it be recognized that the solution is, or may be, but a part of our response to a practical problem. We have seen that not all actions that could be performed in the situation envisaged solve a practical problem. If, when I enter the polling-booth, I mark my ballot-paper at random, I have in no way solved the problem of how I ought to vote (unless, for some unlikely reason, I judge that I ought to mark the ballot-paper quite at random). I have voted, but I have not taken any step towards voting as I should, voting for the best candidate, or the candidate of the best political party. The problem, at least as a practical problem, no longer exists because the situation has passed, but I have not met the problem by solving it. One may fail to solve a practical problem fully and satisfactorily in any of several ways. Examples will suggest the most important: -5i. ii.

iii.

iv.

v. vi.

I judge that I ought to vote for Jones, and do so. In this case, I consider that I have solved my problem, and solved it satisfactorily. I judge that I ought to vote for Jones, and do so. Later, however, I reflect on my judgement, and decide that I was mistaken; I ought to have voted for Smith. I now consider that I erred in solving my problem. I judge that I ought to vote for Jones, and do so. Later, I come into possession of information, which I could not reasonably have known at the time of voting, that leads me to conclude that I ought rather to have voted for Smith. I now consider that, although I did solve my problem, so far as was possible at the time, yet the solution has proved unsatisfactory. I am unable to determine conclusively how I ought to vote, despite my best efforts to do so. I judge, however, that most probably I ought to vote for Jones. I consider that I have solved my problem as far as possible, but not fully. I make no extensive effort to determine how I ought to vote, but judge that, on the face of it, I ought to vote for Jones. I consider that I have reached a tentative solution to my problem. I make no effort to determine how I ought to vote, but merely mark my ballot-paper for Jones. I do not consider that I have in any way solved my problem. If I later decide that indeed I ought to have voted for Jones, I do not suppose that in fact I solved my problem satisfactorily, but only that I did the right thing.

Compare this last case with a mathematical problem. A man, confronted with an algebraic equation, writes down, as a pure guess, the answer 'x = 6'. Finding this to be the right answer does not lead him to suppose that he has solved the equation. To do the right

thing, to get the right answer, is of course achieved by the person who solves his problem satisfactorily, but it may be achieved without solving it at all.

1.2.2. Decision A practical problem is resolved when the person confronted with it decides, or is decided about, what to do. Decision, although it does not in itself solve our practical problems, terminates our consideration of them; once we have decided, the problem no longer -6presents itself as a problem. If asked what we shall do, we have a ready answer. Resolution need not involve the making of a decision. We need not suppose that, to be decided about what to do, we need have come consciously to a decision; it is not unusual simply to find oneself decided. But the process of decision-making is not our concern; it is only the result--the decision itself which enters our argument. When we are decided, we know what we shall do. It is important to distinguish this knowledge from that which rests upon prediction. If, for example, I know that I shall go to a party, because I know that I shall not have the will-power to refuse, I cannot suppose either that I have decided to go, or not to go. If I have decided to go, I need not predict that I shall go; if I have really decided not to go, I cannot predict that nevertheless I shall. When we are decided, we know what we shall do, but do we know what to do? I decide to vote for Jones, not because I know him to be the candidate for whom I ought to vote, but simply to settle the matter. I terminate consideration of my problem, but without satisfactorily answering the question it raises. Resolution would seem not to imply a prospective solution. But is my decision a true resolution of my problem? Perhaps it is more reasonable to say that, just as I must, in some cases, act without my action constituting a solution to my problem, so here I decide without my decision constituting a resolution. Although my problem concerns what to do, it is resolved only by deciding to do that which I should do, just as it is solved only by doing that which I should do. Thus the initial statement of this section demands qualification; a practical problem is resolved when the person confronted with it: decides, or is decided, to do what he considers will best solve his problem. A resolution, just as a solution, may prove unsatisfactory, and in the same ways. But in addition, it is worth noting the case in which one is unable to do what one decides to do, so that one's supposed resolution does not in fact provide a solution--satisfactory or unsatisfactory--to the practical problem. The connexion between practical solution and resolution is quite straightforward. If I perform an action, considering it to be the -7-

solution to some practical problem, then I must have reflected on what to do and decided upon that action--that is, I must have resolved my problem If I have not resolved my problem, then, however much I may hope that what I do will prove right, I cannot suppose it to be the solution. Many actions are, of course, performed without prior decision. Frequently I glance at my watch to determine the time without having considered whether to do so; I may rise and dress in the morning without taking thought about the matter. In such cases I should not say that I had decided to perform the action or set of actions, although I should not mean that I was undecided whether to perform them. To act without consideration is to act without the possibility either of decision or indecision. Such action, although it may in fact meet a practical problem, is not performed as a solution to it. Note that the connexion between decision and action may be complicated if one person is subject to the authority of another. A soldier is expected to act on the orders of his superior officer; it is insubordination for him to consider whether or not to carry them out. It is the officer who decides what the soldier is to do, expressing his decision in his order. The soldier's actions may then be intended by the officer to meet some practical problem; the officer resolves the problem, the soldier solves it. In such a case, the problem 'belongs' to the person who resolves it. In so far as what is to be done is my problem, it is for me to decide. And only if I decide, does what is done count as a solution to my problem. -8-

II PRACTICAL JUDGEMENTS RESOLUTION of one's practical problems requires decision to do what one considers best. If I decide to vote for Jones, the Labour candidate, and if, in so deciding, I believe that I am resolving my problem, then I must suppose that I have sufficient reason to vote for him rather than to vote for someone else, or than not to vote at all. I must accept the practical judgement: 'In the coming general election, the best course of action for D. P. G. is to vote for Jones.' A practical judgement answers a practical question. 'For whom ought D. P. G. to vote?' 'D. P. G. ought to vote for Jones.' The answer need not, of course, be expressed in the form of a judgement. Several of the questions at the beginning of the first chapter would most naturally be answered by a simple imperative, others by phrases or a word. For example: 'I've put tab A in slit A'; what do I do next?' 'Put tab B in slit B'.' 'Which of these suits shall I buy?' 'The charcoal-grey suit.' 'Ought I to engage in civil disobedience in support of nuclear disarmament?' 'No.' These answers are intelligible only in context; if the problem is not previously specified, the import of the answer may not be clear. The practical judgement, although it sets out the answer to a

practical question at greater length than often is required, states it in the fullest and most immediately intelligible manner. Of course, if I am asked why I am voting for Jones, simply to say that I consider I should vote for him is not sufficient. I should, rather than merely state the practical judgement, support it--give the reasons that I consider adequate to justify my decision to vote Labour. Thus the practical judgement need not enter explicitly into a justification of my decision, but my acceptance of it is necessary if my decision is to possess rational justification. -9-

2.1. Formulation There is no single formula which can suggest the manifold ways in which practical judgements may be expressed. Therefore, even if a formula may serve to indicate the logical structure of the judgement, we must begin with examples of the varied phrasings which actually occur in everyday discourse: The best thing (for me, you, him) to do is to surrender. The only thing to do is to ignore their threats. (I think) sausages would be best for dinner tonight. It is better to love and lose, than never to love at all. I should (you, he would) be best advised to study law. I (you, he) should accept the offer made by Consolidated Cement. I (you, he) ought to visit my (your, his) aunt this afternoon. Jones's plan is the most suitable (most promising) in these circumstances. Jones's plan ought to be adopted in these circumstances. The particular phrasing of a practical judgement will depend on the character of the problem and the type of considerations backing the judgement. For example, when concern is primarily with the relationship between the proposed course of action and the attendant situation, it is natural to use such words as 'fitting' or 'suitable'. Especially is this so if the problem is to choose among a more or less fixed number of alternatives: the canvasser seeks the approach best suited to the particular prospect; the guest, the compliment most fitting for his hostess. Although many practical judgements are formulated without them, 'ought', 'should', and 'best' belong to the basic vocabulary of practical discourse. The person faced with a practical problem wants to know what to do given, not only a situation in which to act, but reasons for acting. It is this which is brought out in the use of such phrases as 'the best thing to do', 'what one should do', 'what one ought to do'. Rough equivalences hold between these phrases. 'One ought to do x', 'one should do x', 'x is the best thing to do' are, although not entirely interchangeable, sufficiently similar that the truth of one -10usually implies the truth of the others, the falsity of one, the falsity of the others.

However, there is an important class of exceptions to these equivalences. Consider such assertions as 'It would no doubt be best for you to refuse the office, but I don't think you should; no one else can do as good a job' or 'Forming a coalition would be the best thing to do; nevertheless, you shouldn't do it, since it would ruin your career.' In both of these cases, a judgement with direct personal reference is contrasted with one lacking it. In the first, what is best for you is based on that limited set of considerations relevant to determining what should be done to further your interests; this course of action is judged to conflict with that which all relevant considerations support. In the second, what is best is based on that equally limited set of considerations which are independent of the personal interests of the particular agent. Other things being equal, one should form a coalition; however, you, whose political career would be ruined thereby, should not. In practical judgements, 'best' occurs most commonly in phrases of the form 'best to do': 'best to choose', 'best to undertake', and so forth. Although such phrases are quite characteristic of practical judgement, 'best' itself is by no means restricted to these contexts, nor is its use in them significantly different from its use elsewhere. 'Ought' and 'should', on the other hand, while not restricted to practical judgements, are not employed elsewhere with quite the same force, and 'ought', if not 'should', is primarily in practical employment. 'Should' deserves greater philosophic attention than it has yet received--or, indeed, than it will receive here. It has at least two quite distinct uses: in practical judgements and as an auxiliary verb. When I say, 'I shouldn't do that, if I were you', I am stating what I would do in your situation; no doubt I may judge this to be what I should do, but I need not. Again, when I say, 'I should have thought that he would come', I am stating my expectation, indicating that it is what one would expect, but admitting its probable disappointment. This use of 'should' is often revealed by the attempted substitution of 'ought'. If I say, 'I ought to have thought that he would come', I am stating what my expectation should have been, and not what it was (or is). However, both 'ought' and 'should' may be -11used to make a conditional or probable prediction; thus I may say, 'I ought to (should) see him this afternoon, unless he isn't in the library.' Here I might equally say, 'I may very likely see him. . .', or, 'I rather expect that I shall see him. . . .' These locutions cannot be substituted For 'ought' or 'should' in a practical judgement. If I say, 'I ought to see him this afternoon, but I may not muster up the courage to do it', I am not saying, 'I rather expect I shall see him this afternoon, but I may not muster up the courage to do it.' Instead of examining further cases in detail, let us attempt a general statement of the difference between the use of 'ought' and 'should' in practical judgement and in conditional prediction. In a practical judgement, the conclusion rests on reasons for acting; in a conditional prediction, it rests on reasons for the occurrence of an event. Thus, in the last example, I judge that an action--my going to see him--is requisite, not that an event--my seeing him-is likely to occur. This contrast may mislead. I may judge that an event ought to take place, because someone ought to ensure that it takes place. Again, I may judge that an action ought to be performed, because I have reason to expect its performance. When people say, 'There

ought to be a law', they suppose that there is sufficient reason to justify the passing ora law, not sufficient reason to expect its enactment. Nevertheless, if one is on guard against being misled by these complications, the contrast clarifies the difference in uses. Practical judgement rests on reasons justifying an action; prediction rests on reasons for expecting an event. To simplify discussion, I shall adopt the form, 'I (you, he, &c.) ought to do (to have done, &c.) x', as the standard mould for practical judgement. But since the use of 'ought' is neither a necessary nor a sufficient condition of a practical judgement, we must take care to ensure that we discuss, not merely the form, but the judgement it represents.

2.2. Judgement and Decision The connexion between practical judgement and derision requires careful examination, since an over-simplified statement of it has caused endless confusion in moral philosophy. Quite clearly, I can -12judge that Jones is the man to vote for, and yet decide to vote for Smith, and act on my decision. Smith, let us suppose, is an old acquaintance, with a warm and pleasing personality; nevertheless, he is no more than an amiable nonentity, standing for a party whose policies I consider mistaken. Jones, although capable and efficient, and standing for a party whose policies are sound if uninspired, is cold and reserved, egotistical, even disagreeable at times. I recognize that the personalities of Smith and Jones do not provide as good grounds for choosing between them as do their capabilities and affiliations; nevertheless, I cannot bring myself to vote for Jones, whom I dislike, nor against Smith, whose appeal I cannot resist. Thus, although I judge Jones to be the better candidate, I decide to vote for Smith. Very often we act on present desire or inclination against what we know to be the reasonable course of action. At a party I am well aware that, if I have another drink, I am likely to make insulting comments to my professor, thereby jeopardizing my position. But I do not resist my desire for the drink, although I am certainly sober enough to know quite well what I am doing. Unless the criterion for what I judge best to do is assumed to be what I decide to do-and this is to beg the question--it cannot be supposed impossible for me to decide and act against my judgement. Upholders of the imperative theory of moral (and practical) judgements do, however, insist that such judgements are logically tied to decisions. R. M. Hare states that 'the test, whether someone is using the judgement "I ought to do x" as a value-judgement or not is, "Does he or does he not recognize that if he assents to the judgement, he must also assent to the command 'Let me do x'?"'. 1 I think it is fair to identify 'value-judgement' and 'practical judgement' for present purposes. Now whether there is a command such as Hare attempts to specify is, surely, dubious; however, it seems safe to argue that, if the person were unwilling to decide to do x, he could not assent to the supposed command. Hence, acceptance of the judgement, 'I ought to do x', entails deciding to do x. The essential structure of Hare's argument can, I believe, be set out fairly simply. 'It must be part of the function of a moral judge-

____________________ 1 R. M. Hare, The Language of Morals, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1952, pp. 168-9. -13ment to prescribe or guide choices, that is to say, to entail an answer to some question of the form "What shall I do?".' I 'Telling someone to do something . . . is answering the question "What shall I do?" . . .' 2 If we assume that telling someone to do something is the only way of answering the question, and that telling someone to do something requires an imperative, it follows that it must be part of the function of a moral judgement to entail an imperative telling someone to do something. 'No imperative conclusion can be validly drawn from a set of premisses which does not contain at least one imperative.' 3 As a moral judgement entails an imperative, it follows that a moral judgement must be, or must contain, an imperative. To accept a moral judgement is, then, to accept an imperative. If the judgement is expressed in the first person, the appropriate corresponding imperative is, for Hare, a resolve, which he formulates 'I will do so and so'. 4 But to accept such a resolve is, clearly, to decide, or to be decided, to do so and so. Thus practical judgement and decision are necessarily connected, so that it is logically impossible not to do what one judges best to do, or that one should do. But what reason is there to suppose that an answer to the question 'What shall I do?', must take the imperative form, 'Do . . .!'? Granted that the answer may take this form, and that if the answer is to prescribe choice it must take this form, yet surely a nonimperative may guide choice. If I answer your question, 'For whom shall I vote?', by saying, ' Jones is the ablest candidate, and his party, Labour, has the soundest policy', I offer you guidance in determining how to vote, although I do not issue an imperative. But in itself this objection does not defeat Hare's argument. For a practical judgement must be a sufficient ground for the corresponding decision or imperative. If I judge correctly that I should vote for Jones, or that Jones is the best candidate, then I am right in deciding to vote for him. And so, Hare may contend, since the judgement must sufficiently ground the imperative, the imperative must validly be drawn from the judgement, which then must be, or must contain, the imperative. The crux of Hare's argument is the rule, 'No imperative conclusion can validly be drawn from a set of premisses which does not ____________________ 2 Ibid.,p. 15. 3 Ibid., p. 28. 4 Ibid., 20. p. I The Language of Morals, p. 29. -14contain at least one imperative.' If by 'validly drawn' we mean 'logically (or formally) inferred', the rule is indisputable. But to say that no imperative conclusion can be formally inferred except from a set of premisses containing an imperative is not to say that no imperative can be fully justified except by appealing to a set of considerations one of which is another imperative. Why need justification involve formal inference?

Taken together, these objections permit the rejection of Hare's conclusion. Although a practical judgement must entail an answer to a practical question, the entailed answer need not be an imperative--indeed, the answer is surely the judgement itself. Although a practical judgement must sufficiently ground or justify an imperative, sufficient grounding need not be entailment. Hare must identify the entailed answer with the sufficiently grounded imperative, and this he has not shown to be necessary.

2.2.1. 'Ought' and Decision This identification is, however, urged by P. H. Nowell-Smith. He argues that the role of 'I ought to do x' is to express a decision, and the role of 'you ought to do x' is to express an injunction, so that the expressions considered can be termed judgements, if at all, then only in a Pickwickian sense. 1 But is this reduction of practical judgements to expressions of resolution and to injunctions plausible? As Nowell-Smith realizes, if 'I ought' expresses a decision, then 'I ought' must entail 'I shall'. '"I ought, but I shall not" is a contradiction.' 2 But it is evident to Nowell-Smith that in fact we do say just this, or something nearly equivalent to it. To counter this difficulty, Nowell-Smith distinguished two uses of 'shall': to express a decision, and to make a prediction. He then claims that when we say 'I ought, but I shall not', we use 'shall' to predict that we shall not perform the act we ought to do. 3 Nowell-Smith maintains, then, that we may decide to perform an action which we predict we shall not perform. But this is surely untenable. If I decide to do something, I may indeed fail to do it. But if I decide to do it, I cannot expect to fail. I may decide to try ____________________ 1 P. H. Nowell-Smith, Ethics, Penguin Books, 1954, p. 261. 2 Ibid., p. 268. 3 Ibid. -15to do something, and expect not to succeed, but then what I decide to do is not what I expect not to do. In so far as my decision and my expectation concern the same action, they must coincide. It may in some cases be possible to interpret 'I ought but I shall not', as 'I shall try (decision) but I shall not succeed (prediction)'. Consider this example which Nowell-Smith discusses: 'I know that I ought not to get angry with Jones; he really means well; but I expect I shall, because I always do find myself getting angry with him.' 1 Here I may decide to try not to get angry with Jones, but expect, on the basis of similar past occasions, to fail. But another of Nowell-Smith's examples is less amenable to this treatment: 'I wonder whether I shall have the courage to ask for the rise that I know I deserve.' 2 To bring this into requisite form, 'deserve' must be equated (roughly) with 'ought to have', and it must be supposed that, if I ought to have a rise, then I ought to ask for it. Is it then plausible to suppose that I am deciding to try to ask for a rise which I do not expect to obtain? Surely not; I wonder, not whether I shall get the rise, but whether I shall do anything at all towards obtaining it. I cannot, then, decide even to try to obtain it.

Another example will confirm the inadequacy of Nowell-Smith's proposal. I am confronted with a staff meeting which I know will bore me, and I say, 'I ought to go to the meeting tonight, but I don't intend to.' 'I don't intend to' is not used to make a prediction, but rather to state what I now propose to do; I cannot decide to do or to try to do something other than what I now intend, and hence 'I ought' cannot here express a decision. To counter this argument, one might insist that if someone says that he ought to do something, but admits that he does not intend to do it, then he does not really think that he ought to. Even if he assures us, 'I know that I ought to do x', yet we must deny that he does. Of course, it is not easy to see just what he is claiming to know, when he claims to know that he ought to do x, if 'I ought to' expresses a decision, but this point may not be conclusive. It is, indeed, quite often possible to accuse someone who says that he ought to do something, of not really meaning what he says. He may be using 'ought' in an 'inverted-commas' sense, so that he ____________________ 1 Ethics, p. 268. 2 Ibid. -16means merely that people think he should do it. Or he may say that he ought, and to some extent mean it, yet fail to consider it sufficiently seriously. But these specific grounds for accusing someone of not meaning his practical judgement cannot justify a general accusation based simply on non-performance of the action specified in the judgement. Sometimes we do believe a man's protestations, despite his failure to act in accordance with them. A decision and a judgement which do not opt for the same action may be treated as mutually inconsistent. But this must not be taken to mean that the statement of the judgement and of the decision are themselves mutually contradictory. There is no formal relationship between practical judgement and resolves. Two judgements may be mutually contradictory, as may two resolves, but, as Hare rightly observes, an imperative can be entailed by (and hence contradictory to) only another imperative. Since the time of Socrates philosophers have been obsessed with the magic of forcing someone to admit that he ought to perform a certain action. No doubt such an admission does advance a practical dispute, but it need not terminate it. For I may convince you that you ought to do x, but, strictly, I cannot convince you to decide to do x. When you are convinced, it is quite irrational of you not to decide, but decision is more than simple conviction.

2.2.2. Judgement and Reasons Practical judgement rests on weighing the reasons for acting in the particular situation specified in the practical problem. The action to perform is the one supported by the weightiest reasons, the strongest grounds. But the weight of reasons which produce conviction, is not to be identified with the weight of those factors which determine decision. If we term those considerations on which a man acts motives, then we may say that not all reasons function as

motives, that not all motives need be reasons, and that the relative weight of two reasons need not correspond to the relative weight of the corresponding motives. Thus practical judgement is action-guiding, not action-determining. A person who acts contrary to his judgement behaves in an irrational manner. We must set out more fully why he acts as he -17does, explaining why his motives do not correspond to his reasons. Why they do correspond, when they do, needs no explanation. It will be assumed that all reasons are capable of functioning as motives, and with a weight equal to that which they possess as reasons. But there is no contradiction in acting against reason, or in deciding contrary to judgement. The problems to which rational action, action governed by reasons, gives rise, will not be considered here. 'Action', 'reason', and 'rational agent' will be employed without detailed examination of their use. Thus much of the vocabulary necessary to a study of practical reasoning will be taken for granted, although it deserves a clarification which would raise problems in the philosophy of mind. It is worth emphasizing here that this study--and surely any philosophical study--is part of a larger whole. It is both necessary and commendable for philosophers to attack their subject in bitesize problems, rather than choking on the Absolute Totality. But it is disingenuous to suppose the problems so selected not to be related to those set aside.

2.3. Prudential and Moral Is it possible to divide the genus, practical judgement, into species? It is often argued that 'ought' has two or more distinct, but practical, uses. If so, then corresponding to each use--'ought (1)', 'ought (2)', and so forth--will be a formula, e.g. 'I ought (1) to do x', representing a species of practical judgement. As an illustration of one proposed distinction between practical uses of 'ought', consider this piece of reasoning: 'If you want (your aim is) to go to Heaven, you ought to go to church. 'You want (your aim is) to go to Heaven. 'Therefore, you ought to go to church.' This argument is unsatisfactory, not because it is formally unsound, but because those who employ it maintain the conclusion with the fervour appropriate to pointing out dereliction of duty to their erring brethren, whereas the argument justifies the con-18clusion only as a counsel of prudence. There is, then, a disparity in the force of 'ought' between hypothetical premiss and categorical conclusion, revealing two distinct uses of the word.

The conclusion may be taken as roughly equivalent to 'It is your duty to go to church'. This is the exhortation the worshipper wishes to deliver. The premiss, however, cannot be interpreted as 'If you want to go to Heaven, it is your duty to go to church', but rather as 'If you want to go to Heaven, it is in your interest to go to church'. Since 'it is your duty to' is in no way equivalent to 'it is in your interest to', the ambiguity of 'ought' seems to be demonstrated. In Kantian terminology, the distinction between the uses of 'ought' may be expressed as a distinction between hypothetical and categorical imperatives. Hypothetical imperatives declare a possible action to be practically necessary as a means to the attainment of something else that one wills (or that one may will). A categorical imperative would be one which represented an action as objectively necessary in itself apart from its relation to a further end. 1 'If you want to go to Heaven, you ought to go to church' is a hypothetical imperative, or practical judgement, declaring an action (going to church) to be necessary as a means to an end (going to Heaven); it is illegitimate to derive from this the categorical imperative, or judgement, 'You ought to go to church', in which the action is represented as necessary in itself. But are 'hypothetical' and 'categorical' the terms appropriate to express the very important point Kant wishes to make? And does Kant's distinction really affect the use of 'ought'? Kant's terminology suggests a grammatical distinction. But this is misleading. For suppose that I make a practical judgement in a fully specified situation, in which I know the range of possible actions, their conceivable effects, and the relevance of these effects to all persons. I shall then be in a position to consider all of the reasons for acting, and my conclusion, that some action is the best one to perform, will be expressed grammatically in a categorical ____________________ 1 Emmanuel Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals, translated by H. J. Paton, The Moral Law, Hutchinson's University Library, revised edition, 1953, p. 82. -19statement. Whether the action is undertaken as a means to some further end or not will be quite irrelevant to the form of my judgement. But suppose the situation is not fully specified. I do not know all of the reasons for acting--or at least t do not know whether I have considered all of them--and hence my conclusion must be expressed hypothetically. If the situation is thus-and-so, then one action ought to be done, if such-and-such, then another action, and so forth. Kant's distinction is to be made, not in terms describing the form of the judgement or imperative, but in terms characterizing the considerations on which it is based. A reasonable facsimile of the distinction in our terminology might be: a practical judgement which has moral force is based on considerations independent of the will (purposes, aims, desires) of the prospective agent, and dependent solely on the intrinsic nature of the act itself, whereas a practical judgement which has prudential force is based on considerations

dependent on his will The correctness of this distinction is of no immediate concern; it does seem to establish two classes of grounds which, it may be urged, distinguish two species of judgements, and two senses of 'ought'. To discuss this proposal, I shall use the terms 'ought (p)' and 'ought (m)' to represent the allegedly different uses of 'ought'. Part of the plausibility of supposing that 'ought (p)' must differ from 'ought (m)' rests on the contention that they are respectively equivalent to (in that they may be replaced by) phrases not equivalent to each other. But, if different equivalents prove different uses of 'ought', it follows that 'ought' has, not two, but a multitude of uses. Consider some examples, from what may be denominated the prudential range. It seems plausible to suppose that in the judgement, 'Your health will break down if you keep working, so you ought to take a vacation', 'you ought to' may be replaced by 'it is in your best interest to'. But is this replacement possible in the judgement, 'The Mesopotamian collection in the Louvre is unique, so you ought to visit Paris while you are on the Continent'? Or in, 'I'm exceedingly tired, so I ought to go to bed'? You have an interest in Mesopotamian remains, and perhaps I have an interest in sleeping, -20but it is not your interests that suffer if you fail to visit Paris, nor mine, if I fail to go to bed. It would seem, then, that the use of 'ought' in the last two judgements must differ from its use in the first, since replacement of 'ought' by 'best interest' fails in them. 'Ought (p)' is itself an ambiguous term. A similar conclusion can be reached considering examples in the moral range. In the judgement, 'I promised to meet him at my office, so I ought to go there', I might replace 'I ought' by 'I am obliged'. In the judgement, 'My country needs my services, so I ought to join the army', I might replace 'I ought' by 'it is my duty'. The converse replacements would, however, be distinctly less suitable. If I say 'My aunt is lonely and would enjoy a visit, so I ought to go to see her this afternoon', I do not suppose that I am obliged to go to see her, or that it is my duty to do so, although I would consider my judgement to have moral force. Again, if I say 'He really means well, so I ought not to get angry with him', I am making a judgement with moral force, yet it is neither contrary to my obligations nor dereliction of duty if I do lose my temper none the less. The relation between 'ought', 'obligation', and 'duty' will be discussed in 13.1. Here I wish only to suggest that there is no clear set of equivalences between moral uses of the three terms. In some cases what I morally ought to do is what I am obliged to do; in other cases it is not. Are there, then, different senses of 'ought (m)', corresponding to the complex patterns of replacement we might devise? It is surely more plausible to suppose that 'ought' is not multiply ambiguous, that the different 'equivalents' correspond, not to different uses of 'ought', but only to the differing grounds underlying the judgement. To use 'interest' or 'obligation' or 'duty' is to specify the range of practical considerations which justify the particular judgement. To use 'ought' is to leave the range of considerations quite unspecified.

Furthermore, the supposition that 'ought' has distinct practical uses seems incompatible with the quite obvious point that we often bring to bear both considerations that we regard as prudential and those that we regard as moral in establishing a particular practical -21judgement. We do not judge separately what we ought (p) to do and what we ought (m) to do. I may say, 'You ought to attend the meeting tonight', and support my judgement by appealing, both to the obligations you undertook in joining the organization, and to the subject to be discussed, which is of particular interest to you. The force of my judgement is, then, neither dependent entirely on your interests, nor on your obligations. Consider a further example. A distinguished citizen is asked to serve on the Committee for Refugee Relief. On the one hand, he considers it his duty to aid those who still inhabit refugee camps; on the other, his doctor has advised him to reduce his existing commitments for the sake of his health. Depending on the particular factors of the case, a decision to serve on the committee might be justified by the urgency of the moral issues involved, or a decision not to serve by the strength of the prudential factors. There is no good reason to deny that both moral and prudential considerations enter into our deliberation about what to do, and are weighed together in reaching a conclusion. And there is then no good reason to deny that this conclusion may be expressed in a judgement of what one ought to do, in which 'ought' is used to indicate the practical and reasoned character of the judgement-to indicate that the weight of the relevant reasons for acting in the situation falls in favour of the action specified. The type of considerations on which the judgement is based may affect the importance, both in degree and kind, attached to its being accepted in the agent's decision. It may not matter what he does; the reasons for acting in one way rather than another may be of concern to him alone, and only of incidental concern to him. But the reasons may not concern him alone; others may be affected, either incidentally or seriously, by what he does. And, even if he alone is affected, what he does may be literally determinative of tile and death. Thus the force with which the judgement would naturally be expressed, the attitude adopted to its acceptance or rejection, the actions which another will consider himself justified in performing should it be rejected, will vary greatly, without the basic practical character of the judgement, and hence the use of 'ought', being affected. -22We may talk about moral judgements, referring to those based predominantly on moral considerations, or on considerations of moral obligation or duty. We may talk about prudential judgements, referring to those based predominantly on consideration of the interests of the agent. But these divisions do not deny the essential unity of the genus, practical judgement--a unity indicated by the unambiguous practical use of 'ought'. -23-

III THE PRUDENTIAL BASIS A PRACTICAL judgement is a conclusion. From premisses specifying the situation in which we act, and our reasons for acting in such a situation, we conclude what we ought to do. We must, then, examine the reasoning establishing practical judgements, the nature of the inference from grounds to conclusion. We must also examine the grounds of practical reasoning, the nature of the considerations on which judgements are based. In this chapter, and in the two following, discussion will centre on a limited case, prudential reasoning, and its basis. It is considerably simpler than the general case, and free from many of the controversies--the central controversies of moral philosophy--which becloud the latter. A precise conception of prudential reasoning can only emerge from our analysis. As a first characterization, prudential reasoning may be considered to be that part of practical reasoning in which the reasons for acting are restricted to the wants, desires, needs, and aims of the agent. The prudential conclusion states what is best for him to do. In many cases, of course, what is best for him to do will be what he ought to do, and, to facilitate discussion, the conclusion will be expressed as an 'ought'-judgement.

3.1. Aristotle on Deliberation Practical reasoning was termed deliberation by Aristotle, who first examined the subject. 'We deliberate about things that are in our power and can be done? 1 'Deliberation is about the things to be done by the agent himself' 2 We may usefully begin our study of prudential reasoning by outlining Aristotle's account. ____________________ 1 Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea (henceforth E.N.), translated by W. D. Ross, The Works of Aristotle translated into English, vol. ix, Oxford University Press, 1915, 1112 a30. 2 E.N. 1112b32. -24The nucleus of his discussion is found in the Nicomachean Ethics, Book Three, Chapter Three. Aristotle argues that deliberation is concerned with that which can be done by the agent, the person who deliberates, and, in particular, with that about which there is no exact knowledge. We do not deliberate about the writing of the letters of the alphabet, since the method by which we write them poses no problems, but we do deliberate about questions of medical treatment, or of money-making. The extent of our deliberation varies inversely with our knowledge; we are more concerned with problems of navigation than with those of gymnastics, since greater difficulties arise with the former. 1 Deliberation concerns the means, not the end; the doctor does not consider whether he shall heal, but how, in the particular case, to heal. Aristotle assumes that each action has an end, or that each is undertaken to achieve some goal. In determining what to do, the end is given, and we attempt to calculate the means to it. 2

Those who deliberate . . . assume the end and consider how and by what means it is to be attained; and if it seems to be produced by several means they consider by which it is most easily and best produced, while if it is achieved by one only they consider how it will be achieved by this and by what means this will be achieved, till they come to the first cause, which in the order of discovery is last. . . . And if we come on an impossibility we give up the search, . . . but if a thing appears possible we try to do it. . . . The subject of investigation is sometimes the instruments, sometimes the use of them;and similarly in the other cases--sometimes the means, sometimes the mode of using it or the means of bringing it about. 3 Aristotle's view of the ends of human action will be discussed in 3.1.2 and 3.2.4 He is quite justified in insisting that there is a starting-point about which we do not deliberate, but this does not imply that there is a starting-point about which we cannot deliberate, although there may be such. Aristole, however, restricts his account of practical reasoning unduly by considering only one type of practical problem, that which concerns the selection of means to an end. Many practical problems involve a starting-point which is not an end; many involve more than one starting-point. ____________________ 1 E.N.1112b1--10. 2 E.N. 1112b12--15. 3 E.N.1112b15--31. -25In this account, Aristotle does not mention the practical syllogism. From what he says elsewhere, 1 it would seem that he supposes deliberation to be effected by means of a series of practical syllogisms; in the Nicomachean Ethics he may simply take for granted the syllogistic character of the reasoning. The first syllogism in the series takes as its starting-point a specification of the end, and establishes as its conclusion an action to be done. The other premiss of the syllogism connects the action with the end by stating the means-end relationship obtaining between them. Similarly, each successive syllogism connects the action laid down in the preceding syllogism with a prior action which is a means to it, until we reach a syllogism specifying, as an action to be done, what is now in our power. Auxiliary syllogisms, somewhat different in character, are required to discriminate among alternative possible means. 2 Aristotle's account of deliberation among a major confusion, which must be removed if it is to assist our understanding of practical reasoning. Aristotle speaks as if he were describing the process in which someone engages when determining what to do. Indeed, 'deliberation' is the appropriate name for this process. But deliberation is not effected by practical syllogisms, or by any formal pattern of reasoning whatsoever. To speak of deliberation as a type of reasoning is to point to the fact that, as a result of successful deliberation, one can produce a piece of reasoning, an ordered argument, leading from a starting-point (which is, for Aristotle, the end) to a conclusion--an action to be done. It is this piece of reasoning which is of philosophical interest. What one does in order to be able to set it out is quite irrelevant, although doubtless of importance in other contexts. Aristotle has confused the psychological process by which a person comes to resolve a practical problem with the logical argument in which the steps leading to the resolution are formally set out.

Although deliberation and practical reasoning are not to be identified, they are closely related. Deliberate action, and only deliberate action, is reasoned action, action performed for reasons. Reasoned action is not to be confused with reasonable action. No doubt the agent supposes his deliberate, reasoned actions to be ____________________ 1 E.N. 1144a31. 2 Cf. E.N. 1112b15--18. -26reasonable, But he may refuse to consider important features of the situation in which he acts. He may ignore some of the consequences which his action will have. However reasoned his actions, he may not be a reasonable man. Thus reasoned action may be unreasonable. Conversely, reasonable actions may be performed quite without prior thought, even on impulse. An agent may have good reason to do what he does, although he does not consider this in determining what to do. Thus reasonable actions may not be reasoned. Most actions are neither deliberate nor reasoned, but belong to a context of deliberate and reasoned activity. Having decided to take a position as a university lecturer, I do not then deliberate about whether to deliver each of my lectures. Delivering a lecture falls within the framework of the activity I have undertaken. Thus, although there are reasons for the performance of such actions, consideration of the reasons does not directly motivate the actions. A piece of practical reasoning, then, makes clear the logical steps involved in the resolution of a practical problem. In so doing, it plays a twofold role. In the first place, it offers an explanation of the action. The particular type of explanation will, of course, depend on the way in which the action is related to the starting-points of the reasoning; in general, the explanation consists in displaying the reasons which the agent has to perform the action. However, unless the reasons for acting are also the reasons why the agent acts, unless, that is, the reasons motivate the action, no explanation--or an insufficient explanation--is provided. Practical reasoning explains actions only in those cases in which reasons for and reasons why coincide. In the second place, a piece of practical reasoning offers a justification of the action. Again, this is achieved by setting out the agent's reasons for acting. If his reasons are not the reasons, or good reasons, for acting, no justification--or an insufficient justification--/s provided. Thus practical reasoning fulfills its twofold role only if the reasons for acting, the agent's reasons for acting, and the reasons why the agent acts, may all be identified.

3.1.1. The Practical Starting-point Aristotle's general statement of the starting-point of a series of practical syllogisms is 'Since the end, i.e. what is best, is of such -27and such a nature'. 1 This formula is too abstract to be illuminating, but it may be argued that Aristotle intends it to represent the major premiss of the initial syllogism. The actual major premisses he mentions--e.g., 'dry food is good for every man', and, 'every-

thing sweet ought to be tasted' 2 --might be rephrased to fit this formula--'since what is nourishing to everyone is dry food', and, 'since what is tasteworthy is anything sweet'--the more specific terms, 'nourishing' and 'tasteworthy', replacing the general adjective 'best'. If this interpretation is correct, the major premiss of the practical syllogism will characterize the thing wanted (e.g. dry food) as the end (what is best, e.g. nourishing), and thus show why it is wanted. However, G. E. M. Anscombe has advanced a rather different interpretation of the practical syllogism, which we must consider. Miss Anscombe argues, first, that Aristotle distinguishes the starting-point (arche) from the major premiss of the practical syllogism. The starting-point is, she insists, the thing wanted (to orekton). 3 I cannot find evidence for this view, which clearly contradicts the treatment of archai, in the Posterior Analytics, as basic truths serving as premisses in our reasoning. 4 More important for our purposes, however, is her contention that the major premiss merely mentions the thing wanted, rather than characterizing it as the end. She develops this argument in her own discussion of practical reasoning, examining the supposed practical syllogism, 'I want a Jersey cow; there are good ones in the Hereford market, so I'll go there.' 5 This may appear unexceptionable, but she considers the initial statement not to be a premiss, so that the argument should read, 'They have Jersey cows in the Hereford market, so I'll go there.' A statement of the want is not a premiss of a practical syllogism; rather, the syllogism should suggest, more or less dearly, what is wanted. Thus it is possible to infer that the man 'probably wanted to see, buy, or steal a Jersey cow'. 6 ____________________ 1 E.N. 1144a32. 2 E.N. 1147a5, 29. 3 G. E. M. Anscombe, Intension, Basil Blackwell, Oxford, 1957, p. 62. 4 Aristotle, Analytica Posteriora, translated by G. R. G. Mure, The Works of Aristotle translated into English, vol. i, Oxford University Press, 1928, 75a40, and translator's note, 88b5. 5 Intention, p. 61. 6 Ibid., p. 65. -28Now a piece of practical reasoning provides an explanation and justification of an action, by setting out the agent's reasons for acting. But the supposed argument, 'They have Jersey cows in Hereford market, so I'll go there', fails to do this. Of course, the form of words used indicates that the reasoner supposes that he has a reason to go to Hereford, and the 'premiss' makes clear that this reason is connected with the presence of Jersey cows in the Hereford market. But this is not sufficient. The reason itself is not specified. In the example, it is easy to think of possible reasons, and thus to fill the gap, but the very presence of a gap is conclusive ground to object that the argument is not properly set out. Consider this formally identical example: "There's a great deal of volcanic dust on the moon, so I'm trying to go there.' Once again, the form indicates the presence of a reason for acting, but here imagination fails to provide suitable candidates. One would naturally ask the reasoner what the presence of volcanic dust on the

moon had to do with his wanting to go there. Until this is made clear, no explanation of the proposed action is offered. But to supply the required explanation, it is not sufficient merely to reinstate t]he rejected premiss. In Miss Anscombe's example, 'I want a Jersey cow' fails to make clear the agent's reason for acting, although it does restrict the range of possible reasons. No doubt if told this by an Oxfordshire dairy farmer, we should know well enough his reason for going to Hereford, but what if told this by Miss Anscombe? Why, we should ask, is possession of a cow desirable to her? Similarly, the space-traveller would fail to enlighten his hearers were he to say, 'I want some volcanic dust; there's plenty on the moon, so I'm trying to go there.' Whatever would he do with volcanic dust? His supposed reasoning would not enable anyone to understand what he was about. What is required in these examples is just what I have claimed Aristotle takes as the starting-point and major premiss ora practical syllogism; a characterization of what is wanted which shows its desirability. If dry food is characterized as nourishing, or sweet food as tasteworthy, its desirability is apparent. We need premisses making the desirability of the Jersey cow, and of volcanic dust, equally apparent. -29Miss Anscombe is not unaware of the considerations just advanced. For she insists, on essentially similar grounds, that what is wanted is wanted under a desirability-characterization. 1 Thus, if the premisses of a practical syllogism do not characterize the thing wanted as desirable, prior syllogisms are required to establish this. 'If "There are good Jerseys in the Hereford market" is used as a premiss, then it can be asked "What do you want a Jersey for?". Let the answer be: "A Jersey would suit my needs welt."--And it is in fact. . , a form of this, that Aristotle would accept as first premiss. . . . Now there is no room for a further question" 2 Thus Miss Anscombe contends that a premiss containing a desirability-characterization is not necessary to a piece of practical reasoning, but is always sufficient. This seems to be the reverse of the truth. In practice we may omit a desirability-characterization, when it will be taken for granted, but in formally setting out a piece of practical reasoning, it must be specified. But specifying it is not always sufficient; to characterize what is wanted as in some way desirable need not put a full stop to the question 'What do you want that for?' There may be other respects in which what is wanted is undesirable, and these must be considered if the reasoning is to be sufficient to justify the proposed action. We have been using 'the thing wanted' loosely, as if all action were directed at attaining some object. We should rather regard deliberate action as directed at the realization of some state of affairs--the possession of some object by the agent, the enjoyment of some experience by him, the attainment of some position or standard, or even the realization of a situation not connected directly with him at all. This state of affairs may be regarded as the object of the agent's want, using 'want' to cover a somewhat wider range of grounds of action that it does in common usage. The wants, in this extended sense, of the agent will be said to constitute his basis of practical reasoning, or practical basis. To leave open the possibility of quite different constituents of the agent's practical basis, these wants will be said to comprise the prudential practical basis.

Any constituent of the agent's practical basis grounds a practical premiss which characterizes the state of affairs wanted as in some ____________________ 1 Intention, pp. 70-71. 2 Ibid., p. 69. -30way desirable, worth wanting. Such a premiss will be said to possess practical force. At least one premiss with practical force is required in any piece of practical reasoning. If the premiss or premisses with practical force relate only to constituents of the prudential practical basis--only to the agent's wants--the reasoning, and the conclusion, may also be termed prudential.

3.1.2. Reasoning about Reasons Before examining the suppositions which underlie these terminological proposals, we should rectify the over-simplification which undue attention to the means-end relationship has occasioned in our discussion. Aristotle supposes that those who deliberate 'assume the end and consider how and by what means it is to be produced'. But practical problems may not concern the choice of means to an assigned end. Consider these problem-schemata: (i) A man is confronted with a situation in which no ground of action immediately presents itself: what to do? (ii) A man must choose between several courses of action at a given time; each course will affect differently the objectives he might seek to attain: which course should he choose? (iii) A man has several objectives; a certain range of actions is open to him: which action within the range should he perform? (iv) A man wants to attain some goal; various other aims and wants will be frustrated by the different ways in which he may do so: is there a best means to his end? In the first pair of schemata the problem is posed in terms of the situation in which the agent must act, rather than in terms of the wants he would satisfy. The agent says to himself, 'I must act in this situation, so what am I to do?', rather than, 'I must achieve this objective, so what am I to do?' The need for decision presses upon him. But merely to have to choose between courses of action (doing nothing being one possibility) does not pose a practical problem, unless one has some concern with the way in which one chooses. If asked by the conjurer to take a card, I may respond simply by reaching out and taking one of the proffered cards without -31considering which one to take. Nothing depends on my choice --he will divine my card whatever I do. The starting-point in practical reasoning must involve some objective which the agent supposes desirable. My deliberation may begin when Confronted with a situation in which I must decide what to do, but I shall deliberate only because I suppose the alternatives important to me, in that they affect the realization of the objects of my actual or possible wants. I shall then consider just what wants may be affected by the actions open to me, so that I may determine what I should do.

In such cases, I may well deliberate about the end, in that I am concerned to establish the relevant basis for my practical judgement. But this inquiry seeks the answer to 'What do I want that could be affected by what I may do?', and not, 'What should I want, &c.?' It does not in itself lead to practical conclusions, and so is of no direct importance to a study of practical reasoning. To establish reasons is not to engage in practical reasoning. But as the schemata indicate, this is not the only way in which we may reason about ends. For Aristotle there is no important distinction, in so far as deliberation is concerned, between the basis of an action--the want, and the objective of the action--the attainment of some state of affairs. To establish the want is to establish the object of the want, and the object of the want is assumed to be, or to indicate, the objective of the action. If I am hungry, I want to eat; the object of my want is eating by me, and the objective of my action is then the realization of a state of affairs in which I eat. Deliberation concerns itself with the steps I must or should take to realize this objective. But the object of my wants may not be a possible objective of my actions. My wants may have conflicting, or partially conflicting, objects; no objective, then, will satisfy them all. I must weigh my several wants, considered as reasons for acting, so that the objective I select will be supported by considerations possessing the greatest possible practical force. This objective will afford me the maximum available satisfaction. To do this comparative premisses must be introduced into the reasoning, relating the desirability of the objects of the various -32wants, and thus permitting the drawing of a conclusion showing some objective to provide the most desirable state of affairs. Comparative premisses permit reasoning about reasons, but do not add to the contents of the practical basis. This is a complication of the structure of practical reasoning which cannot be accommodated within the Aristotelian model. Yet, although it involves reasoning about reasons, it does not introduce any prior starting-points, in terms of which the reasons are to be assessed. Rather, it enables us to bring the several starring-points together. Since in the Nicomachean Ethics 1 Aristotle recognizes the essential plurality of ends, this complication is one he might usefully have allowed. One example of the use of comparative premisses may suffice. It is Saturday night; I want to attend the play which is finishing its engagement at the Playhouse, and the film which is ending its booking at the Scala. I cannot do both. If my practical premisses include only, 'The play at the Playhouse is a new work of Beckett's, which I am sure to find interesting', and, 'The film at the Scala is an early Marx Brothers, which will be highly entertaining', I have no basis on which to choose. But if my premisses include the Comparative judgement, 'However entertaining the Marx Brothers, Beckett's work is more deeply interesting to me', I can conclude that I should go to the Playhouse.

3.2. Wants and Reasons for Acting

The terminological proposals at the end of 3.1.1 might be taken merely as statements of how certain words and phrases will be used in our study. But these words and phrases have ordinary uses, and unless these are respected, confusion is certain to result. Underlying the proposals is the supposition that to want something and to consider it desirable, or worth wanting, are almost equivalent. The criteria for desirability are inherent in wants. Although 'desirable' is used here in a restricted context, so that only what is desirable to the agent is relevant, it may still be objected that a man may want something yet not consider it desirable, or ____________________ 1 But not in the Eudemian Ethics. Cf. 1249b 13 - 21. -33even consider it undesirable. Conversely, it may be objected that an agent may recognize the desirability of some state of affairs, yet not want to attain it. We must, then, look more closely at the role of the desirabilitycharacterization, to clarify the connexion we have supposed between 'want' and 'desirable'. In the Essay, on Utilitarianism, John Stuart Mill argued that just as one can prove an object to be visible only by showing that people see it, so one can prove an object to be desirable only by showing that people desire it. 1 Mill's critics have heaped scorn upon this argument, suggesting that Mill simply failed to observe that, while 'visible' means 'capable of being seen', 'desirable' means 'worthy of being desired', or, to use the terminology adopted here, 'worthy of being wanted'. Neither Mill nor his critics have grasped correctly the use of 'desirable'. It is true that 'desirable' and 'visible' do not behave similarly, but their differences largely reflect differences between 'see' and 'want'. Visibility serves as a condition of seeing in a way quite different from that in which desirability serves as a condition of wanting. What is invisible cannot (logically) be seen; to claim to see the invisible is, if interpreted strictly, nonsense. On the other hand, what is undesirable cannot intelligibly be wanted; to claim to want the undesirable is neither to contravene logical rules nor physical laws, but rather to remove the possibility of accounting for one's want. When asked, 'Why do you want such-and-such?, we answer by showing what we want to be in some way desirable. The question, 'Why do you see such-and-such?', however it would be answered, would not be answered by characterizing what we see as visible. Wanting is explained by desirability. The man who claimed to want volcanic dust only puzzled his auditors because they could not imagine in what way he might consider volcanic dust desirable, worth wanting. A desirability-characterization shows the desirable aspect of what is wanted. In the absence of such a characterization (explicit or implicit), what is wanted is wanted blindly, with____________________ 1 John Stuart Mill, Essay on Utilitarianism, Everyman Library, J. M. Dent & Sons, London, 1910, p. 32. -34-

out apparent reason or explanation. One may be impelled towards the object, but such impulsion does not constitute conscious wanting. We must guard here against a possible misunderstanding. It might be supposed that to say that wanting is explained by desirability is to say that what we want, we want as a means to that which is desirable. We do not really want the objects of our ostensible wants for their own sake; rather, they enable us to achieve the true object of all wanting--the desirable. The plausibility of this supposition arises because it seems quite appropriate to answer, 'Why do you want such-and-such?, by, 'I want such-and-such because it is desirable On some way).' This suggests the pattern of reasoning: 'I want what is desirable; suchand-such is desirable; therefore, I want such-and-such.' But 'I want what is desirable' is not a generalization about wants which may serve as the major premiss for the derivation of particular wants; rather, it indicates the condition of (intelligible) wanting--'Wanting is for the desirable.' The question, 'Why do you want such-and-such?', is entirely legitimate, but it has the force of, 'What is it about such-and-such that you find desirable?' The answer specifies the desirable characteristics of such-and-such. Consider an example. If I go to the theatre, expecting to find the play interesting, I may say that I am going because I want to, and spell this out by indicating that I expect to find the play interesting. But I do not want to go because I expect to find the play interesting. It may be that I want to go, because you have told me that the play is interesting, but then I expect to find it interesting, because you have told me that it is. The desirability-characterization does not explain the ground or source or cause of the want. Rather it explains the particular nature of the want, by describing the object wanted in such a way that it is clear why it is wanted. It may be worth noting here that to characterize something as desirable to someone else may also be to characterize it as desirable to oneself. I want to take my son to watch trains because he enjoys watching trains. His enjoyment is the desirable aspect of the object of my want, to him, and to me. I do not seek his happiness as a -35means to something else (although it is not impossible that I should); I seek it because I take direct pleasure in it. Action resting on prudential considerations may quite well be concerned with the happiness of others, provided that this happiness is desirable to the agent. Before leaving this subject, two complications require brief mention. It is important to remember that the object wanted is conceived as desirable. If the conception is mistaken, it may not be desirable. Similarly an object not wanted, conceived as undesirable, may yet be desirable--and would be wanted were its desirability recognized. It is equally important to remember that what is wanted, and conceived as desirable, in some one respect, may be quite undesirable, and not wanted, in other respects. Thus to characterize some state of affairs as desirable is not to provide a sufficient reason

for acting to bring it about, since there may be weightier reasons against bringing it about. Desirability-characterizations provide good reasons for acting, but only in that they indicate considerations in themselves relevant to the determination of what to do.

3.2.1. Impulses Miss Anscombe considers that 'the primitive sign of wanting is trying to get'. 1 Whether or not this is entirely accurate, it does emphasize the motive force of wants. But is the motive force sufficient to constitute a want? If I try to get something, need I want it? And whether or not I want it, need I consider it in some way desirable? Do I have some reason--although not necessarily sufficient reason--to try to get whatever I do in fact try to get? If I can be said to want everything which I try to get, then the identification of what is wanted with what is considered desirable, and the supposition that wanting provides a reason for acting, may well be doubted. It is, therefore, necessary to examine those cases of 'trying to get' which would raise these doubts. Consider first action performed on impulse. We are standing near the edge of a cliff; on a sudden impulse I endeavour to push you over. Here, l try to do something, to bring about a certain situation, ____________________ 1 Intention, p. 68. -36but, if I succeed, need I achieve what I want? Surely if I state that I wanted to push you over the cliff, and even more if I state that I pushed you over because I wanted to, I belie the claim that I acted on impulse. To have acted on impulse, although quite unjustifiable in this instance, is at least a partial defence against the accusations that are sure to be levelled against me, but to have acted because I wanted to provides no defence at all. If indeed I did act on impulse, I may truthfully claim that not for one minute did I want to push you over, that, quite to the contrary, I found myself pushing you over too late to prevent my 'success'. Impulsive action is puzzling--and was even more puzzling before the era of Freud--just because often, although not always, the person does not want to do what he does. If I deliberate about my impulse, and decide to try to push you over the cliff, then I can be said to want to do it. But in this case my action is not performed on impulse. An impulse as such cannot enter into practical reasoning. It may, of course, provide a reason for acting; struck by the thought of going to the cinema, I may reflect, 'What a splendid idea!', and decide to go. But equally, an impulse may not provide a reason for acting. If I truly do not want to push you over the riff, then, reflecting upon my impulse, I find no reason whatsoever for acting. But in neither case does the impulse as such determine my action. Whether or not we classify impulses as wants, then, we must recognize that, when we reflect upon our impulses, they may cease to serve as wants--and they may cease to serve in so far as we conceive their objects not to be desirable. An examination of impulses

should lead us, not to reject the proposed connexions between wanting, desirability, and reasons for acting, but to conclude that trying to get, in itself, is not a sufficient condition of reflective wanting, or of desirability, or of a practical reason. To accept this conclusion is to accept a distinction between motive force and the force of wants in practical reasoning. We are frequently moved or impelled to act without consideration of the desirability of what we do. A large class of wants affect us in this way--hunger, thirst, sexual desire, pain, anger, fear might all be said, in appropriate circumstances, to impel men to action. Hunger -37may be a felt discomfort impelling one to eat. Anger may impel one to strike out at those who occasion the anger. Fear may impel one to flee. In each of these cases, the action may not be what the agent, were he to reflect simply on the basis of the want itself, would perform. We must distinguish between the impelling force of these wants, in moving us to action, and their rational force, in determining deliberate action. Confusion arises because what I de quite naturally when hungry, or thirsty, or angry, or afraid, may very well be what I should do because of my hunger, or thirst, or anger, or fear. The hungry man naturally endeavours to eat. He does so not strictly because eating allays hunger, much less because he knows that eating allays hunger; nevertheless, eating does allay hunger, so he does what he would do were he to reflect. It is, therefore, natural for him to say, when he eats just as a result of hunger, that he does what he wants, that he eats because he wants to, since what he does is what he would do, were he to deliberate. But his hunger might impel him to act in a way that would not satisfy him. Anger and fear display this more clearly. I may be paralysed with rage, and spout invective helplessly, while my opponent laughs at me. I may panic, and rush into the danger I would avert. Spouting invective, and rushing into danger, are in no way desirable to me, are not at all what I want to do. To say that what we want to do, we consider desirable to do, and have some reason to do, is not, then, to claim that whatever we are moved to do, we consider desirable, and have some reason to do. Prudential reasoning is concerned with what we want, but with what we want consciously and on reflection.

3.2.2. Wants and Time What I want, I want now. To say this is not to say that what I want must now move me to act, whether impulsively or deliberately. Rather, it is to insist that, if I want something, I now take account of it in so far as it relates to the situations in which I act. If I want to make a tour of Cornwall, then I consider when I might be able to make it, when it might fit into my other activities, and how I might be able to afford it, how it might fit into my other expenses. If I am able to make it fit without interfering with the -38-

fulfilment of greater wants, I plan to make the tour. I am not now impelled to set out for Cornwall; I may never set out for Cornwall; but I include the want in determining what I shall do. In addition to what I want, and want now, there is what I shall want, but do not want now. What I shall want depends to a very considerable extent on my future circumstances, which I cannot fully predict. If I were dismissed from my present employment, I should want a new position, but I do not now want such a position. What I shall want also depends on changes in my own interests, which equally I cannot predict, or, if I can predict, which I cannot bring about by predicting. At a party, I may know that tomorrow I shall care very deeply about my professor's opinion of me, but I may not care now, and hence may not want to refuse the further drink that will end my weakening inhibitions about entering into a full and frank discussion of his evident failings. These future wants have a role to play in practical reasoning. It is, of course, true that they cannot impel one to act now. But they can determine reasons for one to act now, for reasoning about practical problems involves the endeavour to establish conclusions about what enduring persons ought to do. To base these conclusions solely on present wants, and hence to derive them from premisses about the desirable-now, is a short-sighted and imprudent policy. Reasoning so based must be inadequate as prudential reasoning. To determine what one ought to do, one must consider all relevant factors, and not just those relevant at or to a given moment. Thus it is necessary to employ premisses concerning what is desirable to the agent, without regard for time, and the practical basis must consist, not only of present, occurrent wants, but also of wants which may be occurrent at some future time. I cannot, obviously, allow for all possible future wants in determining what I should do; but I can make limited provision for them. I can know some of the activities in which I may likely want to engage at some future time, and hence endeavour not to make it impossible for me to engage in them. I can keep in touch with professors at other universities, in case I should require employment. I can refuse the drink, so that I will not forfeit the good opinion of my professor. -39The distinction between present and future wants reveals a second way in which what a person does may differ from what he should do. Just as he may act on impulse, rather than on reflection, so he may consider only present desires, and not long-term and future interests. Although what one should do, in so far as it depends on prudential factors, is determined by one's wants, it may often differ from what occurrent or present wants would indicate. The desirable course of action need not be that which is most desired at any particular time.

3.2.3. Wishes What one wants, one tries to get. If I claim to want a highersalaried position, yet do nothing which might lead to my obtaining it, and show no intention of doing anything no matter what the circumstances, then my claim may reasonably be disputed. l may be told that, if I really want such a position, I must be prepared at least to try to secure it.

Does it follow, then, that I do not really consider a higher-salaried position desirable, or worth wanting? Surely not; there can be no question that I am favourably disposed to having more money to spend. My dreams of an affluent me are most pleasant indeed; if only they were true! I wish for a higher-salaried position, and what I wish for, I regard as desirable to me, at least in some respect. Wishes tack the motive, or operative, force of wants. Equally, it may be urged, wishes lack the power, possessed by wants, to ground statements with practical force, statements which serve as premisses for practical judgements. Were someone to suggest that I should apply myself more to my work, so that I might deserve promotion and the accompanying higher salary, then I should suppose him to have mistaken the nature of my desire, and not to have realized that it was only a wish. It may, then, seem that a desirability-characterization corresponding to a wish must lack practical force. But is this so? Consider, first, the wish that one were a contemporary of Socrates. The state of affairs which is the object of this wish is one which cannot be realized by the wisher, and which he knows cannot be realized. It is this impossibility of fulfilment which leads us to call the desire -40a wish rather than a want. It is unreasonable to want the impossible; therefore, one regards desirable states of affairs which one cannot attain as merely the objects of wishes. The desirability-characterization based on a wish for the impossible fails as a premiss of practical reasoning because it is practically void. No conclusion about what to do follows if it is taken as a starting-point. But there is, then, no reason to exclude it from the class of premisses with practical force; statements of this type constitute a sub-class of premisses which lead the reasoner to no conclusion. It should be noted that wishes for the impossible may occasion action, without constituting reasons for acting. Children, and the permanently immature, refuse to accept the impossibility of realizing certain states of affairs, and hence may be said to want what is impossible. Although they can do nothing to achieve the impossible, they are moved to perform actions displaying their frustration. Such behaviour is occasioned by their wish, but not undertaken after deliberation based on it; that being a contemporary of Socrates would be interesting is no reason for beating one's breast because it is impossible. A second class of wishes have objects which may be attainable, but not by the wisher. Such wishes may be called hopes. I hope that apartheid will cease in South Africa, but there is little that I can do to promote this objective. Hopes equally give rise to practically void, or almost void, desirability-characterizations. Consider now a wish whose object I can attain. Suppose that I should like to understand Sanskrit, but do nothing to learn the language. I may plead that the pressure of other activities, of more important interests and commitments, prevents me from undertaking to learn Sanskrit. If I envisage circumstances in which these pressures will or may cease, then I may claim genuinely to want to learn the language, although I do nothing now. But if I decide that I shall never have the opportunity to learn Sanskrit, that I must expect always to have more important and pressing things to

do, then I relegate my desire to learn Sanskrit to the status of a mere wish. But this is not to exclude the desirability-characterization from -41my practical reasoning. It is simply to assert that the practical force of the premiss is insufficient to outweigh almost any other premiss, so that I can expect any conclusion I might draw from it alone to fail in the light of other, weightier considerations. Suppose, however, that even had I no other concerns, I should do nothing towards learning Sanskrit. I am idly wishing that I understood the language. If we may treat an idle wish as the limiting case of a mere wish, then perhaps we may consider that the desirabilitycharacterization corresponding to an idle wish provides a premiss with vanishing practical force. The object of an idle wish is regarded as desirable, rather than as indifferent, by the agent. He would be pleased if, with no effort on his part, he were to realize it. But it is not sufficiently desirable to justify any actual expenditure of effort in order to realize it, and some expenditure of effort is, of course, necessary. The practical force possessed by a statement characterizing as desirable the object of an idle wish is less than the amount necessary to overcome practical inertia. It does not provide a reason sufficient to explain or to justify any action whatsoever. Rather than remove its objective from the practical basis, we may treat it as an idle member. We may, then, conclude that wishes do not seriously complicate the close connexions we have endeavoured to establish between what is wanted, what is considered desirable, and what provides a prudential reason for acting.

3.2.4. Conclusion Aristotle's discussion of how the end of an action is determined may serve to clarify the position we have advanced. He states that the end is what we wish for (no special emphasis need be placed on 'wish', since he is not concerned to distinguish 'wish' from 'want') and that we wish for what we consider to be the good. 1 Thus Aristotle's doctrine is simply that the objective of our action is what we want, and we want what we consider to be desirable. But, Aristotle points out, not everyone wishes for what is truly good. The end appears to everyone in a form answering to his character. 2 That which is truly good appears as the end to those ____________________ 1 Nicomachean Ethics, IIIIb27, III3a15. 2 N.E. III3a23-b2. -42who are morally virtuous, moral virtue being a state of character. 1 Thus moral virtue makes us aim at the right mark, makes our ends, the objects of our wishes, right.

The man who merely deliberates well, who is able to find the means appropriate to the attainment of an end, is clever. 2 Such a man correctly determines what he ought to do, given his wants-his basis for acting. But he will not attain happiness, or the good for man, unless his wants depend on morally virtuous states of character. Only the man who combines cleverness with moral virtue has practical wisdom, 'a true and reasoned state of capacity to act with regard to the things that are good or bad for man'. 3 Thus 'what is best', and 'the good for man', serve Aristotle, not as accounts of a supreme end of human action from which all others may be derived, but rather as indicating the way in which the objects of our wants are characterized--as good for man. What one supposes to be good for man (and hence for oneself) depends on one's character. The man who does not achieve what is truly desirable to him fails, not merely because he has mistaken the desirable, misdirected his actions, but because his character is such as to misapprehend the desirable. He is incapable of wanting what will actually satisfy him. His wants fail to meet the standard they provide for themselves; their objects, affording no satisfaction, are not worth wanting. The man who lacks moral virtue lacks a satisfactory basis for acting. His predicament is of the first importance to both moral and political thought and practice.

3.3. Prudential Inference Prudential practical reasoning has been analysed into three constituents: premisses with practical force--statements containing desirability-characterizations of the objects of the agent's wants (the constituents of his prudential practical basis), and statements containing comparative desirability-characterizations relating these ____________________ 1 N.E. 1106a10. 2 N.E. 1144a24-27. 3 N.E. 1140b5. But Aristotle's account of practical wisdom is not entirely clear. I have supposed that it embraces cleverness and moral virtue; in fact Aristotle distinguishes it from both (1142b33, 1144a8). But this would make it an empty concept; I take it he means only to identify it with neither. -43objects; other premisses--statements concerning the situation in which the agent must act, his capacities, the probable and possible effects of attempting the various actions open to him in the situation; practical judgements--statements derived from the premisses and specifying the actions to be done. Note that practical judgements may serve as premisses in further reasoning. The simplest schema of a practical argument would be: 'Doing x would be desirable (or, would bring about a desirable situation); I can do x, so I ought to do it.' Here neither the determination of the objective, nor the calculation of means to an end, raises any problem. But the reasoning provides an explanation and justification of the action. As such it must implicitly reject grounds for supposing it undesirable to do x; to move from the premiss with practical force to the practical judgement is warranted only if there are no other relevant premisses with practical force. Thus the reasoning is more complex than it may appear.

Miss Anscombe would rule out this schema on the ground that 'the thing wanted [must be] at a distance from the immediate action'. 1 But this fails to consider practical reasoning as reasoning. The reasoning is required, not only to connect the thing wanted with the action (the end with the means), but reasons for acting with a judgement about what to do. Miss Anscombe treats practical reasoning as if the inferential steps were practical steps, as if one had to derive a means from an end by supplying intermediate means. No doubt the connexion of reasons with a practical judgement may involve this, but whether or not it does, it must involve more. The step between reasons and judgement ensures that the two are always 'at a distance' from each other. Aristotle supposes that the conclusion of the practical syllogism may be inferred formally from the premisses. For him, this is equivalent to the claim that the performance of an action is actually entailed by the statement of the end, coupled with a judgement showing the action to be the means to the end. Thus, from the major premiss, 'Everything sweet ought to be tasted', it is possible to infer the tasting of a particular sweet object. 2 This is, one might say, to treat inferential steps really as practical ____________________ 1 Intention, p. 78. 2 N.E. 1147a28-31. -44steps, to suppose that the inference passes out of the realm of reasoning and into the realm of acting. Rejecting this, keeping in mind the distinctions established in the first two chapters between judgement, decision, and action, Aristotle's supposition must be reformulated to state that a practical judgement, as conclusion of a practical syllogism, may be inferred formally from the premisses. Thus, from 'Everything sweet ought to be tasted', and 'This is sweet', I infer 'I ought to taste this'. In examining this argument, two questions must be distinguished. The first concerns the logical relationship between the premisses with practical force--statements containing desirability-characterizations, and prudential practical judgements--statements containing 'ought'. Does 'desirable' entail 'ought'? The second question assumes that 'ought' follows (whether logically or not) from 'desirable', and concerns the possibility of proving the objective of some action to be most desirable in a situation, and thus proving that one has sufficient reason to perform the action. Is it ever possible to demonstrate a practical judgement?

3.3.1. Logical Validity That which is desirable is worth wanting. To say, then, that one ought to seek the desirable, is to say no more than that wants provide reasons for acting. It would be mere verbal play to argue that, because 'desirable' is sometimes supposed to mean 'worthy of being wanted', and because it seems plausible to say that the judgement, 'One ought to seek that which is worthy being wanted', is necessarily true, therefore 'desirable' (in our sense) entails 'ought'. To avoid possible confusion, 'desirable' will be replaced by 'worth wanting' in this argument.

Suppose someone denies that one need have a reason to perform an action whose objective is worth wanting. He must then claim either that one does not have a reason to perform an action if its objective is worth wanting, or that one may not have such a reason. Emphasis must be placed on 'a reason'; one may not have a sufficient reason for performing an action although its objective is in some respect worth wanting. To exclude irrelevant complications the denial must be intended -45to apply without regard to any other reasons the agent might have for acting. For it might be urged that an action whose objective is worth wanting may properly be performed unless, say, it is forbidden by the Deity. That the objective of an action is worth wanting would then be treated as a reason for acting unless a reason of superior type (the Deity's command) supervened. But this argument could equally be formulated to treat prudential considerations as providing reasons for acting under all circumstances, with the proviso that, in comparison with reasons of superior type, they lack all practical force. Such an argument would not, then, really involve rejection of the claim that wants provide reasons for acting. This example does, however, suggest an objection which has not so far been ruled out. Suppose it be claimed that the express commands and prohibitions of the Deity provide the sole reasons for acting. If the Deity should command that attention be paid to prudential considerations, then these would, derivatively, provide reasons for acting. But that an objective is worth wanting is, in itself, rejected as providing a reason. Is this claim logically untenable? Consider another possibility. Is it logically untenable to deny that there are reasons for acting? A person holding this view would not be obliged to cease acting; he could act on impulse, or even in accordance with considerations of what is worth wanting, but he would not make practical judgements. Indeed, he might even make one judgement: 'There is nothing which one ought or ought not to do.' This judgement would follow from his denial of reasons for acting. These two proposals rule out consideration of what is worth wanting as providing reasons for acting. It is much more difficult to develop a plausible claim that one may, but may not, have a reason to seek that which is worth wanting. To maintain such a position, one must distinguish different types of worth, such that one type provides reasons for acting, but not another. But surely all considerations of what is worth wanting are, properly, prudential considerations, so that if one allows that there are prudential reasons for acting, all such considerations provide reasons, whereas if one denies that there are prudential reasons, no such considerations provide reasons. No reason can be given for admitting some, but -46not all; hence the person who claims that only some are to be admitted is not using 'practical reason' intelligibly, not being rational about reasoning. Let us, then, return to proposals which involve complete rejection of the claim that what is worth wanting provides a reason for acting. Such proposals seem intelligible; they do not involve obvious

misuse of 'reason for acting'. How might a person asserting such a position be convinced that he is mistaken? He might, first, be urged to consider wants, not merely as occurrent motivations, but as connected with an enduring person, and in this way providing grounds for action which are capable of rational assessment apart from their merely motive force. If this failed, he might be urged to examine his own practice, to see if he did not explain and justify his actions in terms of what he considered worth wanting. But he might claim that, although he had unreflectively made practical judgements in this way, he had erred in doing so; henceforth he would mend his reasoning. No conclusive argument can be developed on the basis of practice. To attempt to show that wants provide reasons for acting by deriving this role of wants from a prior set of reasons would defeat the position we are defending, since it presupposes the autonomy of prudential practical reasoning. Further, it would only put the argument back one stage; must the supposed prior reasons for acting be accepted as such? What is the connexion between their terminology and 'ought' and 'reason'? The conclusion which suggests itself is that there is no certain way to convince someone that one need have a reason to perform an action whose objective is worth wanting. The person who rejects this is not guilty of logical absurdity; the claim then is not an analytic truth. But he is equally not guilty of factual error--'reason' is not an empirical concept, and hence its application cannot be settled by observational techniques. If the claim is synthetic, it must be unprovable. But the utility of the analytic/synthetic dualism in the practical sphere may be doubted. 'One has a reason to perform an action if its objective is worth wanting' states the condition of prudential practical reasoning. Although not logically necessary, nor empirically verifiable, it is -47not therefore arbitrary, and certainly not meaningless. It does not lack any justification which it might possess. Indeed, one may ask how practical reasoning could be truly practical, if the condition of practical inference were either logically necessary, or based on non-practical considerations. The premisses of practical reasoning lack the force of 'ought'; the conclusions possess it. We must judge in terms of 'ought' if we are to act as rational beings, but 'ought' is not supplied to us, either by our non-rational surroundings, or by a higher reason. We assume our rationality as agents, in assuming an ultimate condition for practical reasoning.

3.3.2. Demonstrability Assuming that what is worth wanting provides reasons for acting, can these reasons ever suffice to provide demonstrative certainty that a particular action ought to be done in some situation? Is it ever possible to be sure that every relevant reason has been correctly weighed, every aspect of the situation examined, every effect of every possible action considered, so that not only no reasonable doubt, but no possible doubt whatever, remains?

The short answer to these questions is that demonstrability is possible only if the context specified by the practical problem is artificially restricted. If stringent conditions are laid down for the relevance of reasons, if the possible actions are fully determinable, if their effects are equally determinable, then it may be possible to show conclusively what one ought to do. But in practice other considerations may irrupt into the situation; other reasons for acting may be relevant to the person at the time; his action may quite unexpectedly have repercussions outside the situation which occasion endless complication. I am entering a darkened room; I may suppose, and suppose rightly, that I ought to turn the light switch. But it is possible that in so doing I shall set off a train of events that will completely alter the course of my life. I reach for the switch, fumbling in the dark I lose my balance, strike my foot against my child's toy lying unnoticed on the darkened floor, trip over it . . . One can never demonstrate a practical conclusion unless one can -48predict, with full certainty, all of the consequences of all of the actions open to the agent, and specify the agent's entire basis of action, his wants present and future, and the relative desirability of their objects. The sphere of the practical is necessarily the sphere of the uncertain; this is the condition of significant action. One must look before one leaps, but one must still leap. Concern about the demonstrability of practical judgements is not a practical concern. That it is possible to reason only from probably adequate bases, making probably accurate predictions of the consequences of possible actions, does not prevent successful practical reasoning. A man seeks to determine what he ought to do, to guide his action. Only a practical argument which can be produced after limited deliberation is of use to him, since his time to deliberate is limited. Again, a man seeks to show that he did what he ought, to explain and to justify his action. Only a practical argument which could have been produced after the limited deliberation possible before acting is relevant. In general, a practical argument is satisfactory if the arguer takes reasonable care to determine the sufficiency of the basis, recognizing that to presume to know the agent's future history, whether the agent be himself or another, is absurd. If reflection does not suggest the presence or probable future presence of wants sufficiently compelling to over-ride those considered, if the situation in which the action must be performed is carefully assessed, if the consequences of the more promising actions are examined, then it is probable that the action proposed in the consequent judgement will be the most desirable one for the agent to perform. To object to it, one must raise, not the blanket charge, 'Not proved', but a specific objection concerning the basis, the situation, or the manner of the reasoning. Such objections destroy reasonable confidence in the conclusion; others do not. -49-

IV PRUDENTIAL DISCOURSE

IN Chapter III we examined the anatomy of prudential practical reasoning. We turn now from the skeleton to the living being-practical discourse. For it is in discourse that people actually make practical judgements, and support or criticize them. An examination of practical discourse may be expected to make clear the actual criteria used in appraising practical arguments, and hence in establishing practical judgements. To establish these for the limited case of prudential reasoning is of especial value if, as I shall argue later, certain of them can be carried over to the appraisal of moral argument and the establishment of moral judgements. Before turning to these criteria of appraisal, we must consider the characteristic mood in which practical conclusions are formulated--the imperative, tn this chapter we shall attempt to classify practical imperatives, and to examine their relation to practical judgements.

4.1. The Imperative The basic practical conversation may be formulated simply: 'What shall I do?' 'Do x!' The response is most naturally put in the imperative mood, although it need not be; one might say, 'I advise you to do x', or 'Why not do x?', or 'You should do x'. The use of the imperative mood does not imply that the reply is intended as a command. A command takes the practical problem out of the hands of the person addressed; it enjoins action which he is expected to perform without further decision or judgement. Some imperatives do, of course, express commands, but many do not. 'Let's go to the cinema!' 'Don't be afraid--ask her to marry you!' These are not intended to substitute for the decision of the person addressed. Grammatically, the imperative mood is restricted in person to -50the second, and the first plural, and in tense to the present. These restrictions are of considerable importance in determining the relationship between imperatives and practical judgements, which are expressed in the indicative mood, and hence in any person and any tense. The imperativists, in assimilating judgements to imperatives, must explain away this difference--or deny it, as does R. M. Hare. 1 He contends that there are third-person imperatives, but provides no examples. The most likely candidate would seem to be the construction with 'let'. But this construction is used, either to express an ordinary second-person imperative, in which 'let' functions as the main verb (e.g. 'Let him go!', i.e. 'Allow him to go!'), or to express a subjunctive construction, in which 'let' functions as auxiliary (e.g. 'Let them eat cake!' 2 ). Hare also claims that there are first-person singular imperatives, closely similar to resolves, and expressed by 'Let me . . .'. But there is no use for this construction which may reasonably be construed as a first-person singular imperative. A man may address secondperson imperatives to himself (self-exhortation), but not by saying 'Let me do x!'

In attempting to extend the imperative mood to different persons, and, indeed, to different tenses, Hare fails to see the characteristic setting in which the mood is used--direct inter-personal communication. An imperative is a communicative arrow, directed by one person at another or others (if at himself, then at himself qua other, or qua member of a group including others). The study of imperatives illuminates this inter-personal context. But practical judgements are not tied to this context, and hence require an independent examination. Once imperatives and judgements are distinguished, it becomes important to consider their relation. It might appear that imperatives are based on practical judgements. To justify 'You should act ____________________ 1 The Language of Morals, p. 20, and pp. 187-8. 2 If Marie Antoinette said this, she was not hard-hearted, but ill informed. Not understanding the nature of poverty, she assumed that cake would be available to the demonstrators. Hence she failed to understand their excitement over the lack of bread. 'But they may eat cake!' she exclaimed. The usual English translation fails to make her meaning clear. -51on the imperative "Do x!"' one justifies 'You should do x.' But a case contrary to this rule has already been mentioned--command. The sergeant cannot be challenged to justify his orders by showing that the recruits should perform the action enjoined, but only challenged to justify his authority to issue the orders.Furthermore, not only the recipient of an imperative, but also the issuer, may concern himself with justification. The recipient asks, 'Should I act on the imperative?'; the issuer asks, 'Should I give the imperative?' It is by no means evident that the judgement 'I should issue the imperative "Do x!"' is always justified by justifying the judgement 'You should do x.' Suppose I am endeavouring to procure information from you which you should not reveal. I judge that I ought to encourage you to another whisky by saying, 'Have another!' But here I judge that you ought not to have another, at least in so far as your interests are concerned. The imperative the issuer judges he should give may not be that which recipient judges he should take.To examine the justification of imperatives more adequately we must distinguish the principal uses to which the mood is put. No classification of uses can be exhaustive or exclusive; particular imperative expressions may combine two or more of the uses distinguished, or fall on the border between two. But it is possible to provide a serviceable set of distinctions by classifying five main types of use: i. To command, order, direct: e.g. 'Present arms!', 'Johnny, come here this minute!' ii. To instruct, direct: e.g. 'Knit one, purl two', 'Go out to the roundabout and then take the second left.' iii. To advise, recommend: 'Try Sparklo for washing-up!', 'Take some aspirin and get a good night's rest--your headache is caused by tiredness.' iv. To urge, exhort: e.g. 'Do come to the cinema with me! A night out won't do you any harm', 'Are we Romans or are we slaves? Let us go forth to the battlements!' v. To request: e.g. 'Please, mummy, give me a sweet!' Exhortation is frequently combined either with advice or with request; the emotive theory of ethical judgements rests on this -52-

connexion. Again, command may be combined with instruction or advice; a common instance of this is (medical) prescription. Imperativist theories of ethical judgements make use of this connexion, as Hare's reliance on 'prescriptive' may suggest. In examining these uses of the imperative mood, we shall begin with that which will prove most central to our study--advice. Imperatives of advice are, as we shall see, used to convey practical judgements. Other uses may best be considered by distinguishing them from advice.

4.2.Advice It is noteworthy that advice, recommendations--and also instructions--are characteristically sought, whereas commands, exhortations, and requests are not. Of course, one may seek a request, saying, for example, 'Can I do anything for you?'; one may also seek a command, saying perhaps, 'What am I to do now, sir?' But such requests for requests, or for orders, need not indicate the presence of a practical problem. The person who requests an order wishes to know what he is to do; the person who requests advice wishes to know what to do. Advice is characteristically sought as a result of practical concern. Confronted with a practical problem, a man may not only make a personal judgement of what he should do, but may also ask for the judgements of others. We seek advice, and accept or consider proffered advice, because we expect it to be of some assistance in solving our practical problems. This expectation would be quite unjustified unless we thought that those who advised us intended to assist us. Of course, intention to assist may not result in actual assistance; a man is not always able to execute his intentions. But there is a markedly greater likelihood that assistance will be given by someone who seeks to determine what another should do, than by someone who proposes a course of action selected on some other ground. The purpose of advising and recommending is then to assist someone confronted with a practical problem, to aid him in determining what to do. There is some difference between 'advise' and 'recommend'; advice involves consideration of the problem of one person -53by another, whereas recommendation is rather a way of making available the fruits of one person's experience to others. Hence recommendations may be related less directly to particular problems; the (alleged) recommendations to be found in advertisements exemplify this. To say that advising has a purpose is not to say that anyone who advises or recommends must have regard for this purpose. Not all advice is sincere. But without this purpose, people would have no reason to seek or to accept advice. And were it not generally observed, people would cease to have reason to seek or to accept advice, since they would soon find their expectation of assistance regularly disappointed.

Having a use, the language of advice may be misused. While few persons seek and follow advice blindly--such a policy would be judged ill advised--most are at least to some degree favourably disposed to act on advice in certain circumstances. This means rather more than that they are sometimes disposed to seek and consider advice and recommendations. There is a tendency to favour doing what someone advises, just because he advises it. This bias is quite independent of the merit of what he proposes, although not independent of the average merit of advice a man receives. Finding that under certain general conditions acting on advice or recommendation pays, people are disposed--predisposed--in favour of the advice they receive. Such predisposition is also based on the belief that those who give advice are endeavouring to assist. This attitude permits the exploitation of advising and recommending by those who wish to further their own ends rather than the ends of those they are addressing. Under the guise of advice, they smuggle in suggestions to act in ways not conducive to the benefit of their auditors. But their use of the language of advice is clearly parasitic; were it not for the favourable attitude to which the primary use of the language gives rise, their exploitation would be ineffectual.

4.2.1. Advisee's Point of View In giving advice, and in determining what advice to give, the adviser is expected to reason from the advisee's practical basis. In -54advising, we treat someone else's problem from his point of view. In recommending, we consider whether our experience is relevant to recommendee's problem, regarded from his standpoint. Thus, in arguing from the situation in which advisee finds himself to a conclusion about what he should do, the adviser must take, as premisses with practical force, those which he believes to be held by advisee. The relation between giving advice and making practical judgements is thus quite straightforward. The practical judgement, 'You ought to do x', justifies the performative expression of advice, 'I advise you to do x.' For, just as judging that one ought to perform a certain action is usually the only sufficient condition for deciding rationally to do it, so judging that someone else ought to perform an action is the only sufficient ground for advising him to do it. If the adviser believes, but is not sure, that advisee ought to do a certain action, then, just as he must qualify his practical judgement, so he must qualify his expression of advice. He may be entitled only to suggest the action, or to advise that it be considered. Advice which consists, not in putting forward practical conclusions, but in giving information relevant to the practical concerns of advisee, is related, not to the making of practical judgements, but to the stating of some of the premisses from which such judgements can be drawn. Thus I advise you about the purchase of an automobile by acquainting you with some of the features of different motor-cars which I believe relevant to your needs. Or I advise my employer of my intention to leave, this being relevant to the conduct of his business. Advisee is left to draw his own conclusions from the advice, and from further premisses which may not be known to the adviser.

It would clearly be impossible for the adviser to substitute his own practical basis in giving advice. For, from premisses about the situation, plus premisses about my aims, nothing follows at least prudentially, about what you should do. There are two ways in which the adviser's wants and aims may enter into the advice he gives. He may reason, not in terms of advisee's problem, but in terms of his own situation, to a conclusion about what he ought to tell advisee to do, and advise, or mis-advise, -55him accordingly. The adviser's practical conclusion concerns what he should do; this judgement, legitimate in itself, does not, however, justify an imperative of advice. But adviser's aims may enter his advice in a second and quite proper manner. To determine what someone else ought to do, I may consider what, in his situation, I should do. In my reasoning, I suppose that the grounds on which I should act are similar to his grounds. Although this supposition is sometimes quite unjustified, it is often possible for me to offer at least a suggestion by determining what I should do. But how, in general, is the adviser to establish the practical premisses on which he may give sound advice? How does he come to know the practical basis of another person? So far we trove assumed this to be quite unproblematic, and, indeed, in some cases it is. The problem with which advisee seeks assistance, or which adviser recognizes unasked, may present no complications in so far as advisee's wants are concerned. It might be supposed that adviser could always determine the basis from which to reason by asking advisee to state, as fully as possible, his problem. But problems, practical problems, aims and interests, are not always clearly defined and demarcated. Advisee may not be fully aware of the nature of his problem, not because he lacks knowledge of the situation in which he must act, but because he is genuinely uncertain of his own objectives. He may require advice about these, and not about the means to attain them. Advice about the nature of advisee's problem raises certain difficulties. For advice is given about problems which are, ultimately, advisee's concern. The adviser cannot dictate what advisee's wants and interests are, and hence cannot dictate how he should view his problem. Advisee is entitled to the last word, but there is no point at which it is impossible for an adviser, quite sincerely, to disagree with advisee about his real interests, about what should rationally move him to action and hence ground his practical judgements. Thus disagreement, even irresolvable disagreement, may arise concerning the basis on which a practical problem is to be considered. Even if it be agreed that advisee is best judge of his own -56present interests (and this is less than obvious), there need be no agreement about future interests. I may have a better-grounded belief about how you are likely to change than you have, if my experiences have been similar to those about to befall you.

But that disagreement can occur does not imply that in any given situation it will occur. And that there may be disagreement about advisee's basis does not in the least suggest that this basis is not the relevant starting-point.

4.3. Other Imperatives 4.3.1. Instruction P. H. Nowell-Smith draws the line between instruction and advice in this way: Cases of giving instructions about the best, simplest, most convenient etc., way of doing what the recipient of the instructions has already decided to do or of achieving an end that he has already decided to aim at . . . Cases in which Jones tries to help Smith to solve a problem of choice, which is not just a problem about means or methods. I shall call these cases of Advice. 1 It may be possible to interpret 'means and methods' so that this account is, if not sufficient, at least satisfactory as far as it goes. But, as it stands, it does seem to be faulty. Suppose I say, 'I've been working like a beaver all day; I need to relax and enjoy myself. But I don't know what to do.' You reply, 'Why not go to the cinema?', or, 'I should advise you to go to the cinema', or, 'I can heartily recommend the film at the Bijou, if you want to be amused.' My problem concerns means to an end; I do not know what to do in order to relax. You tell me what to do to achieve my end, but not by giving me instructions or directions. Even had I explicitly asked you how to relax, you would have replied by advising, suggesting, recommending the cinema as the best means. What, then, is characteristic of instruction and direction (in the sense in which they are not terms of command). The main condition to be satisfied by imperatives of this class is that there ____________________ 1 Ethics, p. 145. -57be a definite and recognized procedure which, if followed, will enable instructee to achieve his objective. There must be, not merely a means, but a recognized means to his end. The instructor must, of course, know this procedure, and the problem must be such that complicating factors are unlikely to arise, so that instructee will be disposed to act without further ado on whatever instruction or direction he is given. This condition permits us to distinguish instruction from advice. Some practical problems are known to be capable of definite solution. Not only are they successfully met in action, but this success may be predicted. The person who knows such an assured solution can give a definite answer to someone who asks the relevant practical question. He does not advise the questioner; he directs or instructs him. If my problem is to overcome indigestion, you

may direct me to take a bromide; if my problem is to cut wood for the fire, you may instruct me in the method of sawing. Note that problems of this type may have alternative solutions; there are several quite efficacious ways of relieving indigestion, and not everyone uses the same technique in sawing. A man may be instructed in one or more procedures; if there are no set rules for choosing among them, he may be advised which to employ in differing circumstances. Note further that practical problems may be treated as solved, although a more satisfactory solution may be possible, or may later be found. Progress need not cease when we begin to direct and to instruct. Instruction arises in a fixed context of activity; what instructee is doing or seeking to do is decided. His objective is clear, and the path to it is also clear--but not to him. No practical complications are, or should be, introduced by the giving of instructions; if the proposed course of action affects grounds of action other than those involved in the given problem, then instruction is out of place. A fixed solution to a practical problem must not raise new practical issues. The practical reasoning which leads to a conclusion capable of being expressed as an instruction or direction is of little interest to us. The basis must be clearly defined, and not open to qualification or dispute; the premisses with practical force must come directly -58from the formulation of the basis; the further premisses must suffice to put the conclusion beyond reasonable doubt. A practical judgement seems somewhat out of place as the vehicle for expressing an instruction. To say 'You ought . . .' is to leave room for decision, for further consideration on the part of the person addressed, whereas, if instruction is appropriate, such consideration or decision is pointless, unreasonable. What instructee lacks is knowledge of what to do to achieve some end already decided on; he waits on this knowledge; hence nothing should intervene between receipt of it and action. In cases of instruction or direction, the practical judgement is so fully justified that it is redundant; an imperative most appropriately formulates the practical conclusion.

4.3.2. Hortation Directly hortatory terms, such as 'urge' and 'exhort', do not entail the commitment to concern with the problems of the person addressed that terms of advice imply. To urge someone to do something is to seek to move him to do it by open verbal means. Hence it can be done neither dispassionately, nor disinterestedly, in contrast to advising. In urging, we press the proposed course of action upon urgee; we exert ourselves to obtain his acceptance of it. This does not imply that we employ any and every means we think likely to prove effective. To urge need not be merely to try to persuade. 'Urge' is neutral with respect to the nature of the concern of the person urging. There is no incompatibility between urging and advising; one may urge someone to do that which one considers advisable for him to do. We do not suppose that, when dealing with

the practical problems of others, we must be entirely impersonal, showing no interest nor concern in what they do; such unconcern could hardly be usual, for if as a rule we took no interest in our fellows, such activities as advising would hardly have developed. But urging need not be a part of advising; when asked, 'Why did you urge him to do it?', it is logically proper, although possibly morally reprehensible, to reply, 'Because I wanted him to do it.' We have no, reason to suppose that what we are urged to do will prove to be in our interest, since we have no reason to suppose that -59it is so intended. Why, then, should we consider what we are urged to do? Only because urger makes the proposed course of action seem attractive to us, makes it seem to be what we want to do, or even what we should do. Urger may purport to base what he says on consideration of what it is advisable for urgee to do, committing himself to a judgement about what urgee ought to do. But equally he may paint a word-picture, true in so far as it goes, of the joys of doing what he proposes, without committing himself to any practical judgement whatsoever. In considering hortation, we must distinguish between validity and efficacity. An efficacious imperative is one that is carried out. Thus if I successfully urge you to come to the cinema with me, if I persuade you to come, my urging is efficacious. But the imperative, 'Come to the cinema with me!' is neither valid nor invalid. More properly, it may be termed justified or unjustified, but to indicate the nature of the justification it is necessary to introduce the practical judgement; in this case, 'You ought to come to the cinema with me.' Here validity enters; if you ought to come to the cinema, then the practical judgement is valid, and the imperative justified. But the judgement is itself neither efficacious nor inefficacious; these terms do not apply to it. it is easy to confuse the justification of an imperative in terms of the validity of the corresponding practical judgement, with the efficacity of the imperative. Indeed, it is possible to suppose that efficacity is the ground of justification. This confusion is increased by the further confusion between the justification of an imperative as suitable to be acted on, and as suitable to be issued. The resulting tangles lie at the root of the emotivist theory of moral judgements. As a footnote to our discussion of hortation, a word about suggestion may be in order. In the primary use of the word, to suggest something to someone is to put it before his mind, to bring it to his attention. Derivatively, 'suggest' is used performatively, in such phrases as 'I suggest that'. What is suggested in this sense may, although it need not, be the doing of some action. Thus what is suggested may relate to a practical problem. Suggestion, in this quite limited respect, falls on the border between advice and hortation. -60'I suggest' is weaker than 'I advise'; the use of an imperative to suggest, merely to suggest, requires qualification to avoid the expression of unwarranted certainty. This weakness is a matter of some complexity; it may be that the support which suggester can offer for the action he proposes, or the thought which he has given the problem, is insufficient, so that what he says, he says tentatively. Or it may be that he wishes to avoid offering full assurance, what-

ever his basis for speaking. A man is responsible for actions done on his advice to a much greater extent than for those done at his suggestion. But apart from this weakness, suggestion often implies a lessening of the speaker's concern for the problems of the person addressed. The suggester does not fully commit himself to the adoption of suggestee's practical basis in deciding what suggestion to offer; if he, in putting forward his suggestion, adopts a form of words which does require this commitment, then he is not merely suggesting. The enunciation, even tentatively, of a practical judgement --even 'I think you ought', or 'Perhaps you should'--entails a commitment to concern which is not provided by 'I suggest that'.

4.3.3. Command Imperatives of command differ entirely from imperatives of advice in their grounding. Here we can only indicate the nature of the difference. Imperatives of advice concern practical problems of advisee. Imperatives of command do not. If you are authorized to command me to carry out certain actions, then it is inappropriate for me to consider whether I shall benefit from the actions, or even whether to perform the actions. If you are entitled to command, I am obliged to obey. The responsibility for the performance of the actions is assumed by the commander. (If it be objected that the plea, 'I was merely carrying out orders', is not always fully extenuating, and hence that not all responsibility is borne by the commander, it may be replied that if the plea fails to extenuate, the commander was not really authorized to order the actions in question.) To oppose a command by arguing that one ought not to perform the action commanded is to fail to recognize the command. If I am -61obliged to obey, then it follows necessarily that I ought to perform the action commanded. It may be that apart from the command, I have no sufficient reason to perform the action; if the imperative were tendered as advice, I might rightly decide not to act on it. It may be that the command is unfortunate, that it should not have been issued, but this, in most cases, is not to be taken into consideration. A command may be opposed by questioning the authority of the commander. But here no objection need be raised to the practical judgement corresponding to the imperative. If I am not obliged to obey you, then your command is unjustified, whether or not the action enjoined is the one I ought to perform. You may tender me excellent advice, but this is irrelevant. Note that one may challenge, not the authority of the commander in general, but only his authority to issue a command of specific type. I might well suppose that I ought, in situations of such-and-such a kind, to obey the commands of a certain person, but deny that this situation is of that kind, and hence deny that I ought to obey this command. If a sergeant ordered his recruits not to salute their commanding officer, they might well judge that

they ought not to obey, that he had no authority to issue a command so contrary to general military regulations. In brief, then, an imperative of advice is justified if and only if the person addressed ought to perform the action specified. An imperative of command is justified if and only if the person addressed ought to obey the person addressing it in the particular situation. We cannot here consider how the judgement that one person ought to obey another is to be justified.

4.3.4. Request Imperatives of request, like imperatives of command, are not directed at the problems of their recipient. Like imperatives of hortation, they display a definite concern on the part of the issuer with the doing of the action enjoined. Indeed, in backing up a request, one may well urge, exhort, or by other means seek to persuade requestee to act on it. Usually imperatives of request are neither justified nor unjustified; -62there is no judgement from which they may be said to follow. However, in certain cases the requester endeavours to show that he is entitled to the grant of his request. Here he seeks to establish the practical judgement that requestee ought to grant the request, from which it follows that he ought to perform the action requested. This mode of justification resembles that appropriate to commands; just as the commanding of an action is sufficient reason to perform it if the commander is duly authorized, so the requesting of an action is sufficient reason to perform it if the requester is entitled to the granting of his request.

4.4. Assent to Imperatives There are two quite different types of assent, which relate in different ways to different classes of imperatives. First, a man may assent to an imperative as justified, whether or not he acts on it, or even considers acting on it. An imperative of advice is accepted as justified if the corresponding practical judgement is accepted as true or valid. Acceptance of an imperative of instruction as justified is similar, but subject to the restrictions on the nature of such imperatives. An imperative of command is accepted as justified if the person issuing it is recognized to have authority to issue it, and an imperative of request is accepted as justified if the person issuing it is recognized to be entitled to his request. Imperatives of hortation, as such, cannot be accepted as justified; to consider them in this way is to treat them as imperatives of advice. Quite distinct from this form of assent is acceptance of an imperative as the basis of decision or action. 1 An imperative on which we act is efficacious. Here again there are differences, depending on the type of imperative. Acceptance of an imperative of command requires direct action in accordance with it; one does not decide whether to act on it. Acceptance of an imperative of instruction equally involves direct action, but for quite different reasons. In the former case, one acts on the imperative because one is obliged

____________________ 1 This is the only type of assent recognized by Hare. 'If. . . we assent to a secondperson command addressed to ourselves, we are said to be sincere in our assent if and only if we do or resolve to do what the speaker has told us to do.' ( The Language of Morals, pp. 19-20.) -63to do so; in the latter, because one has made a prior decision which involves doing so. Imperatives of advice, hortation, and request are presented for the consideration of the recipient, who will usually deliberate whether to act in accordance with the imperative. Here the imperative may be accepted for consideration, without being accepted in action. I may act on an imperative because I consider it justified. Assent in action may follow from assent in reason. But I may obey a proffered command without question, although the person issuing it has no authority to do so, or I may obey it because of the power of the issuer, although I know that he lacks authority. I may act on an ostensible imperative of advice although it is a disguised exhortation to do what is in fact contrary to my interest. I may accept an open exhortation knowing that it is contrary to my interest, because it is expressed so appealingly. I may, and indeed usually do, accede to an imperative of request because I want to, and not because I consider requester entitled to what he seeks. Thus I may assent to an imperative in action either without reflection, or with reflection on matters irrelevant to the justification of the imperative. A further set of complications connected with assent arises if we consider the viewpoint of the issuer. The justification of the judgement, 'I ought to issue the imperative, "Do x!" ', need not depend on the justification of the judgement, 'You ought to do x.' Assenting to the issue of an imperative as justified must be distinguished from assenting to its receipt as justified. Furthermore, the distinction between accepting an imperative as justified and accepting it in action can be repeated--one may consider the issue of an imperative justified, yet not issue it, or one may issue it, yet not consider its issue justified. But we shall not pursue these complications here. To conclude, we may consider the use to be made of some of the arguments developed in this chapter. Moral theorists, in examining the language of morals, have naturally sought relationships between moral judgements and other forms of practical expression. But they have failed to distinguish with sufficient care among these other forms, among imperatives. Emotivists have been concerned with -64the efficacity of practical language, and have tended to identify moral judgements with hortatory expressions, with attempts to persuade by verbal means. Imperativists have considered the prescriptive function of practical language, and have treated moral judgements as similar to commands. But practical language includes also expressions of advice. In this chapter, a close connexion has been established between judgements about what to do based on prudential considerations, and imperatives of advice. That moral considerations may also be related, although not so closely, to advice, rather than to commands or to hortation, remains to be shown. But it is at least plausible to

suppose that moral discourse can be illuminated more by consideration of those aspects of practical language which are concerned with reason, with establishing judgements, than by consideration of those aspects concerned either with authority or with persuasion. -65-

V APPRAISAL OF ADVICE GOOD advice rests on valid practical arguments. An examination of the criteria used in appraising advice will therefore reveal the Standards we expect practical arguments to meet. These criteria are best examined by classifying the principal types of criticism to which advice, and advisers, are subjected. In criticism, we single out the specific weaknesses which affect advice, the specific ways in which it may be found wanting. We ask what is wrong with a piece of advice, or a recommendation, or a suggestion; not what is right with it. If nothing is wrong, then it is all right.

5.1. Criticisms of the Adviser

In deciding whether or not to accept advice, we do not consider only what we are told. We are very much interested in who tells us, and under what circumstances. This need not be a display of prejudice, although it may be. Comparable concern is displayed in assessing reported information. If, for example, someone returns from China and writes on conditions in that country, we consider his beliefs, his experience and judgement, his intelligence and character, his reasons for visiting China and for writing about it, in determining how far to rely on what he says. Similarly, considerations about the character and beliefs of the person advising us are relevant in deciding whether to follow the course of action he proposes.Criticisms of the adviser divide into several important groups, sufficiently different in their characteristics that we may best consider them separately.

5.1.1. Competence i.

(i) Mabel. Why are you spending so much time gluing the pieces together, dear? Why don't you just nail. . . . Abel. Now darling, you know that you don't know the first thing about making furniture. You just leave this to me. -66-

i.

ii.

(ii) Look here, what did you mean, recommending the Ritz-Plaza to me? How was I to know that you'd never been to Toronto, and had only read its ads in the Travellers' Guide? I stayed there on your recommendation--and what did I find? Dreadful food, dirty rooms, expensive! Next time you'd better be sure that you know what you're talking about before you recommend anything. (iii) Will. You don't have to stand for that! Take my advice--the next time she goes on a buying spree, make her send it all back! Bill. Sure--that sounds fine! But you haven't any idea of what it's like being married. You just aren't in a position to give advice.

Criticisms of this type need not be formulated explicitly in terms of competence. If, as in the second example, someone is criticized

for making a recommendation, his experience will naturally be called in question. Not having direct acquaintance with hotels in Toronto disqualifies one from recommending an hotel there. Whereas, if someone is criticized, as in the third example, for offering advice, it is not just his experience which is in question; although Will's ignorance of the lot of the married man may rest on inexperience, it is this ignorance which is directly attacked. Criticisms of competence may in some cases be forestalled by taking care to indicate precisely the backing for one's remarks. This need not be done by explicit statement; tone of voice (dogmatic, assured, hesitant) and choice of expression ('Do . . .', 'I advise you to do . . .', 'You might do . . .', 'What about doing . . .') often serve adequately as guides. And there are phrases, such as 'I'm not sure, but . . .', or, 'I am told that . . .', or 'My experience has been . . .', or, 'I have every reason to believe . . .' which, without spedfying grounds, do give clear indication of their nature and extent. At least some relevant experience, knowledge, or ability is necessary if one is to advise at all. To begin, 'I am totally unfamiliar with and ignorant of the matter', is not to begin at all. Criticisms of competence cannot be forestalled by the admission of incompetence. The requisite degree of competence is, of course, incapable of precise specification. Rather more is required to offer advice than -67merely to suggest; it is only because Mabel knows nothing whatsoever about making furniture that her suggestion is out of place. It is hardly necessary to consider why we offer criticisms of competence. We seek and attend to advice, recommendations, suggestions, to be assisted in deciding what to do. But if the adviser is quite ignorant of the matters on which he speaks, then we cannot expect to be assisted by what he says. Rather, we are likely to be led astray, to be hindered. Incompetence of the adviser or recommender renders his advice or recommendation incapable of fulfilling its practical function.

5.1.2. Title The second group of criticisms of the adviser is somewhat difficult to label. Adviser is criticized because he may not, is not entitled, to speak, rather than because he cannot, is not competent to speak. But this distinction may mislead; consider, then, an example: Mrs. Medlar. Really, my dear, your children are so frightfully dirty; I'm sure it isn't good for them to get covered with mud. I know that it's quite impossible to keep children properly clean, but I think you really should stop them from playing in the fields. Mrs. Young. I know you're only trying to be helpful, but after all they are my children, and I really didn't ask for your advice about how to look after them. 'I didn't ask for . . .' is one of the standard phrases used to introduce criticisms of this type. Since advice is characteristically requested, it is not surprising to find advisers criticized for offering

it unrequested. This charge may sometimes be forestalled if the adviser prefaces his remarks with a 'by your leave'. But not all unrequested advice needs such qualification to be legitimate, as the following example shows: Smith. I'd advise you to brace that fence on both sides. Jones. I didn't ask for your advice. Smith. Quite true, but if you don't brace it on both sides, the first time there's a strong east wind, it'll be down on my tomato plants. Then what do you propose to do? -68Jones might have replied, 'What business is it of yours howl brace my fence?' or simply, 'None of your business!' Smith's rejoinder shows that it is his business, his concern. Such a claim, if established, defeats criticisms of title. It might be supposed that 'I didn't ask for your advice', and 'None of your business', express quite different types of criticism. But both derive from the assumption that prudential practical problems are primarily private, so that another person is not entitled to concern himself with their solution. Neither phrase may appropriately be used if advice is requested; if I ask for your advice, then my problem is your business. Similarly, neither may be used if the problem is legitimately the concern of the adviser; if your affairs are involved, then you need not wait to be asked to express your view of what I should do. Both phrases, then, are used to make charges of interference. There are no clearly established procedures for demonstrating that a particular matter is, or is not, one's proper concern. No sharp dividing line exists; thus one may say 'It's not much concern of yours', or 'In a way it is his business, but . . .' . No doubt it is possible to establish some connexion between the actions of one person and the practical concerns of another by showing that the actions affect one or more of the considerations which would reasonably move the other to act--that is, one or more of the considerations present in his practical basis. But this does not define a clear procedure. Many relationships between persons carry with them the prerogative of giving advice. An employer may advise his employees on matters concerned with the performance of their duties. A parent may advise his child, a teacher his pupil, a sovereign his subject. In these cases one person exercises authority over another with respect to certain matters, and in virtue of that authority may advise the other should he so choose. It might be held that one should not attempt to advise unless either one is requested to do so or one has some concern with the problem or the person advised. But very often one person advises another without meeting these conditions, yet without offending. Criticisms of title differ from criticisms of competence in that they apply only at the discretion of advisee. The incompetent adviser -69offends whether or not anyone takes offence; the adviser who lacks title does not.

In practice it is not usually necessary to wait to see if someone takes offence to determine if unrequested advice is offensive. Experience teaches us when we are likely to be considered interfering, and when not. Learning when to advise and when not to is part of learning to live with others; there are no rules to be followed in detail. Why are criticisms of title offered and accepted? Obviously they are offered because advice is unwanted, but why does wanting or not wanting advice matter? Why do we--or why should we--criticize those who would advise us, just because we do not want advice? At least part of the answer to this question turns on the fact that to advise, or to recommend, is to assist someone in making a decision or choice, in solving a practical problem. The decision, and the problem, belong to advisee. If the adviser seeks to make the decision, and to impose it on advisee, then he is no longer advising, for he is no longer (just) assisting. He is treating the problem as a joint one, to be faced collectively, rather than as advisee's own problem. One's own affairs must be in one's own control--otherwise there would be no reason to call them one's own. And this implies, not only that one can decide what to do, and hence whether to accept advice, but also whether to hear advice. But why are certain matters considered a man's own affairs? Considerations both of preference and convenience must influence the way in which we demarcate our private concerns, but just what these considerations are--and what alternatives might lead us to make different demarcations--are not our concern. The demarcation of the private is one of the foundations of our practical discourse. These foundations are neither necessary nor fixed, but they do provide an accepted framework within which our practical vocabulary may be elucidated. That the framework might be otherwise does not make it otherwise.

5.1.3. Sincerity This third and last principal subdivision of criticisms of the adviser is perhaps the most evident. Its existence might im-70mediately be inferred from consideration of the function of advising. The insincere adviser or recommender does not attempt to assist advisee or recommendee with his problem; rather, he seeks to further some other aim by pretending to provide such assistance. 1. (i) Doe. He told you to invest in Big Boom Uranium only because he was one of the promoters of the swindle. He just wanted your money. 2. Roe. So he wasn't really advising me at all--just pretending to. 3. (ii) Black. Armchair Cigarettes? They wouldn't be worth buying tax free ! 4. White. But Dickie Dreemswoon recommends them. 5. Black. They pay him $1,000 for that. It's not an honest recommendation. 6. (iii) Pink. The Peace Action Group suggests we join them in a Common Front for Peace. 7. Blue. Rather a disingenuous suggestion, don't you think? They want to use us to cover their manœuvres, not to help our endeavours.

As the first example shows, in certain cases in which advice has ostensibly been offered, it is possible to deny that the supposed adviser was in fact advising, and to insist that he was only pretending to advise. It is not necessary to relabel his performance in this way, and it is not possible if 'advise' is being used performatively. But this denial does confirm our functional characterization of advice. The last two examples illustrate the use of terms which are applied to recommendations and to suggestions in place of 'insincere'. They mark slightly different foci of criticism, but the similarities are clear. For an adviser to be insincere, he need not advise a course of action contrary or opposed to that which would meet advisee's interests, nor need he intend to do so. Rather, his reason for advising (or purporting to advise) must be independent of seeking to aid advisee, so that what he says will be determined by factors other than his beliefs concerning advisee's interests. It will then follow that his reasoning will not proceed from premisses which justify a practical judgement, so that what he tells advisee to do will be related only accidentally to what advisee ought to do. Proof of -71deliberate hindrance, that adviser is seeking to thwart advisee, does of course show insincerity, but is not the only way to show it. But it is possible to give sincere advice although one's direct aim may not be to assist advisee. The county surveyor, called upon to recommend on the course of a new road from Littleton Magna to Muttons Tew, may be interested primarily in his salary, position, and reputation, but these concerns may lead him to make honest recommendations and offer sincere advice. In so far as attempting to aid advisee is consequent on one's primary aim, one is exempt from accusations of insincerity. Nothing need be added to our account of the function of advice in 4.2 to explain why criticisms of sincerity are offered and accepted. Indeed, the existence of these criticisms confirms that account; it would be absurd to put forward criticisms turning on sincerity, honesty, and ingenuousness, were it not supposed that, in giving advice, one purported to do something which, if sincere, one would really be trying to do.

5.2. Criticisms of the Advice In deciding whether to accept advice, the advisee cannot fully assess its content--if he could, he would not need to be advised. But he may be able to undertake a partial assessment, and a third person may be sufficiently informed to present a comprehensive critical analysis of proffered advice. Such criticisms, concerning the actual recommendation or piece of advice, and the grounds on which it is based, provide a more direct appraisal of practical judgements than do criticisms of the adviser. A useful guide to the divisions which might be expected within this wide class of criticisms is provided by the account of practical reasoning developed in Chapter III. For, since advice is based on practical judgement, what may go wrong with it is what may go wrong in establishing a practical judgement. Three different failings

may be distinguished: mistake with respect to the practical basis, or the corresponding premisses with practical force; mistake with respect to the situation, or the other premisses about the situation; erroneous reasoning from premisses to conclusion. -72In addition to these, which occasion intrinsic criticisms, there is a further class of extrinsic criticisms. Advice is judged defective because, although it meets the conditions laid down in the particular problem, it fails to allow for other concerns of the advisee.

5.2. I. Applicability

Adviser's appraisal of the situation in which advisee finds himself may be adequate, his reasoning impeccable, but if he fails to grasp what advisee wants to achieve, he is unlikely to succeed in proposing a suitable course of action. His advice is simply inapplicable to advisee's problem. Green. Why don't you pile those boxes on that crate over there, and move the suitcase over behind the bookcase? Then you could get the trunk out. Brown. Get it: out? I've been trying for half an hour to get it in to the corner. Here there is total misfire. In less trivial cases only part of the problem may be misconceived, so that the advice need not be entirely inapplicable. In yet other cases, a part of advisee's problem may be overlooked, rather than misunderstood, so that the advice is inadequately based. An extreme form of inapplicability appears in those cases in which adviser takes advisee to be confronted by a practical problem when in fact he is not. Advice tendered in such situations may be termed pointless, although we do not reserve this label for only these cases. Pointless advice must be unrequested, for we cannot ask for practical assistance unless we suppose ourselves to be faced with some problem. The more general question of the relation of a request for advice to criticisms of applicability raises problems of some interest. It seems reasonable to suppose that advice, in so far as it is directed towards a problem as raised by advisee, escapes all charges of being inapplicable, whereas, in so far as it ignores advisee's account of his problem, it invites such charges. But this supposition, although no doubt satisfactory those cases in which advisee and adviser share an adequate view of the problem, is too simple to cover cases in which advisee's view is mistaken, or in which advisee and adviser disagree. -73If an adviser accepts a mistaken account of the problem, then no doubt his advice is objectively inapplicable, but, unless he might reasonably have discovered advisee's mistake, it is hardly possible to criticize his advice on this ground. It is the assumed context which both advisee and adviser accept, and not simply adviser's understanding of the problem, which requires correction. If adviser and advisee disagree about the problem, then, while advisee may consider the advice inapplicable, it is again hardly possible to criticize the advice on this ground. For here the inapplicability is deliberate--resting on adviser's belief that advisee has mistaken the nature of his problem. An adviser is generally entitled to disagree with advisee's statement of the problem, and to attempt to convince advisee that his statement is mistaken, without thereby

opening himself to criticism. (But not always--as in the case of someone formally appointed to make recommendations or to give advice on some problem.)

5.2.2. Soundness The other types of intrinsic criticism mentioned at the beginning of 5.2 are of little interest to us, despite their practical importance. Many problems arise in the elucidation of factual mistakes, the omission of relevant considerations, the incorrect assessment of situations, the misinferring of conclusions, but they are not peculiarly problems of practical philosophy. No one label indicates the full scope of these criticisms; however, 'sound' and 'unsound' are characteristically used to appraise advice, and to appraise it in many of the ways here under consideration. Although it would be inappropriate to reject advice as unsound because of a simple mistake of fact, an unwarranted assumption, an omitted consideration, or an error in reasoning might well justify this criticism. For example: I have doubts about the soundness of the plan. We are to suppose that the Ruritanians will hold Skropoznik for forty-eight hours; have we any reason to expect this? If not, we must consider it likely that the Slobdovians will cut off the Dnuva valley, trapping two of our divisions in Czzw. 'Unsound' is particularly appropriate if following the advice -74given would prove calamitous, rather than merely of no value in attaining the given objective. But the weaker criticism evidently falls within this class, there being no important difference in its grounding.Recommendations based on expert investigation may be deemed sound or unsound; thus one may make such critical remarks as:The effects on London vice of driving the prostitutes off the street is ample demonstration of the unsoundness of the recommendations of the Wolfenden commission.These terms are not applicable to ordinary recommendations based merely on experience, but an analogous criticism is to be found in charges that the recommender reads too much into his experience, or fails to discount the effects of special circumstances, or mere chance.

5.2.3. Extrinsic Criticisms

Our examination of the appraisal of advice has so far been restricted to considerations arising within the framework set by advisee's particular problem. But our lives are not lived in watertight compartments; a solution to the problem at hand may have consequences extending beyond that problem, and these may be in some way unpleasant or undesirable. Such consequences give rise to extrinsic criticisms.Extrinsic criticisms divide into those in which only further concerns of the advisee are introduced, and those in which direct reference is made to the concerns of others. To consider the latter would lead outside the prudential framework of these chapters. We shall, then, restrict ourselves to examples of the former: 1. (i) Blue. I just find it impossible to gain weight. What can I do? 2. Grey. Well, what can you expect? Consider what you eat! You should butter your bread, put milk in your tea. . . . 3. Blue. But you know quite well I'm allergic to dairy products. Do you suppose I like my diet?

4. 5.

(ii) Mrs. Young. I've never bought detergent before. What brand do you recommend? Mrs. Elder. Well, dear, I find Foam best--you know it costs a bit -75-

2.

more, but the others make my hands so rough and don't suds enough. Mrs. Young. Oh, what a pity--I mean Fm sure it's very good, but my brother--Dick, you know--he was rather badly treated by the Foam people--never got proper compensation for his accident--so I just don't buy their products.

In many respects criticisms of this type resemble criticisms of applicability. Both refer to the practical basis of advice. Indeed, it might seem plausible to attempt to reduce extrinsic criticisms to criticisms of applicability by regarding each person as faced with one and only one practical problem--the 'problem of living'--of which other problems were part. But such a reduction would not fit the usual, sensible ways in which we consider our practical problems. No doubt there is no precise criterion for individuating problems, but it is still true and useful to insist that our concern at any time is with one or a small number of problems, resting on a limited set of interests, needs, and desires. A man seeks advice on a particular, limited problem, not on how best to conduct all of his affairs. He does not want the advice he receives to propose action adversely affecting his other interests, but this concern is negative--he does not want his present problem to interfere with these interests. An adviser may be entitled to point out such possible interference, but were he to seek to give advice on how best to solve advisee's 'problem of living', he would open himself to vehement criticism for trying to run advisee's life. And indeed, no practicable reasoning could justify an answer to such a problem.

5.3. Functional Appraisal Having considered the several types of criticism offered against advice and recommendations, we may now reflect on their general characteristics. What is the nature of the appraisal to which advice is subjected? We may begin by considering the appraisal of something altogether different--bread-knives. If one were to appraise a particular bread-knife, one would first want to know whether it would cut -76bread. If it would, one would then endeavour to compare it with other bread-knives, with respect to the time and effort required to cut bread with the knife, and the evenness of the cut produced. Should the appraiser be asked to justify his concern with these matters, to show that he should take such factors into consideration, he would explain that a bread-knife is an object used, or intended to be used, to cut bread. A bread-knife has a function--bread-cutting.

To ascribe this function to bread-knives is to say more than that people do happen to use bread-knives to cut bread. The function is built-in; one would not grasp the concept of a bread-knife unless one knew that bread-knives existed to cut bread. To ask what a bread-knife is, is to ask what it is for. In this respect bread-knives-and, indeed, bread itself--differ from the wheat from which the bread is made; although the wheat is used for making bread, its existence is quite independent of this use. One would know what wheat was without knowing that it was the source of bread. Having made clear to the questioner the significance of the assertion that bread-knives have a function, the appraiser would then point out that a function provides, must provide, more or less explicit standards of appraisal. The object may fulfil its function well or badly. The function ora bread-knife being to cut bread, and to do so quickly, easily, and neatly, one must judge such a knife on the basis of the quickness, ease, and neatness with which it cuts bread. Of course, the function need not provide all of the grounds for judgement; the design of the knife might also be considered. But in so far as the object is functional in character, the primary grounds for appraising it are provided by the function, and hence are builtin with it. Thus the standards employed in appraising bread-knives attach directly to the concept of a bread-knife. The application of this to the appraisal of advice should be evident, The primary thesis that we have developed in our discussion of advice is that advice is to be characterized in terms of a function. Men give advice, make recommendations, to assist their fellows with their practical problems. A bread-knife is a device to cut bread; advice is a device to bring one person's judgement to bear on the problems of another; recommendation is a device to transmit one person's practical experience to another. -77Standards for the appraisal of advice are determined by its function; good advice is that which does assist advisee with his practical problems. It is these standards which we have elicited through our examination of the types of criticism to which advice is subjected. Non-functional criteria may be introduced into the evaluation ora piece of advice, just as they may be introduced into the evaluation of a bread-knife. Nothing has been said about such standards, but the essentially functional character of advice ensures that they must be of secondary importance. If we advise in order to assist others with their practical problems, then we must accept the criteria of appraisal established in this chapter as fundamental. The criteria of functional appraisal are not arbitrary, nor in need of justification beyond an appeal to the functional character of advice. But functional appraisal is limited. A bad bread-knife is not therefore useless, good for nothing. It may serve some other purpose-it might be a splendid objet d'art. It might be needed as a prop for amateur theatricals--in which case one might well say, 'I want a bad bread-knife--a good one won't do.' That a bread-knife may be entirely praiseworthy for these purposes makes it no less bad as a bread-knife, and hence a bad bread-knife. Similarly, bad advice, advice which is bad as advice, may be good for something else. An adviser may find that giving bad advice furthers his ends admirably. And he may therefore see no reason why he should not give such advice. 'I want to give bad advice; giving good advice is no good for my purposes.' To tell such a person that his advice is bad, that he is insincere in giving it, may not move him. He wants to give bad advice; why then should he be concerned if he is told that he is being successful?

People do not object if bread-knives are used for purposes other than those for which they are intended; why should they object to advice being put to other uses? Thus at this point the limitations of functional appraisal become evident. Functional appraisal may enable us to distinguish good advice from bad, but k does not provide grounds for insisting that advisers give good advice. One might as welt suppose that the criteria for distinguishing good grades from bad were grounds for insisting that examiners give good grades. Only if someone wants to advise properly will he respond to functionally grounded criticisms. -78There is, however, one feature of advice, discussed in 4.2, which distinguishes the nature of its function from that of bread-knives, and which bears on our present problem. To use a bread-knife for purposes other than cutting bread may well not affect its breadcutting ability. Of course, some possible uses will dull or damage the blade, but cutting cheese, for example, is quite innocuous. On the other hand, to put advising to work other than that for which it is intended will affect its primary role. For, if we did not expect those who purported to advise us to attempt to assist us, we should have no reason to consult or attend to them, and, if advising were put to other uses, we should not in general be able to expect this. Furthering other ends through the giving of advice is employing the technique of advising parasitically; such a use is not a true alternative to attempting to assist advisee, but rather depends on deceiving advisee into supposing that advice is being properly given. Since advice must appear to be intended to assist advisee, the types of criticism we have considered may always be invoked relevantly, whatever the actual intentions of adviser. Advice which is shown to be bad as advice ceases to fulfil other purposes. But good advice may not fulfil these purposes; it may be that adviser can succeed in his aim only by giving bad advice whose badness is not made apparent. The misuse of advice is subject to a law of diminishing returns; extend it too far, and no one will seek or attend to advice. But there is still ample scope for misuse. And a particular person may not care about ultimately diminishing returns; he may expect to serve his purposes even if the language of advice is ultimately abandoned. No doubt most people would agree that to lose the language of advice would be to lose something of value, but not necessarily of sufficient value to convince them never to misuse it. Functional appraisal concerns particular pieces of advice, and not the activity of advising. The several types of criticism we have considered are relevant to the appraisal of advice in terms of its primary- function, but this is not the standpoint from which the activity of advising, as a whole, requires appraisal. Only if the activity, and hence its function, are judged sufficiently valuable -79are there grounds for ruling out parasitic uses of the language of advice. This distinction may be related to the general framework of our inquiry. Concern with the appraisal of particular pieces of advice

is tantamount to concern with particular practical judgements stating that someone (advisee) in a given situation (expressed in the formulation of the problem) ought to act in a certain way. But it is necessary also to consider the judgements, 'One ought, in general, to advise sincerely', and, 'One ought, on this occasion, to advise, and to advise sincerely.' These judgements are conclusions of practical arguments of a complexity greater than those we have been considering in these last three chapters. The first is a general judgement--a rule--about the giving of advice; so far we have examined only particular practical judgements. Both judgements, in so far as they concern sincerity, introduce moral considerations; so far we have examined only prudential practical judgements. In the next chapters we shall endeavour to remove the limitation inherent in 'prudential'; not until Chapter XI shall we face the limitation inherent in 'particular'. -80-

VI THE MORAL BASIS A PERSON is confronted with a practical problem. From his practical basis, which comprises his wants (present and future), he selects those whose objects may in some way bear on his problem. He then formulates a set of statements characterizing these objects as desirable to him, and comparing them in terms of this desirability. Taking further statements about his capacities and experiences, in so far as they may bear on the problem, about the situation in which he must act, and the consequences of actions possible in that situation, he may infer an answer to his problem, a judgement of what he ought to do. This is, in summary form, the schema of practical reasoning we developed in Chapter III. Is it possible to use it, not just for the prudential case, but more generally, for problems involving prudential and moral elements? One way in which this might be done would be to base morality on a set of principles derivable, as general practical judgements, from prudential grounds. We shall examine an attempt to do this in Chapter VII. But here I shall propose a quite different way in which the prudential schema may be used. Without supposing that moral considerations are reducible to prudential, I shall argue that the firm of all practical reasoning must correspond to the form of prudential reasoning, but that wider content must be introduced by enlarging the practical basis, and thus the class of premisses with practical force.

6.1. The Wants of Others A man parking his automobile is about to shut off the motor when he notices that he is blocking someone's drive; he considers that he ought to move the automobile, and does so. His only concern is with the inconvenience that might be occasioned did he not move his car. tie might, of course, have had some other reason for -81-

moving it; he might have wanted not to annoy the particular person whose drive would have been blocked, or to avoid the expense of a possible fine for obstruction. But such considerations need not be present. He need not regard obstructing the drive as in any way undesirable to himself; he may simply recognize its undesirability to someone else. If asked, 'Why do you think you ought to move your car?' he would reply, 'I ought to because whoever lives here won't want his drive blocked.' In this situation, not the agent's own wants, but the wants of another person, seem to provide his reasons for acting, is this so? Or is it only the agent's own wants to satisfy others that really provide reasons? Let us examine the situation more closely. Green. Why do you think you ought to move your car? Brown. Because whoever lives here won't want his drive blocked. Green. What's his wanting got to do with it? What's it to you? Brown. What do you mean? If he's going to be inconvenienced by my parking here, then I oughtn't to do it. That's all. Green. Ah--I see. You want not to inconvenience him. That's it, isn't it? Brown. Well--I suppose you could say that. Green. Why do you want not to inconvenience him? Green's final question poses problems of interpretation. He is not asking 'Why do you want not to inconvenience him?', suggesting that Brown is making a special effort not to inconvenience the particular person, an effort that Green might consider unwarranted. Nor is he asking, 'Why do you want not to inconvenience him?', suggesting that Brown is paying undue attention to inconvenience, and neglecting other matters involved. Rather, Green must be supposed to ask, 'Why do you want not to inconvenience him?' And this is a curious question, exploiting an ambiguity which different formulations of it, and possible replies to these formulations, will reveal. Green. Why don't you want to inconvenience him? Brown. Why the deuce should I want to inconvenience him? What's he done to inconvenience me? I haven't any reason to inconvenience him, so of course I'll move my car. -82Or: Green. Why do you want to avoid inconveniencing him? Brown. Well, I oughtn't to inconvenience him. I don't have any particular feelings on the matter; it's just something one shouldn't do. Brown argues, quite reasonably, that he does not want to cause inconvenience. But this does not show that he wants not to cause inconvenience. We often say 'I don't want to. . .', and mean, not just that we have no positive desire to do whatever is in question, but that we have a definite desire not to do it. Here, however, no such implication may validly be drawn. Brown simply denies that he wants to cause inconvenience. He supposes that, in the absence of such a want, he ought not to cause inconvenience. And this suggests, not that he wants not to cause inconvenience, but that he considers causing inconvenience to someone to be in itself a relevant consideration in determining what to do.

However, Brown would be unlikely to deny that he wanted to avoid inconveniencing the owner of the drive. His second reply shown his position here. He does not argue that, because he wants to avoid causing inconvenience, he ought to move his car, but that he ought to avoid causing inconvenience, and so wants to move his car. The supposed want does not provide the ground for the practical judgement, but arises from it. Green's attempt to show that Brown's judgement of what he ought to do rests on his wants thus fails. Green may continue to insist that Brown has not shown that he ought to move his car. But this is not the important point. Brown has succeeded in defending his judgement in a way that would ordinarily be acceptable, that involves no departure from careful linguistic usage, and that rests on what is desirable to another, and not on what is desirable to oneself. On occasion we state explicitly that the agent's wants are of less importance in determining what he should do than the wants of another. Mother. Geoffrey, that blind gentleman is waiting for someone to take him across the street. Do go and help him! Geoffrey. But I'd be embarrassed. I don't want to! Mother. What you want has nothing to do with the fact that he needs help. You ought to do it--now go ahead! -83The objection 'I don't want to' is not allowed to stand against practical judgements based on an appeal to the wants of others, at least without consideration of the respective weight of the wants. Had Geoffrey been hurrying to catch a train he might reasonably have refused to take time to help the blind man, judging that some other passer-by would have the time to spare which he lacked. But the mere embarrassment of approaching a stranger, although it may be allowed some weight, is not sufficient to justify Geoffrey's refusal. The natural conclusion suggested by such examples as this is that the wants of others do play an independent role in practical reasoning. Our direct concern with fulfilling the wants of others may be emphasized by distinguishing it from concern with frustrating such wants--a concern intelligible only indirectly, in terms of other considerations. Suppose you are motoring from Oxford to Cambridge, and consider whether to drive through Luton or Bedford. You might say, 'It doesn't matter much which route I take--but if I were to drive through Luton I could call on old Fitzpatrick; he can't have many visitors, and I know he'd enjoy a brief chat. So I shall go through Luton.' Your statement quite adequately explains and justifies your decision. But suppose instead that, after referring to Fitzpatrick, you were to conclude, 'So I shan't go through Luton'. Your statement now serves, not to explain your decision, but rather to make it less intelligible. 'Surely', someone might counter, 'if Fitzpatrick would enjoy seeing you, you should go through Luton.' Only if you went on to say something like, 'I wouldn't feel right passing through Luton if I didn't call on him, but he's an insufferable bore', would you explain what you propose to do. Consider now an objection to our argument. If some factor is to be included within the practical basis, it must permit the derivation of a statement possessing direct practical force. If some factor is to be included within my practical basis, it must concern me directly.

For only so does it permit the derivation of a statement possessing direct practical force with respect to me, so that a judgement about what I ought to do may be inferred from it. Now that which is desirable to others is no direct concern of mine. Therefore the wants of others cannot be included within my practical basis. -84We may grant that my basis for practical reasoning must comprise those and only those matters with which I am directly concerned. Then, that some factor provides me with a reason for acting shows it to be one of my concerns. But it is not necessary that my concerns be related to me in any way other than as providing me with reasons for acting. They need not be desirable to me. And therefore we cannot assume that what is desirable only to others is no direct concern of mine. The objection requires that 'my concern' be defined, first, as 'factor in my practical basis', and, second, as 'my want'. From these definitions it follows that my wants exhaust my practical basis. But only one of these definitions may be assumed; the other must be treated as an equivalence to be demonstrated. But this the objection fails to do. The formal failure of this objection--which is analogous to the formal failure of psychological egoism--may not remove its plausibility. For the constituents of my practical basis must be capable of functioning as motives; otherwise I could not act on them and they could not provide me with reasons explaining what I do. Now it is superficially plausible to suppose that only my wants move me to action. But we have already seen, in 3.2.1, that this 'moving' cannot be understood in a simple, physiological way; we have distinguished the impelling force of wants from their rational force. Although only my present wants can impel me to unreflective action, other considerations, such as my future wants, may well possess the rational force necessary to move me to act on deliberation. It is, no doubt, possible to conceive an agent who could treat his own wants, present and future, as reasons for acting, but who could not treat other considerations as reasons. Such an agent would (and could) concern himself only with those wants of others which he wanted to fulfil (or to frustrate). But there is no reason to assume that our capacity for rational action is, or need be, limited in this way. And in the absence of such a reason, we may properly consider at face value those quite ordinary practical arguments which rest on what is desirable to persons other than the agent. -85-

6.2. The Extended Basis The general thesis that I am proposing is this: all wants of all persons are to be included in the basis of practical reasoning of any agent. The schema which served for prudential practical reasoning is then adapted to the general case by substituting the extended basis, and the class of premisses with practical force derivable from it.

6.2.1. All wants . . . If a person must consider all wants of all persons in determining what to do, is it possible for him to reach any conclusion? The first objection which might reasonably be advanced against tine thesis is that it does not provide a practicable schema for practical reasoning, and hence fails to meet the fundamental condition laid down in the first chapter. But a person need not consider all wants in determining what to do. Only a minute fraction of all wants have any possible relevance to the situation in which he is to act, or to what he may do. Indeed, most of the wants in each person's practical basis never do nor can enter into his reasoning, although it is impossible to provide criteria to determine, in advance, just which wants may possess practical relevance. Nor does this proposed thesis require an agent to violate the conditions of practicality in order to ensure that every possibly relevant want has been considered. Rather, just as he must exercise reasonable foresight and care in determining the prudentially best course of action, so must he also in determining the best course of action simpliciter. A more serious objection is that only some wants are worthy of consideration. But if it be agreed that desirability does in some cases provide practical force, then all statements containing desirabilitycharacterizations must possess practical force. For if some statements containing desirability-characterizations are ruled out ab initio, then desirability itself is not sufficient--not ever sufficient-to provide practical force. Just as it is irrational to rule out some wants of the agent while accepting others in his practical basis, so -86it is irrational to rule out some wants of all agents while accepting others.

6.2.2 . . . . of all persons . . . We need not consider proposals to exclude certain persons or groups from practical consideration, save the rather interesting suggestion that past persons might be excluded on the ground that nothing done after their death can be either desirable or undesirable to them. But, although no doubt those wants which take some state of the agent as their object have no relevance without the agent, not: all wants are self-referring. The testaments of the deceased are usually judged worthy of respect, and these testaments contain the wishes and desires of the dead concerning that which survives them. The statement, 'It's what he would have wanted', often fails to justify the action to which it refers, but not because what he would have wanted lacks practical relevance. Rather, an appeal to what the dead -would have wanted is often used to exclude the wants of the living from consideration, and this is contrary to the rule that all persons are to be considered. Respect must not be confused with deference.

The important question to be considered in this section is the delimitation of the class of persons. So far, only human beings have been considered as persons. But may not the wants of animals be regarded as relevant to what one ought to do? Certainly the desires and interests of the dog in the Sputnik figured in the practical reasoning of the R.S.P.C.A. It is, of course, difficult to suppose that conclusions can be drawn concerning what an animal ought to do (apart from those more properly characterized as concerning what someone ought to make an animal do, or ought to do with the animal), and this may be offered as a reason against allowing the wants of animals to be constituents of the practical basis, but is it a conclusive reason? If there are beings 'higher' than man, whether these be Hegelian states, angels, or God Himself, it would surely be quite arbitrary to exclude their aims and interests from consideration, even if man must judge himself incompetent to determine what they ought to -87do. A theory of practical reasoning which excludes God's Will (if there be a God) from the basis from which practical judgements are drawn is not apt to commend itself to the believer as adequate. Exact specification of the limits of the class of persons, of beings who figure in the practical basis, requires agreement as to the appropriate linguistic devices to be used in describing the behaviour of such beings, as well as agreement on just what types of beings there are. In general, in so far as we are prepared to speak of an animal's aims, purposes, interests, wants, and of its feelings and thoughts, we may also be prepared to consider its point of view in determining what we ought to do. Most Englishmen, at least, would hesitate to follow a course of action which would endanger the life ora dog, unless some major benefit to some person were to depend thereon; considerably less hesitation would be shown in so behaving as to endanger the life ora clam. We may lament over uprooted oaks, but not on their account. (Of course, if we project human characteristics into oaks, then we may weep for them. But this confirms, rather than contradicts, our argument.) For our purposes, this general suggestion of how to delimit the class of persons will serve to indicate those beings whose points of view are to be considered in determining what one ought to do. It is essential to note that not all of these beings--and hence not all of their wants--are to be considered equally. But how are we to determine if one person is to count for as much as another? It is the mark of reasoning that distinctions must be grounded in real differences; thus if A is to count for more than B in determining what ought to be done, A must be superior to B in some relevant respect. And this 'relevant respect' must surely be determined by those characteristics which admit A and B to the class of persons. If, then, entry to the class of persons is determined by the appropriateness of such terms as 'want' and thought' in describing the activities of the candidate, then rank within the class can be determined by the extent or degree to which these terms are appropriate. If I do not consider the interests of Negroes equally with those of Whites, I must show that Negroes are inferior to Whites in their capacity for rational action--in their ability to -88-

determine themselves to act in accordance with reasons. If I cannot show this, then my distinction is without relevant foundation.

6.2.3. . . .are to be included Granted that all wants of all persons are to be included, we must now ask if all are to be included in the same way, the wants of others functioning on a par with those of the agent. The distinction this question suggests is not that between different types of persons. I may recognize the equality of all human beings, and hence agree that all are entitled to equal consideration, yet suppose that, in determining what I ought to do, I am to consider my own wants in a special way. The suggestion is that the relation between my wants and my actions differs from that between your wants and my actions. So far, wants have been considered as quite divorced from persons. Adequate attention must now be paid to the fact that the actions of one person cannot relate to the wants of all persons in the same way. An agent's wants manifest themselves in his actions. A man who does not, or would not in appropriate circumstances, exert himself to secure the object of his want, cannot be supposed seriously to want it. But if his want is not serious, then no other agent need concern himself with it. It follows that a man must endeavour, or be willing to endeavour, to satisfy his want, for it to be the concern of others, and thus that their role is primarily to assist him, or to avoid hindering him, in his endeavours. A man is directly concerned to satisfy his own wants; he is concerned only indirectly to assist others to satisfy their wants. Many wants must be satisfied primarily by the actions of the wanter. In so far as I want to do something--to make love, to watch trains, to write this study--I must perform the actions essential to the satisfaction of my want. Other wants cannot be satisfied by the actions of the wanter alone. His serious concern with them must be manifested, not only in his endeavours to do what he can to satisfy them, but also in his willingness to make some return for the assistance he requires--to assist others reciprocally. If you are to have reason to assist me, I must act to satisfy my want in so far as I am able, and this entails -89repaying your effort expended on my behalf` by expending effort on your behalf. There are numerous complications in the practical application of`this doctrine. Those quite unable to help themselves (e.g. infants) must have their wants satisfied through the efforts of others who cannot expect any return. Complex techniques for the satisfaction of the wants of many persons through the organization of their efforts are developed and institutionalized in society; in this way duties are created which cannot be reduced in any simple fashion to assistance or co-operation. The role of the wants of others in practical reasoning is highly complex, but the fundamental distinction is simple: I want, so I act; you want, so you act, so I assist you.

Thus we avoid both a doctrine of far-sighted selfishness, in which concern for the wants of others is only a means to self-satisfaction, and a doctrine of complete self-indifference, in which the wants of others are treated identically with those of the agent. There is genuine concern for others, genuine consideration of their wants as reasons for acting, but this concern is for others as others.

6.3. Further Extensions? Does the admission of all wants complete membership of the practical basis, or are there other considerations which provide reasons for acting? Such considerations seem to be found in obligations and duties, principles, laws and rules, customs and manners. Consider these judgements, all of which ostensibly make appeal to factors other than wants: 'Marital fidelity is a sacred duty; you ought not even to have considered adultery.' 'John, you oughtn't to drive so fast; it's against the law!' 'You should write to thank your hostess; it's impolite not to.' 'Oh, mummy, you really should varnish your toenails; Celia's mummy does and Jennifer's--you look positively antediluvian !' But is it obvious that these considerations are independent of wants? That we appeal to practical premisses which refer to obligations, duties, laws, manners, and so forth rather than to wants -90does not prove that the practical basis must contain factors other than wants. Premisses with practical force are not restricted to desirability-characterizations, even if the practical basis is restricted to wants. All true practical judgements may also serve as premisses with practical force. Thus, if I judge that I ought to see Brecht's Galileo, I may use this as a premiss to argue that I should book a seat. Let it be granted that obligations, duties, and other considerations do provide reasons for acting. May they not do so because they are conclusions, or are founded on conclusions, of prior practical reasoning? May adherence to obligations, or laws, or customs promote the general satisfaction of wants, and thus may these not take precedence over the particular wants involved on a particular occasion? It may be that some supposed duties, some laws or customs, prove not to be derivable from wants. But may this not be ground for rejecting them as not providing genuine reasons for acting? No doubt all duties provide reasons for acting, but not all supposed duties need be duties. No doubt most laws provide reasons for acting, but conformity to the racial laws of South Africa may well violate the fundamental requirement that all persons are to be considered. No doubt many customs and manners provide reasons for acting, but 'fashion' may provide only a spurious reason in competition with one's own taste. We shall consider the role of principles, obligations, and duties further in Chapters XI to XIII. Here we shall outline only a general argument against enlarging the practical basis to include considerations other than wants.

6.3.1. Reasons for Acting The practical basis must provide reasons for acting. Both 'reasons' and 'acting' determine criteria for membership in the basis. To begin with 'acting': if some consideration is to provide a ground of action, it must be possible to specify, in terms of it, some action or range of actions. The consideration must provide the agent with direction. Any motivating factor necessarily provides direction. As we saw in 3.2.I, this may be done in two ways. A motivating factor may -91simply impel action; the ravenous man bolts down whatever food is at hand, and the terrified man flees blindly. Or it may indicate an objective--an activity, or a state of affairs to be realized through activity. The wants of others do not impel action, but they do set objectives to which one's actions may contribute. The wife who prepares dinner for her hungry husband helps to bring about the satisfaction of his want. But direction can be supplied to an agent by considerations other than wants. A crude Darwinian finds direction in the evolutionary process; he may see his struggle for survival as contributing to the production of the 'fitter' which he supposes the objective of evolution. The Marxian finds direction in the historical process; he may see his endeavours to overthrow the bourgeoisie as contributing to the realization of the classless society which he supposes the objective of history. But in what sense does the Darwinian evolutionary process, or the Marxian historical process, set an objective? It may be that the struggle for survival is producing fitter beings, and that the overthrow of the bourgeoisie is bringing about the classless society. But are these the objectives sought by the processes? Let us agree that evolution, or history, does not in itself set an objective. Does it therefore not provide a ground for action? The Darwinian may still see his struggle for survival in relation to the evolutionary process; the Marxian may still see his efforts to overthrow the bourgeoisie as part of the inexorable course of history. The process itself provides a standard to which actions may conform, and thus provides a direction for action. The most general condition that a ground of action must meet is, then, that it enables an agent to distinguish certain actions as conforming to it. This conformity may take such a special form as contributing to the objective set by the ground of action, but it need not. The most general pattern of inference is 'x occurs, so I shall do y which conforms to it'--'Skirts are shorter this year, so I'll get busy and shorten my dresses'. This pattern does not involve 'ought'. That something is happening is not a reason that it should--or should not--happen. Mere -92-

occurrences are in themselves neutral. Thus, although it may be possible to act in such a way that one conforms to what occurs, one has no reason to do so, if only the occurrence is considered. Evolution may be producing beings which are ever fitter to survive than were their predecessors. In so far as this cannot be affected by what I am able to do, I have, and can have, no practical concern with the process. In so far as it can be affected by what I do, I am not bound by the fact that other conditions are furthering rather than hindering fitness to suppose that I should--or have any reason whatsoever to--further rather than hinder it. The general furthering of fitness will be a fact to consider in establishing the nature of the situation in which I act, but it has no further practical relevance. The facts which a study of biology, or of history--or of psychology or the social sciences--reveals may be of great relevance to our practical reasoning. But their relevance is not in providing reasons for acting. Rather, they indicate the possibilities of action-what we can do. In determining, for example, our sexual practices, it is important to know what biological, psychological, and social consequences different practices have. But only an evaluation of these consequences in terms of desirability (to someone) will determine reasons for acting. Agreeing, then, that conformity as such provides only a direction but not a reason, for our actions, we return to consider whether contribution to or participation in some objective must provide a reason. (Note that if we want to conform then conformity becomes such an objective.) Any answer to this question must turn on our use of 'objective'. It is clear that only an actual objective (although not only a present objective) can provide a reason for acting; a merely possible objective provides only a merely possible reason. It is also clear that an objective must be an objective of something or someone. Is it possible that the possessor of an objective be other than a person, a rational agent? To speak of the objectives of history, or of evolution, is surely to engage in dangerous anthropomorphism. Of course, one may want to suggest that History is a super-person, an agent claiming respect for its objectives. But if not, then to speak of historical objectives is at best an oblique way of speaking of objectives belonging to real -93persons--individuals, or the institutions they create to act for them. And if it is agreed that only persons have objectives, and that these objectives are determined by the objects of their wants, then to suppose that all objectives provide reasons for acting is to suppose only that all wants are members of the practical basis. No extension of the basis is required. Thus our argument suggests that the basis outlined in 6.2 is the complete practical basis. Unless a consideration is capable of moving some person directly to deliberate action--unless it is an object of his wants--it cannot serve anyone as a genuine reason for acting. My reasons for acting need not move me to action directly--but they must move someone, at some time. For if they do not, if they matter of themselves to no one, why am I to make them matter to me? -94-

VII LOGIC AND PRACTICE 7.1. The Condition of Practical Inference PRACTICAL inference rests on the condition that what is desirable (to anyone) provides a reason for acting (for anyone). This condition is neither a definition nor an analytic truth. If it is reprehensible to assert, 'Their wants are no concern of mine', it is not logically reprehensible. Thus the condition makes possible the derivation of practical judgements from premisses not logically entailing such judgements. In the terminology introduced by Stephen Toulmin in The Uses of Argument, a practical argument is substantial, rather than analytic. An analytic argument is characterized by Toulmin as one such that 'the backing for the warrant authorising it includes, explicitly or implicitly, the information conveyed in the conclusion itself'; a substantial argument is rather one 'where the backing for the warrant does not contain the information conveyed in the conclusion'. 2

1

The 'warrant' of which Toulmin speaks comprises, in the case of an analytic argument, the rules of formal logical inference; it is 'backed' by the premisses. In the case or a substantial argument, the 'warrant' will include these rules of inference, but it must also include further rules or conditions, which permit the formally inadmissible steps required to introduce whatever in the conclusion is not contained in the premisses. Thus the 'warrant' of a practical argument must include the condition mentioned above--that what is desirable provides a reason for acting, so that from premisses containing desirability-characterizations, a conclusion containing 'ought' may be derived. The condition of practical reasoning may, then, seem to serve as a new rule of inference, a rule to be added to the ordinary formal ____________________ 1 S. E. Toulmin, The Uses of Argument, Cambridge University Press, 1958, pp. 123-7. 2 Ibid., p. 125. -95rules to permit the drawing of practical conclusions. But this opens the door to a host of objections, many of them developed by Hare in The Language of Morals. Hare is there concerned with any form of inference which proposes to 'answer the question "What shall I do?" out of a set of premisses which do not contain, at any rate implicitly, an imperative'. 1 For our purposes, we may read 'practical judgement' for 'imperative'. Hare's objection is that 'to hold that an imperative conclusion can be derived from purely indicative premisses leads to representing matters of substance as if they were verbal matters'. 2 This is made plausible by introducing the imperative force absent from the premisses into the inferential procedures: 'What under the old dispensation appears as an imperative major premiss reappears under

the new as a rule of inference.' 3 But to treat a principle with imperative force, a principle of conduct, as a rule of inference, is to blur the distinction between the two, and to leave 'out of our reasoning about conduct a factor which is of the very essence of morals. This factor is decision.' 4 If we were to suppose that the condition of practical inference was simply a formal logical rule, then no doubt Hare's objections would be sustained. If questions about it were brushed aside by saying merely that it makes clear the logic of practical argument, that it shows the verbal steps which may be taken by the practical reasoner, then matters of substance would be treated as merely verbal. But the condition was introduced to enable us to take a substantial step, to enable us to pass from premisses to conclusions not entailed by them. Its role determines the non-analytic character of practical argument; thus it would be a clear contradiction to treat it on a par with formal rules. Nevertheless, to term the condition a rule of inference does suggest an assimilation to formal rules which may tempt us to gloss over questions about it by treating it as a merely verbal convenience. And Hare is on more solid ground when he insists that to introduce such a rule would be to omit the factor of decision in ____________________ 1 The Language of Morals, p. 46. 2 Ibid., pp. 46-47. 3 Ibid., p. 48. 4 Ibid., pp. 54-55. -96morals. For, since the condition of practical inference may be rejected without self-contradiction, accepting it involves a decision, or commitments, which lies at the very root of prudential and moral action. And to speak of committing oneself to a rule of inference, however much one may deny that one means a formal rule, is to speak in an absurd, or at best paradoxical, manner. It is, therefore, necessary to insist that the condition of practical inference is not a rule, to be added to the formal rules. Rather, it is a condition which, if adopted, enables one to infer (using the usual formal rules) practical judgements from statements containing desirability-characterizations. To consider wants as providing reasons for acting is to make 'ought' part of the content of 'desirable'. Analysis will not find it there, but commitment to the condition puts it there. The derivation of practical judgements from statements containing desirability-characterizations will, of course, still not involve demonstration. For, as we saw in 3.3.2, there is a necessary uncertainty to practical arguments, an uncertainty permitting only probable conclusions. The condition of practical inference enables us only to bridge the gap of validity, not that of demonstrability. The condition of practical inference is, then, to be distinguished from the rules of formal inference--a distinction that Toulmin's conception of warrant may obscure. But it is also to be distinguished, as the conception of warrant indicates, from the premisses of practical reasoning. As a premiss, the condition of practical inference would take the form of a very general practical principle: one ought to consider that what is desirable to anyone provides a reason for acting for

anyone. This is, indeed, how Hare would regard it; rejecting the 'new dispensation' he returns to the old--to the supposition that the alleged condition is an imperative major premiss, differing from other practical principles only in virtue of its generality. For Hare, every practical argument requires a principle as its major premiss. But, as we shall show in Chapter XI, this view seriously misconceives the role of prudential and moral principles. Principles are general practical judgements, established as the conclusions of practical arguments. Once derived, they may be used 824190 H -97as premisses in further arguments, but their role is always logically posterior to that of statements containing desirability-characterizations, the ultimate premisses from which they must be derived. But the condition of practical reasoning enables statements containing desirability-characterizations to function as premisses in practical arguments. Thus Hare avoids the confusion of identifying the condition with the formal rules of inference, only to fall into the equal confusion of identifying it with derivative principles of conduct. In appraising a practical argument we do not consider only the formal correctness of the inferences employed. The validity of the argument depends also on the correct application of the condition of practical reasoning. The appraisal of any substantial argument requires the use of standards appropriate to the particular type of reasoning, in addition to the familiar logical canons. Thus an argument intended to account for the occurrence of certain observed phenomena is assessed in terms of its adherence to the conditions of scientific explanation. An argument intended to show the guilt of an accused person is assessed in terms of its adherence to the canons of judicial procedure. Let us develop the example of the appraisal of scientific arguments, to show certain parallels with the appraisal of practical arguments. A scientist endeavours to infer theoretical explanations of natural phenomena from premisses provided by his observational data. The explanations which constitute his conclusions must have a generality not present in his premisses, and hence are not contained in nor entailed by them. Judging what explanation to adopt is not simply a matter of juggling with the available information, in the hope that it will spill out in the desired order. But the arguments a scientist employs are by no means arbitrary. He proceeds in well-established ways to draw conclusions from his data, and these ways can and should be rendered explicit. To do so is to set out the conditions of scientific inference. Refusal to accept these conditions, although not self-contradictory, would rightly be judged unreasonable. Appraisal based on the canons of scientific reasoning is methodological. It is comparable to appraisal based on the canons of -98deductive logic in that it relates to reasoning, but it must be distinguished from such appraisal in raising substantial, rather than merely formal, questions. Thus it is comparable to appraisal of the adequacy of experimental technique and of the correctness of

observations, in that it relates directly to the character and subjectmatter of science. Methodological error, just as experimental error, can open the door to the charge 'unscientific'. Just as the philosopher of science seeks to set out the conditions of scientific inference, so we have attempted to state the supreme condition of practical inference. Appraisal based on this condition relates to what: we may call the methodology of practice. It, too, is comparable on the one hand to logical appraisal in its concern with reasoning, but, on the other hand, is directly related to practice, just as is appraisal of the agent's capacity to effect his judgements in his decisions and actions. Failure to adopt the correct standards of judgement, just as failure to act in accordance with judgement, opens the door to the charges 'imprudent' and 'immoral'. Methodological considerations do not, of course, determine the truth of proposed scientific theories---on!y their relation to the facts to be explained can do this. And similarly, methodological considerations do not determine the truth of particular practical judgements--only their relation to the agent's situation and the interests therein involved can do this. In giving an account of practical reasoning, the philosopher is not doing the job of the man faced with a practical problem, any more than, in giving an account of scientific reasoning, he is doing the job of the scientist. The philosopher does not pre-determine practical or scientific conclusions. Rather, he reflects upon, and makes clear, what the rational agent and the rational inquirer must do, to succeed in the tasks they set themselves.

7.1.1. Validity In claiming that sound practical reasoning depends on a nonanalytic supreme condition, our account of practical inference does take sides on practical questions. For, although practical conclusions are not pre-determined, their relationship to practical premisses is fixed. And so our account fails to preserve the neutrality -99with respect to its subject-matter that has been among the desiderata of modern philosophy. Paradoxically, perhaps, it has been considered almost immoral for the moral philosopher to trespass within the bounds of morality. The supposition that there are special canons determining the soundness or validity of practical arguments has been challenged, not only by imperativists such as Hare, but also by thinkers of the emotivist school. To assess the force of their objections, I shall consider briefly the argument of C. L. Stevenson, perhaps the foremost exponent of emotivism. Stevenson distinguishes beliefs, which concern facts, from attitudes, which concern values. 1 What I have termed practical beliefs-beliefs about what actions ought to be done, he would treat rather as practical attitudes--attitudes favouring the doing of certain actions. Stevenson maintains that canons of validity apply only to those procedures of reasoning which concern beliefs. In so far as practical reasoning departs from empirically based scientific or common-

sense reasoning about matters of fact, no question of the validity, or invalidity, of the inferences employed can usefully be raised. His argument rests on two contentions. 2 First, validity and truth are interconnected, so that only procedures which establish the truth or falsity of an ethical judgement can properly be called valid. Second, the truth or falsity of an ethical judgement depends entirely on its descriptive meaning. Thus only procedures which establish the descriptive content of an ethical judgement may be called valid, and these procedures are just those generally used to establish descriptive judgements. Apart from descriptive meaning, which determines the beliefs of a person accepting a judgement, there is emotive meaning, which determines his attitudes. Procedures establishing the emotive content of an ethical judgement do not concern truth or falsity, and hence cannot be termed valid. To use 'valid' in appraising such procedures would be to use it, not objectively, but persuasively. Stevenson is prepared to admit that all ethical disputes may be ____________________ 1 C. L. Stevenson, Ethics and Language, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1945, pp. 155-6. 2 Ibid., p. 154. -100settled by rational methods, by procedures which may be termed valid, if 'all disagreement in attitude is rooted in disagreement in belief'. 1 But the step from factual belief to practical attitude is not therefore a reasoned one; Stevenson's argument is that if as a matter of fact we all take this step in the same way, then disagreements in attitude will arise only as consequences of disagreements in belief, which are susceptible of rational resolution. Stevenson denies that there can be a correct way to step from belief to attitude. Stevenson creates a favourable reception for his position by setting up emotive meaning as the partner of descriptive meaning, and by supposing that the former determines attitudes, the latter, beliefs. It then appears obvious that the step from belief to attitude cannot be reasoned. Rather, the connexion between the two is to be established by observation. A true practical judgement is then one which couples true factual claims with an attitude towards those claims which motivates action. No doubt the actual connexion between a belief and an attitude is a matter for empirical determination. But in making a practical judgement we are not just opting for an action on the basis of our attitude to what we believe to be the facts; rather, we are judging an action appropriate given what we believe to be the facts--the facts including the attitudes of the persons involved. If we accept Stevenson's terminology, and say that the action is determined by our attitude towards all of the facts, then we must insist that this be a reasoned attitude, if the judgement is to be justified. Not any attitude which motivates action can be used to establish a practical judgement. And this suggests that we reject Stevenson's terminology, and say that a practical judgement states a belief about what to do. This belief is of course based on beliefs about the facts; the actual relation between it and factual beliefs may be empirically determined, but

the correct relation--the relation which justifies it--is determined by the procedures of practical reasoning, and in particular by the condition of practical inference. Only a justified belief is a true practical belief. How, then, are 'valid' and 'true' related in practical reasoning? ____________________ 1 Ibid., p. 136. -101We must agree that only procedures that establish true judgements may be called valid. And this is a useful criterion of valid inference only if the truth of the judgement can be established independently of the inference itself. The conclusions of scientific arguments, whether they be statements explaining the data set out in the premisses, or statements predicting occurrences by extrapolation from the data, are capable at least of independent check. The prediction may be verified by observing the occurrence; the explanation may be confirmed by applying it to further data. In this way the truth of the conclusions can be used to assess the validity of the methods of argument. There is a partial parallel with practical arguments. The conclusion of an argument, a judgement about what action is to be done, may be checked by observing the effects of doing the action. Ilk does best satisfy the wants of the persons concerned, then it is what one ought to have done, and hence the practical judgement is true. But this check assumes the condition of practical inference-assumes that wants provide the reasons for acting. Thus the correctness of the condition cannot itself be checked by appraising the truth of judgements derived in accordance with it, for it must be assumed to appraise the truth of these judgements. A valid practical argument will, then, be one which leads only from true factual premisses to true practical judgements. But the use of both 'true' and 'valid', in so far as the practical aspects of the argument are concerned, will depend on the acceptance of the condition of practical inference. Those who agree on the condition of practical inference are able to use 'valid' and 'true' in the practical sphere in a manner analogous to the employment of these terms in the logical and factual spheres. But what of those who disagree? Each will have his own standard of truth and validity, based on the view of practical reasoning he accepts. If the view presented here be accepted by one party to a dispute, the other may ask, 'Why do wants provide reasons for acting? Why is it necessary to pay attention to the wants of all persons in determining correctly what one ought to do?' -102-

7.2. Justification of the Condition of Practical Inference

Can we answer the man who challenges our account of practical inference? It may seem that the only possible answer is ruled out. For surely we must show him that he ought to consider the wants of others as reasons for acting. But this is a practical judgement, and to establish it we should need recourse to that very condition which he questions. But this consideration merely shows the futility of expressing the condition of practical inference as a principle, a general practical judgement. So expressed, it can be established only by presupposing it as a condition. Such a procedure is futile, but may it not be possible to establish the condition as the conclusion of some nonpractical argument? If so, then practical reasoning would be justified in terms of some other species of reasoning. It must be impossible to derive the condition as an analytic or necessary truth. For if it were necessary, the inference from desirability-characterizations to practical judgements would be logically necessary, and it would be self-contradictory to deny that one ought to act to bring about whatever state of affairs was most desirable (to everyone) in a given situation. Thus the supreme condition must be derived, if at all, by a substantial argument. To the objection that the validity of such an argument, itself resting on a non-necessary condition of inference, would be open to the same criticism as the validity of practical arguments, we, may reply that these criticisms pertain, not to the substantial, but to the practical, character of the argument. Scientific inference, albeit substantial, escapes the objections to practical inference, because the truth of scientific conclusions is, at least sometimes, capable of full empirical check. It is always logically possible to reject the validity of an inference requiring a non-necessary condition, just as it is always logically possible to reject the truth ora non-analytic statement. But only a rejection on more positive grounds deserves serious consideration. The validity of practical inference is legitimately questionable; the validity of some other form of inference may not be. There is, however, a conclusive objection to supposing the condition of practical inference to be the conclusion of some non-103practical argument. Briefly, such an argument would destroy the autonomy of the practical. It would rule out of our reasoning about conduct the factor of decision. If the supreme condition of practical reasoning were the conclusion ora non-practical argument, then acceptance of it would no longer be a decision, a commitment in which a man makes clear his prudential and moral position. We argued that the man who fails to employ the condition of practical inference is open to criticism on prudential and moral grounds, his mistake falling within the sphere of practice. But if his failure were merely the consequences of a mistake in some other form of reasoning, such criticism would be absurd. If, for example, the condition of practical inference were scientifically demonstrable, the man who failed to adopt it would be unscientific, not immoral.

7.2.1. Justification of the Condition of Moral Inference If the condition of practical inference cannot be derived from a non-practical source, it may yet be possible to derive one part of the condition from another part, whose acceptability is less questionable. If we could show that the extension of the basis to include wants of all persons could be justified prudentially, then we would be able to rest all practical arguments on the condition that what is worth wanting to someone provides that person with a reason for acting. And this condition, although open to the same theoretical objections as the more general condition, is undoubtedly more immediately acceptable, and hence practically less likely to occasion disagreement. We shall, then, examine a recent and important attempt to carry out what amounts to a prudential justification of the full practical basis, the argument of Kurt Baier in The Moral Point of View. We must first summarize those parts of Baier's theory which bear on our question, and indicate differences between Baier's terminology and our own. Baier supposes that reasons for action are determined by rules of reason or consideration-making beliefs. These he divides into three groups--individual, social, and moral. 1 Only the first and last concern us here. ____________________ 1 Kurt Baier, The Moral Point of View: A Rational Basis of Ethics, Cornell University Press, 1958, pp. 94, 107. -104Individual rules of reason are either self-regarding or otherregarding. They show that an agent has a reason to perform any action which would bring enjoyment to, satisfy the desire of, or be in the interest of himself or another. Self-regarding reasons are better than other-regarding ones. 1 Moral rules of reason are usually termed moral convictions. They are true if required or acceptable from the moral point of view. Adoption of this point of view requires one to act on principles which bind everyone regardless of individual aims and desires. The content of these principles ensures that their observation is for the good of everyone alike, Such principles must promote the common good, leave everyone free to pursue his own interests as long as he does not interfere with others, and ensure that all behaviour be universalizable, and be acceptable both to 'receiver' and 'giver'. 2 Even this brief outline shows that Baier's account of reasons for acting differs considerably from that which I have presented. In so far as these differences turn on Baier's insistence that morality involves acting on principles, they will be discussed in Chapter XI. But his view of morality is nevertheless recognizably similar to the view I have implicitly adopted--that morality is concerned with the wants and interests of all, and of all alike in so far as all are alike. Since our concern is with the derivation of moral considerations from prudential, we may ignore the otherwise important differences between the two accounts, and consider only the justification Baier provides for his rules of reason. He attempts this by showing how the truth of our consideration-making beliefs can be established. 3

I shall try to reconstruct Baier's argument to avoid the logical misfortune with which he begins: 'Premisses of an argument are true if the argument is valid and the conclusion is true.' 4 Baier insists that consideration-making beliefs are true if acting in accordance with them is more satisfactory than not acting in accordance with them, or than acting in accordance with their contrary or contradictory. He insists that 'it must pay to follow reason', and he assumes that it must therefore pay in terms of ____________________ 1 Cf. The Moral Point of View, Chapter IV. 2 Cf.Ibid., Chapters VII and VIII. 3 Ibid., p. 298. 4 Ibid., p. 299. -105satisfaction. 1 But this begs the entire problem; following reason must pay, but only in the currency of reason. That this is also the currency of satisfaction may be true, but is not necessarily true. We need not repeat the argument of 3.3.1. Baier in effect assumes that prudential considerations provide reasons for acting: Thus he has no difficulty in showing individual self-regarding rules of reason to be true. He does not explicitly consider individual other-regarding rules, but it would seem possible to support them by this argument. If I regard the fact that you would receive enjoyment or satisfaction from my doing something as a reason for my doing it, I may not gain any satisfaction thereby. But if everyone regards the enjoyment of everyone else as a reason for acting, then everyone (including me) stands to gain, for it is no trouble to me to promote the enjoyment of others when I have no strong reason to do anything else, and it is of benefit to me to have my enjoyment promoted when someone else has no strong reason to do otherwise. Thus although t would not gain if I alone were to accept otherregarding rules of reason, I do gain if everyone accepts them; they are, therefore, true. This argument justifies other-regarding rules only as secondary to self-regarding ones, which is how Baier considers them. It will not serve to introduce them as co-ordinate with self-regarding rules, which is surely necessary if they are to be classed as moral, as we have considered them. The crux of Baier's argument must be his attempted justification of the moral point of view. He summarizes this as follows: We should be moral because being moral is following rules designed to overrule self-interest whenever it is in the interest of everyone alike that everyone should set aside his interest. It is not self-contradictory to say this, because it may be in one's interest not to follow one's interest at times. We have already seen that enlightened self-interest acknowledges this point. But while enlightened self-interest does not require any genuine sacrifice from anyone, morality does. In the interest of the possibility of the good life for everyone, voluntary sacrifices are sometimes required from everybody. Thus, a person ____________________ 1 The Moral Point of View, pp. 298-304.

-106might do better for himself by following enlightened self-interest rather than morality. It is not possible, however, that everyone should do better for himself by following enlightened self-interest rather than morality. The best possible life for everyone is possible only by everyone's following the rules of morality, that is, rules which quite frequently may require individuals to make genuine sacrifices. 1 Adoption of the moral point of view by everyone provides a better average life for each person than any alternative. But why should I adopt the moral point of view? For, as Baier admits, I may do better if I follow enlightened self-interest. One answer to this question is that the best average life is a sufficient recommendation of the moral point of view, that the benefit of the group justifies acceptance by each individual. This answer abandons the attempt to justify the moral point of view to each agent in terms of his own satisfaction. Rather, it provides an introduction of moral reasons entirely independent of prudential considerations. Morality would not then be grounded in an extended prudence. What other answer is possible? Surely only that, if adoption of the moral point of view provides the best life for everyone, then each person may expect to benefit by adopting it (although some will not benefit). Suppose, then, that I adopt the moral point of view, and find later that some genuine sacrifice is required of me, some sacrifice sufficient to convince me that acting from the moral point of view is contrary to my self-interest. Ought I to continue to act from it? If I abandon it, then my initial adoption of it was a bluff. For I am clearly not prepared to make the sacrifices which the moral point of view may require. Thus it would seem to follow that abandoning it is unjustifiable. But if I continue to accept it, I deliberately act in a way which I believe to be contrary to my over-all self-interest. What can convince me that I ought to do this? No prudential consideration, no consideration of what pays in terms of satisfaction, will support this course of action. If following reason must pay in terms of satisfaction, and if following the moral point of view does not so pay, then reason requires me to abandon the moral point of view. ____________________ 1 Ibid., pp. 314-15. -107An interesting analogy may be developed between adopting the moral point of view and adopting the policy of massive nuclear retaliation. Let us make three assumptions relevant to the adoption of this policy: i. It requires a nuclear reply to conventional attack and/or a full-scale nuclear reply to limited nuclear attack: i.e. it permits the initiation of nuclear war; ii. It provides the best chance of avoiding both nuclear war and Communist domination (we need not consider the absurdity of this here); iii. Full-scale nuclear war would be far worse than Communist domination (this is, it seems to me, evident to anyone who has considered seriously what we know of both).

It follows from (ii) that adoption of the policy of massive retaliation offers the greatest expectation of benefit. But it follows from (i) that adoption of the policy requires that we be willing to plunge the world into nuclear war, and from (iii) that this is deliberately to adopt the worst course of action. This corresponds to the possibility that, by adopting the moral point of view (which offers greatest expectation of benefit), we may be required deliberately to make some genuine sacrifice. Now it is surely clear that only a lunatic would in fact act on the policy of massive retaliation when it required him to start a nuclear war. It is totally unreasonable to adopt the worst course of action, and thus the policy, if rational, is a sham. It cannot be reasonable to adopt a policy which requires one deliberately to act in an unreasonable way in certain circumstances, even if the policy offers the maximum expectation of benefit. A policy may require the performance of actions in themselves unreasonable--in themselves against whatever satisfaction or benefit the policy is intended to secure--if it maximizes satisfaction on the whole. But both the policy of massive retaliation and the moral point of view demand actions in certain circumstances which minimize satisfaction on the whole--they only maximize initial expectation of benefit. And this difference is crucial; it is reasonable to give up a smaller benefit for a larger, but not deliberately to give up all -108satisfaction because one had reasonably (but mistakenly) expected to maximize one's satisfaction. A policy may also require one to risk some genuine sacrifice--to perform actions which will probably benefit one but which may have truly undesirable consequences. But such sacrifice is unavoidable once one has performed the probably beneficial action; one is not required deliberately to perform actions which will almost certainly not benefit one, e.g. starting a nuclear war. And a policy may be adopted on the understanding that in certain circumstances it will be abandoned. But both massive retaliation and the moral point of view demand unconditional adoption--they work at all only if it is assumed that they will be adhered to in all conditions. And this adherence is unreasonable in terms of the grounds on which the polities are offered. There is a second objection to the claim that I ought to adopt the moral point of view because I may thereby expect to benefit. It does not follow from this that the moral point of view offers the greatest expectation of benefit. It may be possible that a group of persons can do better, and expect to do better, for themselves by adopting a more limited point of view. Consider the position of a dominant group--say the white South Africans. Suppose (again only for the sake of argument) that they can keep their darker brethren harmless and submissive. And suppose that they enjoy the pleasures of dominance--the feeling of superiority, the cheap labour to perform unpleasant, dangerous, exhausting, and menial tasks, and so on. Has a white South African good reason (in terms of a better life for him) to adopt the moral point of view rather than the white South African's point of view? If he regards his present life as far better than his life would be were all men equal, he may reasonably claim his expectation of benefit is greater, and that it is in the interests of all white South Africans

alike, if each of them adopts that point of view from which continued white dominance is justified. The whites will do better not to accept the moral point of view. This conclusion is morally monstrous. But this means only--it is unacceptable from the moral point of view. If one takes that point of view, one judges that others ought to do so as well. But, since -109they may have no reason to do so, no reason to expect a better life by adopting the moral point of view, a fundamental inconsistency emerges. The moral point of view justifies third-person 'ought'judgements which may not be justified when rephrased in the first person. I conclude that Baier has no satisfactory answer to the question: why should I adopt the moral point of view? He has not justified the moral point of view prudentially, in terms of the agent's wants and interests. And the objections to his arguments will apply to any attempt to justify action against one's interests as a whole--but the possibility of such action is surely a necessary part of morality. Is the condition of practical inference justifiable? We must turn to a quite different approach to our problem--to an examination of the concept ora rational agent, the person who determines what to do by deriving practical judgements from reasons for acting. -110-

VIII THE RATIONAL AGENT 8.1. Kant on Autonomy EVERYTHING in nature works in accordance with laws. Only a rational being has the power to act in accordance with his idea of laws-that is, in accordance with principles--and only so has he a will. Since reason is required in order to derive action from laws, the will is nothing but practical reason. 1 The conception of a rational agent which this passage suggests is in some ways familiar to us--a rational agent determines himself to action by judging what to do on consideration of the relevant grounds. The identification of the will with practical reason suggests that Kant supposes deliberation results directly in action, but this is of little importance to the argument. Kant's insistence that the grounds of action must be laws requires our particular attention. The rational agent, like everything else, works in accordance with laws; his peculiarity lies in his capacity to become conscious of flaws and to make his actions accord rationally with them. The actions of other beings are events causally determined by prior events; the actions of the rational agent are determined by their conformity to consciously formulated principles. The rationality of the rational agent is not fully displayed in his powers of deliberation. Although any being capable of determining

itself to act in accordance with conscious principles is in some measure rational, a fully rational being also determines the very principle on which it acts. Such a being is autonomous. Autonomy of the will is the property the will has of being a law to itself. . . . Hence the principle of autonomy is 'Never to choose except in such a way that in the same volition the maxims of your choice are also present as universal law' . . . by mere analysis of the ____________________ 1 The Moral Law, p. 80. -111concepts of morality we can quite well show that the above principle of autonomy is the sole principle of ethics. 1 We cannot explore the 'mere analysis' here, but we may gain some understanding of Kant's position by comparing autonomy with heteronomy. If the will seeks the law that is to determine it . . . in the character of any of its objects--the result is always heteronomy. In that case the will does not give itself the law, but the object does so in virtue of its relation to the will.1 A heteronomous will is moved by desire, by subjective inclination. Reason serves it only to determine what to do in order to secure the objects of its desire. It is not too much to grant Kant that moral action would be impossible could human beings act only from their various particular desires and inclinations--from what we have termed wants. A rational agent who is psychologically limited to prudential considerations is not a moral agent. If this be heteronomy, then a moral rational agent must be autonomous, but that autonomy should entail being a law unto oneself follows only on Kant's presuppositions. Kant's argument is that, if a rational agent determines himself to action in accordance with his conception of law, either this law must be self-imposed, or it must depend on an object of desire. Since a law based on an object of desire cannot ground moral action, only a will subject to a self-imposed law is a truly moral will. Kant considers the principle of autonomy to be the sole principle of ethics. It should now be clear in what sense this is so--it is the sole condition on which ethical or moral action is possible. Moral concepts apply only to the actions of autonomous rational agents. But the argument does not show the principle of autonomy to be the supreme ethical principle--the principle from which the criteria of morally good or morally right actions may be derived. Rather, it is the condition on which morally good and bad, morally right and wrong, actions are possible. However, Kant does set out what would seem to be a supreme ethical principle: ____________________ 1 The Moral Law, p. 108. -112-

If then there is to be a supreme practical principle . . ., it must be such that from the idea of something which is necessarily an end for every one because it is an end in itself it forms an objective principle of the will and consequently can serve as a practical law. The ground of the principle is: Rational nature exists as an end in itself. . . . The practical imperative will therefore be as follows: Act in such a way that you always treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, never simply as a means, but always at the same time as an end. The reader will be aware that Kant regards this principle, the principle of the end in itself, as identical with the principle of autonomy. But this identity may for the moment be ignored, and attention directed simply on this principle. It would seem to be a supreme moral or ethical principle, determining morally right action as that which treats persons as ends, and not merely as means. For Kant, persons are objective, rather than subjective, ends. Subjective ends are ends only in so far as they are wanted by an agent; objective ends are quite independent of the wants, or other characteristics, of the agent. They confront the agent, limiting the range of actions which he may justifiably perform. Why are persons objective ends, ends in themselves? Why do they have a value independent of all other considerations? Kant argues that the value of an object to a rational being--the subjective value of the object--depends on the law relating it to him as an object of his will. But this law, which determines all value, is selfimposed through the autonomous, law-making activity of the rational will, which must therefore 'have a dignity--that is, an unconditioned and incomparable worth--for the appreciation of which . . . "reverence" is the only becoming expression'. 2 Thus autonomy confers the dignity upon persons which make them ends in themselves. As the source of all subjective ends, they are objective ends. Having elucidated the concept of the end in itself, we must now examine its practical role. In what way does it serve to determine an agent's proper course of action? Among the several ways which Kant mentions, we may direct our attention especially to two: . . . A violator of the rights of man intends to use the person of others merely as a means without taking into consideration that, as rational ____________________ 1 Ibid., p. 96. 2 Ibid., p. 103. -113beings, they ought always at the same time to be rated as ends--that is, only as beings who must themselves be able to share in the end of the very same action. 1 . . . the ends of a subject who is an end in himself must, if this conception is to have its full effect in me, be also, as far as possible, my ends. 2 To treat others as ends in themselves, one must act in a manner agreeable to them as agents. Thus what one judges one ought to do must be what others would judge one ought to do. And this requires that practical judgement proceed from grounds which all persons can share. These grounds must, if they include reference to the ends of any agent, include reference to the ends of every agent.

1

To treat a rational being as an end in itself is to respect the autonomy of its will. But an autonomous wilt 'cannot without contradiction be subordinated to any other object', 3 for if it were, it would be treated merely as a means to the end of that other object. Therefore . . . every rational being, as an end in himself, must be able to regard himself as also the maker of universal law in respect of any law whatever to which he may be subjected. . . .3 Moral action is autonomous action, action based on a maxim which can serve as a universal law. Morally right action would then seem to be that species of autonomous action based on a maxim which can be willed as a universal law by all rational agents, for only so is their autonomy respected. But Kant argues that all universal taw must be capable of being willed by all rational beings. For a supposed law that could not be so willed would subordinate those beings who could not will it, and this would contradict their status as ends in themselves. It follows, then, that the condition of moral action--autonomy-is identical with the supreme moral principle--respect for autonomy. An autonomous being must act in accordance with universal law; universal law must respect the autonomy of all rational beings; therefore an autonomous being must act on maxims which respect the autonomy of all rational beings. 4 ____________________ 1 The Moral Law, p. 97. 2 Ibid., p. 98. 3 Ibid., p. 105. 4 We cannot pursue this fundamentally important point in the interpretation of -114-

8.2. Morality as Autonomy respecting Autonomy We have outlined Kant's account of the autonomous rational agent in the hope that it will aid in the defence of what has been proposed as the supreme condition practical reasoning--that all, and only, wants provide reasons for acting. We must now consider to what extent Kant's arguments may be accepted, and how, in so far as they may be accepted, they may be applied to our account of practical reasoning.

8.2.1. Autonomy . . . A rational agent must be capable of determining himself to action in accordance with his deliberation. This is the first condition which Kant lays down, and it has equally been assumed in our inquiry. But, as Kant recognizes, it is not sufficient; an agent may be a rational calculating machine, determining what to do in accordance with set grounds of action, but such an agent is not fully rational, and not capable of moral action. Kant, supposing that everything must in some way accord with laws, distinguishes fully rational agents as those who will the

grounds of action--the laws--from which they determine what to do. Other agents are subject to laws which they do not will; they merely calculate how to satisfy desires and wants to which they are naturally bound. But there is no reason to admit Kant's insistence on the necessity of laws--indeed, one may argue that his view plays on ambiguities in the concept of law. We might better say that a fully rational agent does not merely determine what to do in order to satisfy fixed grounds of action; rather, he reasons about what to do in terms of reasons for acting. He must, then, be able to reflect upon possible grounds of action, whether these present themselves as naturally motivating factors (his own present wants), or as concerns in no way related to his nature (the wants of others), to determine whether these possible grounds constitute reasons. He must, that is, be able to determine ____________________ Kant's doctrine of practical reason beyond the considerations now set out. But it may not be amiss to suggest that the argument outlined here serves to reconcile the orthodox ethical interpretation of the Groundwork with the critical interpretation developed by A. R. C. Duncan in Practical Reason and Morality ( Thomas Nelson & Sons Limited, 1957). -115for himself, at least within certain limits, the application of the label 'reason for acting'. Furthermore, a fully rational agent does not merely establish practical judgements resting on reasons for acting; he decides to act, and does act, in accordance with his judgements. To be rational an agent requires more than the capacity to engage in practical reasoning; he requires also the power to put his reasoning into practice. There are, then, three conditions which the fully rational agent must satisfy: he must be able to establish reasons for acting, to deliberate in accordance with these reasons, and to act on his deliberation. These conditions make him truly an agent, truly an independent source of action. In so far as a being is tied to grounds of action upon which it cannot reflect, its deliberations merely enable it to respond to environmental stimuli; its actions are reactions. Ability to consider possible grounds of action confers independence, and power to effect judgements based on the grounds selected translates this independence into action. It is, therefore, appropriate to describe a fully rational agent as autonomous, as an independent source of action. Kant's term may be redefined to meet the criteria proposed here. It will be evident that rational agency, and hence autonomy, admit of degrees, and equally evident that to determine the degree to which a being may be termed an autonomous rational agent is a matter of considerable complexity. Only careful consideration of the appropriate description of its activities, and especially of its deliberative activities, will serve to show the extent of its autonomy. It may, I think, be presumed that a being which is able to establish its reasons for acting, to deliberate in accordance with them, and to act on its deliberation, must be a conscious and, indeed, a self-conscious being, aware of itself as an agent. Consciousness is required to mediate between environment and action in such a way as to make the link no longer direct and determinate, traction is not to be a mere response, based on natural wants and needs, to environmental stimuli, then it must be based on conscious reflection, whether directly or indirectly.

In our inquiry, we are assuming that man is a rational and conscious being, possessing some measure of autonomy. This measure is limited; any man frequently does, and occasionally -116cannot but, act against his judgement of what he ought to do. The failure to make action correspond to judgement may, indeed, be a more severe limitation on human autonomy than any inability to determine reasons for acting. Human action would seem to be to some extent necessarily a reaction to stimuli, even in despite of rational reflection which might be expected to counter the direct effects of these stimuli. Since only an autonomous being is capable of determining itself to action in accordance with its reasons for acting, only an autonomous being can be a moral agent. In so far as one merely calculates what to do to achieve fixed objectives, one's actions can have no moral significance. Mere ability to deliberate does not permit the reflection on grounds of action which is necessary if moral grounds are to be distinguished. Thus autonomy is a condition of morality. It follows that the concept of autonomy, and the closely related concepts of freedom and responsibility, are of central importance in the study of morals. The fundamental role of these terms has to some extent been overlooked in much recent thinking in the English-speaking world. It has been supposed that any conception of man's freedom to act which sufficed to make intelligible the effectiveness of practical reasoning would be acceptable. As long as conduct could be affected by 'ought'-judgements, and by attributions of praise and blame, the conditions for the significant use of practical and moral language would be satisfied. But it is by no means evident that the satisfaction of these conditions implies the satisfaction of the conditions imposed by the requirement of autonomy. An autonomous being can do, at least in most circumstances, what it believes it ought to do, and can determine, by rational means, what it ought to do. Thus an autonomous being bears a definite responsibility for its actions, making it appropriate to praise or to blame it quite apart from any consideration of the effects of such praise or blame on its future actions.

8.2.2. . . . respecting Autonomy To apply the Kantian conception of the end in itself to our account of practical reasoning, it is unnecessary to treat its metaphysical complexities. The essential distinction between an end in -117itself, or objective end of action, and an end for an agent, or subjective end of action, turns on the independence of the end in itself with respect to the agent. An objective end is an end whatever the agent's wants; a subjective end depends on those wants. Kant supposes that all rational beings constitute ends in themselves. If this be so, there must be some mode of treatment appropriate to rational beings, and this is found in the insistence that a rational being is treated as an end in himself only if he can share in the end of the action performed. The rational being must be able

to judge the action performed to be the action which ought to be performed. Unless his practical judgement corresponds to the judgement of the agent, he is treated merely as a means, and not as an end. Now if I consider only my own wants in determining what ought to do, there is no reason why another person should agree with my practical judgement. For he will naturally consider only his wants, and thus reach a conclusion established on very different grounds. He cannot be expected to share in the end of my action unless it takes into account his wants. Thus I must consider, not only my own wants, but also his, in determining what I ought to do. I need not consider his wants as if they were my own. Ill consider his wants from my point of view, then what t judge I ought to do is what he would judge, were he in my position, and is thus acceptable to him. The distinction between the wants of the agent and the wants of others is not obliterated by the requirement that others should agree with the agent's practical judgement. To treat others as ends in themselves is therefore to conform one's actions to judgements resting on the practical basis developed in Chapter VI. In this way each agent can share in the ends of every other agent, accepting his practical basis and judgements, without identifying his own ends with those of others, or abandoning his own point of view. Kant argues that persons are ends in themselves because they are autonomous rational agents, beings capable of moral action. Although the term 'autonomous' has undergone revision, it is still used here to indicate the condition of morality; it may therefore be possible to show that in considering persons as ends in themselves, appropriate recognition is given to them as autonomous rational agents. -118Consider, first, how the autonomous rational agent regards himself. He acknowledges in his own wants reasons for acting, and thus recognizes himself to be a source of rational action. His prudential activity, his seeking of satisfaction, he regards as rationally justifiable. Now consider him confronted with another rational agent. He recognizes the same factors present in this other person as in himself. He sees this other person taking his own wants as reasons for acting, and considering himself a source of rational action. Just as he considers his own prudential activity rationally justifiable, so he must consider this other person's prudential activity similarly justifiable. As a rational agent, he naturally seeks acceptance, from the other, of his judgements, and correspondingly recognizes the other's claim to seek similar acceptance from him. In so far as their interests do not conflict, the two agents may be quite prepared to recognize each other's activities as fully justifiable, but conflict of interests impedes this recognition. Each sees no reason why he should give way to the other, but equally each is aware that the other sees no reason to give way to him. If they are to continue to accept each other's judgements and actions, mutual accommodation is required. Each, in his autonomy, must respect the autonomy of the other. This respect is simply a willingness to consider the wants of the other as providing reasons for acting, and hence a willingness to

accept the practical judgements of the other, in so far as they are based on consideration of all wants. Nothing less constitutes full recognition of the autonomy of another rational agent; nothing more is compatible with maintenance of one's own autonomy. Mutual respect is, then, the appropriate relationship between autonomous rational agents, as such. If rational agents deserve respect because of their autonomy, the appropriate degree of respect will depend upon the degree of autonomy. Since measurement of autonomy is a highly complex matter, the actual determination of this degree of respect may be expected to be equally complex. Respect for autonomy provides the condition Of morally good or morally right action. It provides the supreme principle of practical -119reasoning, in so far as this reasoning is concerned with moral factors. This principle--that wants of others provide reasons for acting-may be combined with the supreme principle of prudential practical reasoning to constitute the condition of practical inference we are trying to justify. Morality, then, may be described as autonomy respecting autonomy. Only an autonomous being is capable of being a moral agent, is capable of action at the moral level. An autonomous being, considered in isolation, is a potential moral agent; in a world of autonomous beings, he is an actual moral agent, confronted with moral decisions in so far as his actions affect his fellows. If he respects the autonomy of others in his actions he is a morally good moral agent; if not, he is a morally bad moral agent.

8.2.3. The Dual Role of Autonomy In Kant's argument, the condition of moral action (the principle of autonomy) is identified with the supreme moral principle (the principle of the end in itself). This identification turns on the contention that an autonomous being must will the law on which he acts, and that this law must be capable of being willed by all autonomous beings. For thus an autonomous being must respect the autonomy of all others. This argument is clearly unacceptable. Autonomy, as the condition of moral action, does not imply that the autonomous agent will choose to recognize moral considerations as reasons for acting, or that he will (but only that he can) act in accordance with his practical judgements. Thus autonomy does not ensure respect for the autonomy of others. The dual role of autonomy cannot be reduced to a single role. Although the condition of moral action and the supreme condition of practical reasoning both depend upon autonomy, they do so in different ways. An autonomous rational agent who does not respect the autonomy of others, and thus does not recognize their wants as providing reasons for his actions, must adopt one of four positions. First, he may insist that there are no reasons for acting--that his capacity for rational action cannot be exercised because he finds no

-120rational starting-points. This position, which involves a practical denial of the agent's status as autonomous and rational, precludes its holder from participating in practical discourse. Like solipsism, it is logically consistent, but undiscussable and uninteresting. Second, he may insist that no wants provide reasons for acting-that reasons are provided only by considerations of some other type. This position can be discussed only if the considerations are specified, but the discussion in 6.3, and the forthcoming discussion in Chapters XI to XIII, in which certain plausible candidates will be examined, should create a presumption against it. Third, he may insist that only his own wants provide reasons for acting, not just for himself, but for anyone. This position can be maintained rationally only if its holder can distinguish himself from all other rational agents in such a way as to show why his wants alone deserve this privileged status. Finally, he may insist that the wants of each rational agent provide reasons for, and only for, that agent. It follows that, whenever two agents have conflicting wants, each acts quite rationally in bringing about an impasse which is incapable of rational resolution. Either the solution is directly decided by force, or indirectly, through the acceptance of some compromise as mutually preferable to force. The relation between rational agents is thus determined physically and this is surely a practical denial of their rationality. An autonomous rational agent may not respect the autonomy of his fellows. But his position, although formally consistent, must either subvert the status of the rational agent, or demand backing of a kind that appears implausible. We may, then, conclude that the concept of an autonomous rational agent does serve to defend the supreme condition of practical reasoning. But no defence can put the condition beyond question. Nor can any argument ensure that the condition be observed. The difficulty of applying reason in the sphere of the practical is evident in our actions. We recognize that we cannot rely on the unaided force of reason to lead people even to correct judgements about what they ought to do, much less to action based on these judgements. we recognize that a partial view, based on one's own interests, or those of one's associates, is likely to defeat a whole -121view, and that immediate inclination is likely to defeat any rational view. To overcome the weakness of reason, we apply measures of social and political control, endeavouring to make the moral course of action also the prudential course, and to make the prudential course immediately appealing. To do this is not to reduce morality to prudence, nor to reduce deliberated rational action to spontaneous, impulsive action. Rather it is to remove the practical impediments to the fulfilment of the conditions which rationality and morality impose upon action. It is to endeavour, under conditions in which selfish interests and impelling desires are not present to distract us, to provide for the fullest satisfaction of the wants of all agents, by ensuring that impulse and prudence will find themselves working for this satisfaction. This endeavour is itself the product of delibera-

tion; we judge that we ought to provide those conditions under which human action, whether impulsive, or prudential or moral in its intention, will best ensure the satisfaction of all human claims. But practical remedies cannot remove the possibility of disagreement about reasons for acting. Such disagreement is a logically necessary condition of practical reasoning. Thus, brought to reflect on the bases of practical reasoning, we must decide; we must determine, in so far as it lies within our power to determine, what we shall accept as our reasons for acting. The last word, in the rational world which admits words to be decisive, is for the reasoner to speak; the account I have presented is also a proposal, an invitation to commit oneself, to say, in the words of Luther, 'Here stand I; I can do no other.' -122-

IX CONFLICTING WANTS CONFLICTING wants are those which cannot be mutually fully satisfied. A problem involving them does not have an ideal solution; some of the wants must receive no more than partial attention whatever course of action is adopted; some may receive no attention at all. Although all wants provide reasons for acting, it cannot always be reasonable to act to fulfil each particular want, for it is not possible to do so. To determine the attention appropriate to any particular want, comparative premisses, indicating the relative desirability of fulfilling the several wants under consideration, are required. But these premisses provide only the starting-point for our reasoning; how they are to be used to derive practical conclusions demands discussion. Of particular importance are the differences between assessing the several wants of one person, and assessing the wants of several persons, and the techniques for comparing the wants of different persons to determine relative desirability.

9.I. Wants and Persons A young man comes up to Oxford with two principal interests-history and cricket. Better endowed as a cricketer than as a historian, he sets himself the objectives of a creditable (second-class) standing in Schools, and a cricket blue. He endeavours to allocate to each the time and energy he considers will bring him success. When these allocations conflict, he decides between them on two grounds--the relative desirability (to him) of success in each, and the relative importance of the conflicting allocations to his success. If he has not over-estimated his capacities, all may go well. But if he is less well endowed than he supposes, he may fall between two stools. The dine allotted to his studies may leave him insufficient -123to reach the top of his cricket form; the time allotted to cricket may prevent his attaining a clear understanding of his readings in

history. Rather than a second and a blue, he can look forward only to a third and an Authentics' cap. Faced with this prospect, he may deliberate again. His goats are conjointly unattainable; he must therefore determine what he may reasonably hope to attain before he can deride how to allocate his time and energy. Suppose he now reaches two conclusions about possible courses of action. By concentrating more on his studies, he may expect second-class standing in Schools, yet still stand a good chance of securing an Authentics' cap. Or, by concentrating more on his cricket, he may yet secure a blue, while attaining a third-class degree. Either alternative offers more than did his original course of action. If he divides his attention proportionately between his two interests, he will attain neither objective. If he concentrates on one, he may hope to attain its objective, without additional sacrifice of the other objective. This example illustrates a fundamental characteristic of the relation between reasons for acting and actions. Two wants may provide almost equally strong reasons for acting, yet may determine what the agent does very unequally. The student may be as interested in playing cricket as in reading history; he may judge a cricket blue as desirable to him as a second-class degree. But if he determines his actions in proportion to this desirability, he will achieve neither objective. He must choose tither the degree or the blue, and concentrate his activities on it. What one ought to do, in so far as prudential considerations alone are relevant, is what is most desirable to one--what most fully satisfies one's several wants. But this requires one not to divide one's actions among those wants in proportion to the desirability of their objectives, but to divide them among the members of that set of mutually satisfiable wants whose objectives have the greatest joint desirability. One seeks, not the separate satisfaction of each of one's wants, but one's own greatest satisfaction. We must now turn from the satisfaction of the several wants of one person to the satisfaction of the several wants of several persons. -124A doctor is called upon to attend a number of seriously injured men. Each man would benefit from full-time medical attention, but no other qualified medical practitioner is available. The doctor must therefore restrict his treatment of at least some of the injured persons. In determining what to do, the doctor may be expected to endeavour to give some attention to as many of the injured as possible. Given that it is impossible for sufficient treatment to be given to any one person without neglecting all of the rest, the best course of action would seem to be to give some care to each, proportioning it in relation to the magnitude of the injuries. Thus those critically injured would receive most attention, but no one would be entirely neglected. This procedure may require modification. If the doctor could do no good at all were he to divide his attention among all of those injured, then he would reasonably neglect those with the least serious injuries, and also those, if any, who were almost certain to

die. Again, if one man were fighting for survival, while the rest, even though seriously injured, were not in critical condition, then that one might command all of the doctor's attention. But, other things being equal, the doctor may be expected to divide his attention among the several persons in proportion to their need. Consider another situation. A group of rescue-workers are trying to save some of the property of the inhabitants ora group of flooded houses. Although they might be able to save a greater quantity of goods by concentrating their attention on one or two of the houses, this would not be fair to those whose houses were not selected. In the absence of an agreement to equalize loss (so that saving the greatest amount of property would benefit everyone alike), the rescue-workers might be judged partial in their actions if they did not attempt to save roughly equal amounts from each house. Of course, in any real situation practical adjustments would have to be made; the flood conditions would affect what could be saved, and it would in any case be better to save something rather than nothing. But some attempt to equalize property saved is of considerable importance in such a situation as this. These examples suggest that, in considering what to do in situa-125tions in which the wants of several persons are affected, at least two apparently distinct factors are involved. On the one hand, maximization of benefit is to be sought; the most desirable course of action will be determined, at least in part, by ascertaining how the greatest satisfaction of wants may be achieved. But the equalization of benefit is also desirable. This requirement may be taken into account by stipulating that the most desirable course of action is that which secures the greatest degree of satisfaction of each person's wants compatible with the similar satisfaction of every other person's wants. This procedure differs markedly from that appropriate if only the several wants of one person are to be considered. No attention need be paid to the satisfaction of a particular want, except in so far as it contributes to the greatest satisfaction of the agent, but separate attention must be paid to the satisfaction of each agent. Thus each agent has a claim to be considered, in action, in proportion to the extent of his wants. I sacrifice the objective of one of my wants to that of another to secure my own greatest satisfaction. To suppose that I should do the same in considering the wants of several persons is to suppose that mankind is a super-person, whose greatest satisfaction is the objective of moral action. But this is absurd. Individuals have wants, not mankind; individuals seek satisfaction, not mankind. A person's satisfaction is not part of any greater satisfaction. If, then, I cannot fulfil all of the aims of ail of the persons whom my actions may affect, I must seek, not to maximize satisfaction for an imaginary totality of persons, but to secure the highest mutually compatible satisfactions for the several persons concerned. 1 In some situations, the interests of different persons may be in ____________________ 1 Note the distinction between our position and that of the classical utilitarians. Although they spoke of the 'greatest happiness of the greatest number', indicating some concern with the distribution of satisfaction as well as with its production, no distributive procedure was ever suggested. Indeed, the analogy between an indi-

vidual maximizing his own happiness and mankind maximizing its happiness was actually employed in J. S. Mill's notorious argument that 'Each person's happiness is a good to that person, and the general happiness, therefore, is a good to the aggregate of all persons' ( Utilitarianism, p. 33). It is evident that the same exclusive concentration on production to the exclusion of distribution, with the collectivist fallacy which it implies, is present in the capitalist economic theory so closely associated with utilitarian thought. -126total conflict. There may be no course of action which offers some satisfaction to everyone. In other situations, there may be no course of action which offers proportional satisfaction to everyone. But that we cannot always pay equitable regard to every person's concern in what we do does not excuse us from endeavouring to pay such regard. The justification of this procedure depends again on a consideration of the rational agent. Were one to act simply on a consideration of all wants as providing reasons for acting, one would endeavour to promote the maximum satisfaction of those wants without regard to persons. One would treat all wants just as one treats one's own--as entitled to consideration in action only in so far as their satisfaction constitutes part of the maximum satisfaction of mankind. If, however, one acts on the belief that each person deserves respect, so that his wants provide reasons for acting, then one will endeavour to promote the maximum satisfaction of each person's wants. One will resolve conflicts between persons, not by sacrificing the lesser interest to the greater, but by attempting to satisfy each to the fullest extent compatible with the similar satisfaction of the other. Persons are respected only in so far as they receive a fair share of practical attention, this share being determined by the extent of each person's concern in a situation relative to the concerns of others.

9.2. Extent of Concern If each person concerned in a situation is to receive attention in accordance with the extent of his concern, it must be possible to make comparative measurements of this extent. But the notorious failure of attempts to introduce measurement into practical reasoning--to introduce practical calculation--must create a strong presumption against any new proposal of this kind. Nevertheless, surely we do measure degrees of concern. And it our argument is correct, these degrees must depend ultimately on the wants of those concerned. A person chooses which of his own wants to safisfy in terms of the relative desirability of their objects. Similarly, then, the concerns of several persons in a situation must be measured in terms of the relative desirability, to them, of the -127objects of those of their wants which may be affected by action in the situation. Inter-personal standards of desirability are therefore required. But no direct comparison of the desirability of an object to different

persons is possible. This is not, however, a real problem; at this point a very simple economic analogy may be useful. Suppose two persons, similarly situated, wish to purchase a particular object. It is reasonable to suppose that the one who is prepared to pay the higher price, to expend a greater quantity of money, wants the object more than does his fellow. The strength of desires to purchase is measured in terms of money. Now let these persons both seek some objective. Again assuming them to be similarly situated, it is reasonable to suppose that the one who is prepared to do more, to expend a greater quantity of activity, wants the objective more than does his fellow. The strength of desires to attain may be measured in terms of activity. This suggests what may be termed a labour theory of desirability. Activity may be regarded as labour. Objectives then are desirable to a person in proportion to the labour he is prepared to spend in attaining them. And objectives are desirable to different persons in proportion to the labour they are prepared to spend in attaining them, assuming these persons to be similarly situated. The measure of labour, of the actual effort put forward by the agent, might be supposed to be the quantity of energy expended by him. Thus measurement of energy would be the key to determination of extent of concern. But this suggestion will not stand examination. Suppose that I propose to spend an hour gardening, and then two hours walking. It may be that, since gardening is more arduous than walking, I shall spend more energy in the hour in my garden than in the two hours of my walk. Am I, then, to suppose that I consider gardening more desirable than walking, or should I rather consider that, because I intend to devote twice the time to walking, that I judge it the more desirable occupation? In certain situations neither supposition is possible. The work that I have to do in my garden may occupy only one hour, so the division of time and energy may represent my derision to do the necessary gardening, and then to devote the rest of the morning to -128a walk. But if there is sufficient work in my garden to occupy me for the entire morning, and if walking might equally so occupy me, then it is the division of time which indicates most reliably the extent of my interest in each, at least on the morning in question. In planning what to do, my primary task is to allocate time to the various activities in which I would engage. I am invited to give an address on the need for disarmament; i must consider whether my other commitments leave me time to prepare and deliver the address. On my return to England I want to revisit Canterbury; will my other activities allow me the time to do this? But, it may be urged, time is not the only relevant consideration. I want to participate in the Aldermaston March; will I be too tired--too lacking energy--after my flight across the Atlantic? Perhaps, then, both allocation of time and of energy must be taken into consideration. But it is often possible to reduce allocation of energy to allocation of time. After my flight across the Atlantic, I shall need to take time to rest. Although my jet may cross the Atlantic in six hours, the actual time which I must set aside for the journey includes, not only such obvious activities as getting to and from airports, but also

making arrangements to travel, packing my luggage, and, on arrival, recovering from the exhaustion of the trip. If I want to participate in the Aldermaston March, I should plan my journey to arrive a day or two beforehand. It is not generally possible to make the converse reduction-allocation of time to allocation of energy. For if I am fully occupied by an activity it is impossible for me to engage in anything else at the same time, whether the activity requires the expenditure of very little energy (e.g. resting) or a great deal (e.g. mountain-climbing). No matter how much energy I have, I cannot engage in walking and gardening simultaneously. Thus spending more or less time in some activity necessarily affects the possibility of my engaging in other activities, since it limits the time available for them. On the other hand, spending more or less energy may affect the possibility of my engaging in other activities only in so far as my capacity to expend energy at other times is affected. The primary factor in determining the extent of a person's concern is, then, the amount of time he is prepared to allocate to the -129satisfaction of the wants in question. How a person determines his allocation of time is perhaps a question of interest but not of philosophical interest. This task, which is equivalent to the task of determining what one should do (on prudential grounds) must be supposed accomplished before comparisons can be made between the concerns of different persons. A very serious practical complication in the proposed method of measurement is that the relevant consideration is not the time actually utilized but the time the agent is prepared to utilize, in order to satisfy his end. Many wants are satisfiable by simple and determinate procedures, requiring little time and effort on the part of the agent, but they are not therefore matters of little concern to him. When I am thirsty, I am usually able immediately to slake my thirst, but I should, were it necessary, be prepared to spend considerable time in doing so--ultimately my survival would depend on my obtaining water. Thus it would be plainly absurd for you to regard my thirst as a matter of little concern to me, because it occupied little of my actual attention, were you in the unlikely position of contemplating actions which might affect the possibility of my slaking my thirst. Consider a further example. A man is critically injured, and unconscious. He is totally unable to do anything towards his recovery. But no one would suppose that his inactivity indicates lack of concern. He would, were he conscious, be prepared to devote every effort to his recovery, since only by so doing would he continue to be able to satisfy any of his wants, to live as a rational agent. To determine what a person is, or would be, prepared to do, in order to satisfy certain of his wants, is of course far more difficult than to determine what he actually does. But we must not suppose that potential activity can be measured only by what a person says he is prepared to do. We can determine, at least to some extent, a person's willingness to act, both by general considerations based on our experience of what people do, and by particular observation of the person's behaviour in other situations.

The distinction between what a person can (or need) do and what he would do is also of importance in assessing the particular course of action proper to an agent in a complex situation. The -130distinction works here in reverse; I may judge that I ought to do, if only I could, a great deal to help, for example, the victims of an automobile accident which I witness, but recognize my inability to help them. Just as the attention a person can give to his own wants may be limited by his capacities and situation, so may the attention one can give to the wants of others be limited. This last consideration reintroduces the standpoint of the particular agent as relevant to determining what he ought to do in a situation in which the wants of several persons conflict. He must estimate the extent of each person's concern in the situation in terms of the time each would be prepared to spend satisfying his relevant wants, determine what will ensure the greatest realization of each person's concern compatible with the similar realization of every other person's concern, and then what action he, in his particular position, may best take towards this objective. In many cases his action will be directed primarily towards securing the satisfaction of his own wants to the fullest extent compatible with permitting all others an equal measure of satisfaction. In other cases his actions will include direct assistance to others, so that they may attain a fair measure of their objectives. In some cases no truly fair course of action may be possible, so that lesser concerns will have to give way to greater; a person may then have to renounce his own objectives, and direct his actions entirely to assist his fellows.

9.3. Direct Opposition Some of the problems to which conflicting wants give rise may be clarified through consideration of examples of direct opposition between the wants of two persons. Two wants are directly opposed if the state of affairs which would satisfy the one is incompatible with the state of affairs which would satisfy the other. The first example to be discussed shows that opposed wants do not exist in a vacuum--there may be other wants to consider in deciding what to do. Two persons, Green and Brown, seek the presidency of the North Oxford Association of Birdwatchers and Trainspotters. Each wants to be president; suppose Green is more desirous of the position, so -131that his concern in the situation is greater than Brown's. It is clear that the extent of their concerns is of no direct relevance in determining who should be elected to the position. It may be of indirect relevance--Green wants the office more so he may perhaps be expected to perform its duties more eagerly and faithfully--but it is the merits of the two candidates which determine who should be president. In casting my ballot I ask myself, or should ask myself, who will make the better president. It is unnecessary to outline here how electoral procedures are devised, and how electoral choices should be made. To do this in any detail would require considering the nature of associations and

institutions--of organized groups of persons capable of corporate action. But it is evident that the judgement each elector should make is derived from a basis containing, not merely the wants of the candidates, but the wants of the members of the association--the wants which, in fact, are embodied in the group as an association. It exists to enable inhabitants of north Oxford eager to birdwatch and to trainspot to join together for the more effective pursuit and promotion of these national pastimes. The president should be chosen, then, with a view to his role in the association, his role in ensuring the maintenance of its raison d'ètre. But this example provides a further problem. Green and Brown are pursuing opposed courses of action. Each seeks a goat which only one can attain. Each must consider his endeavour to secure the presidency justified. But surely it may be that the election of one is to be preferred to the election of the other. The less worthy candidate is then seeking to bring about a less desirable state of affairs, and thus is acting as he ought not. Either he has not properly assessed the situation, or he is deliberately acting counter to what he judges best. This objection may be well founded. Brown may be running out of spite, because he dislikes Green, although he knows that Green would be the better president. It would then be true that Brown ought not to seek the presidency. However, each candidate may consider, and consider rightly, that he is qualified for the position, and is hence entitled to present himself to his fellow members for election. The worthiest is to be established, not by an advance -132assessment of their respective merits, but in their mutual competition for the presidency. Their wants are competitive. Consider now a second example. Each side in a football match seeks the victory which at most one side can obtain. It would be absurd to suppose that victory should be the prerogative of the side which most wanted, or the side which apart from its efforts in the match was judged most worthy of, victory. Such a victory would not, indeed, be what was desired. Each side aims at victory in competition with the other; each seeks to show that, in the particular football match, it is superior. It can show this only if the other side endeavours to the best of its ability to gain the victory for itself. In a football match, each side can be said to want to win. But winning is not what either side does; rather, it is the result which each side hopes for as the result of what it does. What each side actually does--and hence wants to do--is to try to win; this is the condition which must be fulfilled if either side is to have its hopes realized. Victory in competition requires competition. Suppose now two men, trapped by a blizzard, find themselves with provisions and shelter sufficient to keep at most one alive until the blizzard abates sufficiently to allow some hope of rescue. What are they to do? How are they to assess their respective concerns in this situation? There is no course of action which is fair to both and which permits their survival; if only one can survive, then the other cannot receive fair treatment. The full concerns of two persons cannot be balanced the one against the other. In such a situation it cannot be considered unreasonable for each man, aware that his survival is at stake, to do what he can to preserve himself, even though what he does brings him into direct con-

flict with his fellow, and may prevent his fellow from preserving himself. Because there is no way to establish a comparative assessment of the concerns of the different persons in this situation, the conditions which make morality possible are missing. Hence prudence becomes a sufficient ground for rational action. But prudence need not dictate one's survival above all else. A man may consider that he must renounce life on earth, to attain life everlasting, judging the latter to be more desirable to him. A mother may prefer to save her child than herself; she would act -133against her deepest desires and feelings were she not to sacrifice herself for it. A man may be indifferent to life, may not consider his survival desirable to himself, and hence may have no reason to stand in the way of the survival of another. All of these actions would rest on considerations of the type we have termed prudential, even though they involve sacrifices of the agent's life. For they depend on the agent's wants and desires, on what he conceives to be his own interest. The religious man takes thought for his ultimate well-being; the mother sees her child as an extension of herself, identifying her good with its good; the man indifferent to life considers death to be equally in his interest. These actions do, however, fall outside the class of prudential actions as ordinarily understood. Furthermore, although prudence may be a sufficient ground for rational action when two persons are opposed, it is not a necessary ground--the man who sacrifices his own life for the life of another, or for the lives of others, is not acting against reason, even if he has no prudential grounds for his action. A mother may give her life for her child, not because she identifies her good with its good, but because she judges its survival more important than her own. A man may give his life for his country because he judges its survival of greater value (to all men) than his own. To say the conditions which make morality possible are absent is not to assert that an agent cannot act on moral considerations, but only that such action cannot be rationally required of him. It may also be argued that a man can be expected to sacrifice himself, if the sacrifice is not wholly for others, but for that of which he is a part. Suppose a man is asked to face death for his society. He is at once a product, a member, and a maker of his society. Thus he is asked to face death on grounds which are in part prudential--his own interests are among those included in the basis of his society's demand. And he is asked to face death, just because he stands in this complex relationship to society--this is the root of its claim upon him. A man's family, his country, his faith make their claims--claims in which moral and prudential considerations fuse, combining their force and their significance. If our argument be pursued to its limits, not only in theory but in practice, the final claim must rest in the entire company of rational agents. -134-

X MORAL DISCOURSE

10.1 The Moral Imperative JUDGEMENTS resting on moral considerations, and imperatives derived from them, are as characteristic a part of practical discourse as are expressions of advice. They manifest the structure of moral argument, as advice manifests the structure of prudential argument. If we are right in supposing these structures to be parallel, then we may expect the moral imperative to resemble the prudential, to be an imperative of advice. A moment's reflection will suggest doubts. I may advise you to take better care of your health, to relax more, to visit Paris while you are in Europe, but would I advise you to keep a promise, to tell the truth, to be more considerate of the feelings of others? If I do advise you to do any of these, surely I do so on prudential grounds: 'You had better tell the truth, or you're risking indictment for perjury.' If my concern is moral, another performative expression is required. Or consider this conversation: White. You have no right to use your mother's money for betting on the horses. She needs that money; put back what you've taken! Black. I'm not interested in your advice. White. I'm not advising; I'm telling you what you must do, It's wrong to take that money. White's use of 'must' and 'tell' suggest that his (moral) imperative resembles imperatives of command more closely than those of advice. What he says also has a strong hortatory flavour; he wants to get Black to put back the money. We must, then, consider moral imperatives in relation, not only to advice, but also to command and hortation. (We clearly need not -135consider whether moral imperatives are instructions or requests.) Perhaps they can be assigned to one of these classes; perhaps they overlap two or more--or perhaps they will prove to be sui generis, a sixth class of imperatives. This last possibility is in one sense indisputably true--moral imperatives are not paradigmatic cases of any established class. But in so far as it excludes the placing of moral imperatives in our established classes, it need be considered only if all attempts at such placing fail. It will be convenient to allow our discussion to range not only over moral imperatives but also over other ways of expressing moral injunctions. The person who issues a moral imperative, whether he employs the imperative mood to do so or not, will be termed a moral counsellor; the imperatives he issues, and any remarks he makes related to them, will be termed moral counsel. It is understood that, should the course of the argument suggest that these terms are inappropriate, they will be abandoned.

10.1.1. Moral Counsel and Hortation There is no reason to deny hortatory force to most moral imperatives, just as there is no reason to deny it to imperatives of advice. That I urge someone to do something does not imply that I am not also advising him to do that very thing, i quite naturally exhort him to do what I consider advisable for him. Concern that moral counsel be followed is equally natural, although based on somewhat different factors. The reasons for acting on moral counsel relate not only to the agent, but also to others. The counsellor, as a moral being, must be concerned that these others receive their due, that their wants be fulfilled as far as possible. Not only is it appropriate for him to urge acceptance of his counsel; he must judge that he ought positively to urge this. A moral counsellor may also display concern about the acceptance of his injunctions because of the general consequences of regarding or disregarding moral considerations in action. How a person acts depends to a very considerable extent on how others act--on the climate of action. To encourage morally correct actions in one situation is to affect, albeit to a limited extent, many further situations. Thus the hortatory force of moral imperatives, and of judgements -136based on moral considerations, may be expected to exceed the hortatory force of prudential imperatives. In advising, hortation rests only on concern for advisee; in counselling, hortation rests on general concern for everyone. But there is no reason to suppose that the primary function of moral imperatives is therefore to exhort, to suppose that their efficacity, rather than their validity, is most important. Rather, this hortation must be logically posterior to the moral role of imperatives. Hortation may enter in quite different ways into moral counsel. It can play a purely parasitical role; a simple hortatory imperative may be disguised as a piece of moral counsel. One may seek to persuade by using ostensibly moral imperatives, but one's success depends on not being found out. If the disguise is penetrated, the hortation is recognized as not true moral counsel; this would be nonsensical if moral imperatives were nothing but hortations. Again, one may offer what one believes to be genuine moral counsel, but in an attempt to persuade. One's reason for offering counsel may be tied to one's own interests. The president of a tobacco firm may oppose a programme for educating schoolchildren in the harmful effects of smoking on what he considers to be moral grounds--the element of indoctrination which such education involves. He may convince himself of the validity of what he says; he may even convince himself that his real concern is with the ostensible moral issues involved. An outsider, however, is apt to suspect, without undue cynicism, that both his moral judgements, and his concern to urge them against the educational programme, are based on his economic interests. One may disguise hortation as moral counsel, not only to others, but also to oneself. Thus hortation plays a complex role in moral counselling. One may exhort in counselling; one may exhort by counselling; one may

exhort while pretending to counsel. But this role is incompatible with the supposition that moral imperatives are primarily hortatory.

10.1.2. Moral Counsel and Command A command rests on the authority of its issuer. To suggest that moral counsel is to be assimilated to the language of command rather than advice, is to suggest that moral imperatives, and moral -137counsel in general, rest in some way on an appeal to authority, rather than on an appeal to the agent's reasons for acting. Everyday moral discourse is replete with conversations and arguments which suggest a command theory of moral imperatives. Rather than considering the claims of such a theory in the abstract, we shall examine a number of conversations which illustrate its appeal, and which suggest the arguments supporting it. (i) 'You must. . .' Green. Where did you get that book? Brown. I took it from the desk over there. Green. But those are White's books on the desk. Put it back! Brown. Why should I? I want to read it, and White isn't using it. Green. What you want doesn't matter. It belongs to White and you haven't asked him whether you could take it. Whether you want to or not, you must put it back. It would be quite inappropriate to describe Green's counsel as a moral recommendation. His emphasis on 'must' suggests rather that he is pointing out a moral requirement. What one must do is what one is required, in some way or other, to do. Many requirements are to be classified with commands. I am required to present three copies of my doctoral thesis to the Secretary of Faculties; this requirement is imposed by those who determine the regulations for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the University of Oxford. It is justified by an appeal to their authority; it would be irrelevant for me to object that this requirement was unreasonable or unnecessary. I might, of course, lead a movement to reform degree regulations, but as long as this requirement is imposed by the proper authorities, I must meet it if I am to be examined for the degree. I am required to be in possession of a valid passport in order to enter the United Kingdom from Canada, or vice versa. I am required, as chairman, to preside at meetings of the Committee on Nuclear Disarmament at the University of Toronto. But am I required to put back a book that I have taken? It may be possible to speak of a moral requirement here, but the phrase 'I am required' seems out of place. -138To say that I must put back the book is to call attention to the fact that what I should do does not depend on what I want to do. But this use of 'must' occurs in prudential argument, as well as in

moral, to call attention to factors over-riding the immediate, occurrent wants of the agent. For example: Doctor. You need a vacation. Get away at once--go to the Riviera, Italy, Spain--anywhere warm. Patient. But I can't get away now. I'm working on the most frightfully interesting project--I'm one of the planners on the proposed Chisley Urban Development scheme. I don't want to leave it now--you have no idea how epoch-making this plan will be! Doctor. But you must take a vacation, whether you want to or not. Otherwise you won't plan anything again. Your health requires you to take a complete rest. The use of 'requires' here meets a twofold condition. First, a rest is necessary to the preservation of the patient's health; thus taking a rest may be termed a requirement for his health. But also, the preservation of health is a sufficient condition for acting; thus the presupposition of the requirement--that he is to preserve his health --is satisfied. It would not, however, accord with usage to replace 'your health requires you' by 'you are required', since this latter phrase suggests an external authority issuing the requirement. We may now clarify the use of 'moral requirement'. If an action must be performed to achieve some morally supported purpose, and if one has sufficient reason to achieve this purpose, then the action may be termed a moral requirement. But there is no reason to suppose that moral requirements, any more than requirements of health, are imposed by external authority. The requirements of health are based on certain of the agent's prudential reasons for acting; moral requirements are based on certain of his moral reasons. An appeal to authority--to requirements imposed by authority-is an alternative to an appeal to reason--to requirements based on reasons for acting. There need be no opposition between the two; authoritative edicts may correspond to rational judgements. The best laws are those which require to be done what ought to be done, independent of the requirement. In the practical sphere, an authoritative pronouncement settles -139the question of what to do. To accept someone or something as authoritative is to accept the judgement that one ought to obey that person or thing, to act directly upon its edicts without further deliberation. In so far as it is appropriate to consider what to do, one's actions are not subject to the pronouncements of authority. Thus to confuse the requirements based on one's reasons for acting with requirements authoritatively imposed is a serious error. An appeal to authority, if valid, cuts off an appeal to reason, but an appeal to reason cannot cut off itself. The two have separate roles. It is, of course, possible to consider requirements based on reasons as authoritative when they are thought of as imposed by reason on the passions which move the agent to act. But this metaphor must not be allowed to confuse the distinction between judging what one should do in terms of one's reasons for acting, and accepting a command as authoritatively determining what one should do. Moral

requirements offer no real support to a command theory of moral discourse. (ii) '. . . is just wrong' Bill. You were copying on that test. Dick. What if I was? I need the marks. Bill. But that's cheating, and it's wrong to cheat. Dick. What's wrong with cheating, if you don't get caught? Bill. Why--cheating's just wrong! It's--well, it's against the rules, that's all. Some things are 'just wrong'--cheating, stealing, rudeness, selfishness, cruelty for example. They are against the rules, whatever the rules may be. If asked why they are wrong, one may be hard pressed to do more than reiterate that they are wrong. If the questioner fails to see this, little more can be said. Now to say that something is just wrong is, in effect, to deny that there are reasons for its being wrong. And this might well be said about, for example, cruelty. To suggest that cruel actions are wrong because they do not satisfy the wants of the persons concerned, or, with Mill, because they do not maximize happiness for the greatest number, or, with Hume, because they run counter to our sympathetic feelings, seems quite irrelevant. Whatever effect -140cruelty may have on the satisfaction of wants, or on happiness, or on sympathy, it is itself morally outrageous. Thinking in this way, one falls readily into belief in 'moral facts'. Certain things have moral labels written on them--cruelty is marked 'Don't!', and kindness 'Do!' These labels, if they are to be effective in determining action, must possess imperative force. But they do not constitute advice; they do not follow from consideration of the agent's reasons for acting. Unless they are to be dismissed as merely hortatory, they must be taken as commands, deriving their authority directly from the nature of their objects. The introduction of 'moral facts', of directly authoritative considerations 'in the world', is required only to overcome an imaginary problem. Cruelty, theft, cheating are wrong, and wrong in themselves, but they are because they are defined so that they must be wrong. Whatever one's reasons for acting, one could not have good reason to be cruel; if one is justified in causing pain, or in inflicting suffering, then one is not acting cruelly in doing so. If you believe that those who accept, even under duress, Jesus Christ as their Saviour go to eternal bliss, whereas those who reject Him suffer eternal torment, then you will not hesitate to apply the most extreme pain to those who deny Christ, in the hope that they will be compelled to confess Him and thereby save themselves. The tortures you impose on them will be viewed by you as kindness, not cruelty. Of course, if your beliefs are mere rationalizations for your sadistic desires, then your actions are cruel, but not otherwise. My contrary beliefs no doubt justify me in restraining you from practising your tortures, but not in accusing you of intentional cruelty. Theft demands more complex treatment. For there are surely cases in which we would admit a man to be guilty of theft, and yet claim that he had good reason to act as he did. Jean Valjean did steal

bread--the injustice of his condemnation does not rest on an objection to the claim that he stole. Yet we do not consider his action morally culpable. Here we must distinguish ways of conceiving an action. Jean Valjean's action can be considered one of theft; from this point of view it was wrong, and, from this point of view, he had, and could have -141had, no reason to perform it. But his action must also be considered one of providing food for his family in the only way he considered possible; from this point of view it was right. And this latter aspect of his action we consider more important than the former; he had a good reason for acting as he did despite the fact that he had no reason to steal. One cannot have a reason to steal, as such, but one can have a reason to perform an action which is also one of stealing. However, not all supposed 'moral facts' may be dismissed by these arguments. Consider a further example: Jones. But why do you consider homosexual practices carried on in private between consenting adults should be illegal? Smith. Because homosexual practices represent moral degradation! They are absolutely wrong--they're completely unnatural! Homosexual practices are defined, not in moral terms, but in physiological and psychological terms. But to some persons they are labelled 'Don't!' as clearly as cruelty. In terming them unnatural, the presence of moral authority in nature is plainly suggested. The only thing to be said about such views as this is that not all actual moral claims are sound. Imperatives resting on 'unnaturalness' are, as moral imperatives, spurious, and they are spurious just because they appeal to a pretended authority, rather than to reasons for acting. The imperatives of morality must be justifiable to their recipient, in so far as he is a moral, and hence a rational, agent. If moral imperatives are imperatives of advice, they must correspond to a judgement based on reasons for acting; if they are imperatives of command, they must be issued by an authority who in turn must be justifiable to the agent. The claim that homosexual practices are just wrong, that they have their wrongness stamped upon them, cannot be entertained by rational agents--it appeals neither to reasons for acting nor to an authority susceptible of justification. Whether there are other arguments against legalizing homosexual practices of the type Jones describes is, of course, not our concern. But arguments such as Smith's--and these arguments are employed in many areas other than homosexuality--have no place in moral discourse. They indicate only a refusal to reason. -142(iii) 'God commands. . .' Mrs. Hill. Well, I don't blame that Mrs. Johnson for running off with him. She's made a home for her children, and now they're grown up I don't see why she should stay with that brute of

a husband one more minute. After all those years of him being cruel to her I think she deserves some fun. Mrs. Dale. The very idea--you approving of a woman running off with another man! I can't think what's got into you--why the Lord said 'Thou shalt not commit adultery'!didn't say 'Unless your family's grown up and your husband's a brute' Mrs. Johnson is a wicked woman--a wicked woman wilfully disobeying what the good Lord said. If one were to take the writings of moral philosophers as a guide to the moral opinions of their society, one would never guess that, in the contemporary English-speaking world, many people suppose morality to rest on the commands of God. Yet an examination of what people say shows that the view that God is a supreme Authority, without whose word no morality would or could exist, is quite widespread. On this view, moral imperatives can be justified only by showing that they follow, explicitly or implicitly, from the commands and requirements laid down by God, whose status as an authority is never called into question. There is no doubt that imperatives such as the Ten Commandments are intended as commands. They are to be accepted by man because they are the injunctions of God, whom everyone ought to obey. But to say that everyone ought to obey God, to recognize him as an authority, is not in itself to say that God is the source of morality. For the judgement that everyone ought to obey God may be derived from prior practical considerations. God's commands may be derivative moral imperatives. The judgement might be defended on prudential grounds. It might be argued that divine omnipotence ensures that everyone has, and must have, good reason to conform himself to God's will. God arranges rewards and punishments to establish the prudential desirability of conformity. But this defence will not satisfy those who insist that man deserves God's rewards and punishments because -143he ought to obey God. A practical judgement cannot be used to justify the considerations from which it follows. The judgement might also be defended on what I have called moral grounds. It may be that the fullest satisfaction of all wants of alt rational beings is ensured if everyone is obedient to God. Obedience to God would thus be established as a general practical principle, of one of the types that we shall examine in the next chapter. Whether this argument is valid is not of concern here. What is important is that the argument may reconcile divine authority with the view that morality is inherently independent of authority. God's commands would fall within the moral framework, rather than defining it. But it is still necessary to consider the view of those who regard God as inherently authoritative, as the source of morality. They may confuse God's supremacy as a perfectly rational agent, and the supremacy of an authority. The will of a perfectly rational agent, if there be one, justifiably takes precedence, in providing reasons for acting, over the wants of lesser rational agents, but it does not command obedience.

More important, however, is the supposition that authority pertains to God as the creator of man. Creation is entirely dependent on the creator, who is the source both of its nature and of its existence. Man, as part of creation, shares this dependence. God rules over the non-rational part of his creation directly, but over man, as rational, through his word. This word applies to man as command. But man, as a rational agent, is autonomous. An autonomous being determines itself to action in accordance with its reasons for acting, and takes responsibility for its actions. A being subject to authority is determined to action by the authority, who takes responsibility for its actions. An autonomous being, then, can be subject to authority only in so far as it determines itself to, and takes responsibility for, its action in submitting to the authority. And this requires that the authority be justified in terms of the prior reasons for acting of the autonomous being. God may either respect the autonomy of his rational creatures, -144or override it. If he overrides it, he does not command, but compels. If he respects it, he commands only in virtue ora claim to be obeyed whose force is rational. In this case, it is God who proposes, man who disposes. Granted that if God' s claims be valid, then man ought to submit to divine authority--granted that man disposes at his peril--yet man, as a moral and rational being, cannot abnegate his role as judge of what he should do. Creation cannot directly validate divine authority.

10.1.3. Moral Counsel and Advice We have found that moral imperatives, as such, cannot be classified with imperatives of hortation or of command. We must now consider their resemblance to imperatives of advice. It will be useful to begin by examining the use of the phrase 'moral advice'. I. Not for me to question. 'Kill 'im', 'e says, kill 'im it is. Orders is orders, and this 'un's a traitor wood deserves no mercy. An' yet, an' yet 'Thou shalt not kill'. I been taught that, an' I'm a man wood believes, tho' I ain't no Sunday Christian. So it's kill 'im for country, and it's don't for God. I ain't never thought thumbed drive you apart. Wood's a man to do? II. The short of it is that she's going to have my child, and neither of us loves the other any more. I want to do what's right, but it's no start for life when we don't give tuppence for each other. What should I do? In each case the speaker asks for advice, for assistance with his practical problem. In each case, the problem is posed as (at least in part) a moral problem, whether implicitly or, as in the second example, quite explicitly--'I want to do what's right.' In the first example, the factors which advisee believes should govern his decision are set out--his duty to his country and his obligation to his God. In the second, advisee may well be perplexed about What considerations are relevant to the solution of his problem, but he suggests his readiness to accept whatever moral factors are involved. The adviser may then need to make clear just what moral factors are relevant or to correct advisee's understanding of them. Thus an adviser might begin his reply to the first request in this way: I know the Bible says'Thou shalt not kill', but you have to dig

-145beneath the surface to see just what is forbidden. You have to distinguish killing innocent people from killing a man who is a traitor, who has caused the death of others, who . . . And in the second case, an adviser might say: You say you want to do what's right, but you're thinking only of what's right by her. You must think first of what's right by the child, what will be in its interests. You have created it, and you two must be responsible for it. Of course you must consider your attitude to her, and hers to you, but primarily in terms of how it will affect your child. Thus the adviser may suggest that advisee has failed to see the real nature of the moral issues at stake. But in both examples the adviser Supposes that advisee wishes to see his problem in its proper perspective, and will therefore accept criticism of his initial standpoint. This type of correction is similar to that which frequently arises in giving prudential advice, when the adviser seeks to convince advisee that he has not correctly determined the nature or extent of his relevant interests. Adviser seeks to show that certain considerations, of a kind which advisee admits to be relevant, are present, although advisee has not recognized their presence. Any dispute between the two will, then, turn on whether an alleged consideration is in fact involved, and not on whether an admittedly present consideration is relevant to advisee's deliberation about what to do. But disputes about the relevance of considerations do occur. They serve as one of the features distinguishing that area of moral counsel which cannot properly be labelled 'advice'. A moral counsellor is frequently concerned to urge the admission of moral considerations to counsellee's practical basis. When he does this, he is not, strictly, advising. For in giving advice, and in determining what advice to give, an adviser is expected to reason from advisee's practical basis. He treats advisee's problem from advisee's point of view. If this point of view is unacceptable to adviser, if it omits moral considerations which he believes relevant, then he cannot advise. All that he can do is to urge acceptance of these considerations. This is legitimate moral counsel, but its objective is quite different from advice. -146It seeks to promote moral action, and not simply to help the person with a practical problem.The first principal difference between moral counsel and advice is, then, that moral counsel covers situations in which counsellee refuses to consider the true, moral nature of the problem confronting him, whereas advice covers only those situations in which the nature of the problem, if not all of the details, is recognized and accepted by advisee. A second difference between moral counsel and advice turns on the fact that advice is directed at problems which are considered to be primarily the concern of advisee. But moral problems are never merely the concern of the agent confronted by them; moral problems necessarily involve the interests of others. Paradoxically, it is when the agent recognizes this that moral counsel may most appropriately be regarded as moral advice. For it is then that his concern expands to cover all of the concerns involved in the situation, so that he makes the moral problem his.To illustrate these distinctions, let us consider examples of counsel which cannot be treated as advice:

I.

Mary. I don't care that you slept with him. That's your business. But now that you're pregnant, you've got to think of the baby. Anne. I won't be bothered with the baby. It can be adopted or anything. I'm not through having a good time.

II.

Mary. Well you ought to be 'bothered' about it. You're bringing it into the world; it's your responsibility to look out for its interests. You've no right to shrug it off like that. Jake. So we split fifty-fifty and duck? Mike. What about the gang? Jake. Bugger the others! I ain't gonna give them no cut. Mike. They took their risks--play it fair, Jake. Jake. Fair? Man, where you been? They ain't no rules in this game. Mike. I'm warning you Jake, you hadn't oughta skip out. I ain't buying your deal. It ain't healthy.

The first example provides a clear contrast with the second of the previous set. Anne expresses no interest in doing what is right, in considering anything except her own desire not to stop having 'a good time'. Her only problem, as she sees it, is to dispose of the -147unwanted child. The problem that Mary insists on putting to her is one which she sees no need to face. Mary, in trying to make it her problem, is offering counsel. In the second example the element of advice is present--Mike warns Jake against skipping out. But this is merely prudential advice. Mike's primary concern is with Jake's unfairness in refusing to divide the loot with the rest of the gang. Jake is completely unconcerned with honour, even among thieves. In these examples counsel is given about the problem facing the person addressed, but not strictly with his problem. It would be more natural for counsellor to speak of 'the thing to do', rather than of 'the thing for you to do'. Phrases such as 'you ought to consider' bring out the nature of his concern. He wishes to assist counsellee, but he wishes to assist him to act morally. Thus he must bring counsellee to see the problem as his problem. To do this, counsellor can only set the stage, as it were. He describes the situation, states the interests concerned, emphasizes that other persons are involved, and urges that attention be paid to them. This last element of hortation must be present, not because moral counsel is without justification, but because it reaches the limits of justification. Counsellee must be brought to respect other persons, but this respect is the condition of reasoning, not its conclusion.

10.20. Appraisal of Moral Counsel

The similarities between moral counsel and prudential advice should make it possible to base an examination of the principal types of criticism to which counsel is subjected on the classification devised for advice. The necessary modifications prove to be quite minor.

10.2.1. Criticisms of the Counsellor Little need be said about criticisms of competence. That they apply to those who issue moral injunctions is evident. To say this is not to recognize a species of ability which might be termed moral. Competence is concerned, not with morality, but with the setting of the problem. Ignorance of this setting, or inability to deal with settings of such a type, disqualify the would-be counsellor. -148Criticisms of title are frequently inapplicable when moral, rather than prudential, issues are under consideration. This should be evident from the difference between a moral and a prudential problem. Prudential problems are essentially private, personal, not affecting others. But moral problems are not and cannot be purely personal, since they involve situations in which the interests of others are affected. Their public character cuts away the ground on which criticisms of title must be based. At least those whose interests are or may be affected are entitled to give moral advice or counsel. If it is my business, you cannot insist, 'None of your business!' Your private life, which is strictly your business and not mine, cannot include my wants and aims. Those whose interests are not directly affected have a right to give moral counsel which is based on their moral concern. An example will illustrate this: White. You oughtn't to refer to the failure of his marriage so often; you may mean only to joke, and he appears not to care, but he's really very sensitive about it. You do hurt his feelings! Black. What business is it of yours what I say to him? You're not affected. White 'That's got nothing to do with it. It's wrong to hurt him so.' White's use of 'wrong' indicates that his criticism is intended as moral. He is not just advising; the issues are such that he rejects any question of his personal involvement in the situation as irrelevant. Criticisms of sincerity turn on the intention or purpose the person criticized purports to accept. The insincere adviser is one who pretends to seek to assist someone faced with a practical problem, while in fact pursuing some quite different aim. Only accidentally will the advice he offers be good advice. The insincere moral counsellor is one who pretends to be fulfilling whatever may be the purpose of giving moral counsel, while really pursuing some different aim. This purpose is not difficult to determine. Primarily moral counsel is given to assist others in determining what they ought to do, and,

it should be added, to urge them to do as they ought, should this be necessary. This assistance has a dual character: on the one hand, -149it is intended to help those with moral problems; on the other, it is intended to promote moral actions. The first aspect of the purpose of moral counsel corresponds to the purpose of advice. But it applies only in so far as counselee recognizes his problem as moral. When it applies, moral counsel is moral advice. The sincerity of a counsellor-adviser is, then, shown by his endeavour to assist counsellee with the practical problem, which counsellee accepts as his. If, however, counsellee is not concerned with what he ought to do, or if he rejects moral considerations as irrelevant to the determination of what he ought to do, then he does not accept the problem as his problem, and only the second aspect of the purpose of moral counsel is applicable, In this case the aim of moral counsel is quite distinct from that of advice. The sincerity of the counsellor is shown by his endeavour to bring counsellee to realize the true nature of his practical problem, to recognize the moral issues confronting him. The sincere counsellor must refuse to assist a morally recalcitrant counsellee with what he takes to be his problem. Thus a sincere moral counsellor cannot be expected always to offer advice, nor can a sincere adviser be expected always to offer moral counsel. If a despot, asking his cringing counsellors what he truly ought to do, is told what it pleases him to hear, he may-although very likely he will not--accuse them of insincerity as moral counsellors, however well their advice may enable him to pursue his own interests at the expense of others. And on the other hand, if a lawyer, whom I retain to advise me on how to avoid paying income-tax, judges that I ought to pay tax and so, without examining my situation, assures me that I cannot avoid payment, I may well charge him with insincerity as an adviser, for that--and not a moral counsellor--is what he purports to be. Note that when advice and moral counsel part company, the sincere adviser may well open himself to moral criticism, in that he aids advisee to do as he ought not, to solve his problem, but to ignore the problem. No corresponding criticism applies to the moral counsellor. It may be wrong to give advice, but it is never (morally) wrong to give moral counsel. The example of the legal adviser suggests that there may be situations in which advice is permissible -150even if it runs counter to moral counsel. Whether this is so would constitute a good problem for more detailed study.

10.2.2. Criticisms of the Counsel Attention must here be directed to criticisms relating to the applicability of the counsel to the problem under discussion. Such criticisms have a greater scope and significance in appraising moral counsel than in appraising advice. Criticisms of soundness and extrinsic criticisms raise no new points of interest.

In considering a prudential problem, the adviser may fail to grasp what advisee wants to achieve, and thus may give inapplicable advice. Similarly, in considering a moral problem, the moral counsellor may fail to see all of the different wants relevant to the situation, and thus will not base his judgement of what ought to be done on all of the appropriate factors. Or again, he may suppose wants to be present which in fact are not, or he may miscalculate the weights of the relevant wants, so that his judgement rests on inappropriate or incorrect premisses. Green. I think you ought to propose to Jane. As you admit, she's everything you want in a wife. You love each other; I have no doubt that she would accept you. Brown. Oh, I'm not worried about her accepting, or about our not enjoying life together. It's my parents that I must consider; they need my financial support, and I just wouldn't be able to provide it if I were to start raising a family. I know Jane would be willing to wait, but we both want children, and it wouldn't be fair to make her wait indefinitely. So you see, I don't know what to do. Green's analysis of the situation, correct so far at it goes, simply fails to take into account all of the persons, and hence all of the interests, concerned. The first complication in the role of criticisms of applicability in moral discourse arises directly from the distinction between advice and counsel. When moral counsel is directed at urging counsellee to recognize the moral aspect of the problem confronting him, counsellee will, if unwilling so to consider the problem, naturally criticize what is said as inapplicable. He will treat it as advice, and insist that it does not apply to his problem. -151Jake. So we split fifty-fifty and duck? Mike. But Jake, you gotta consider the rest of the gang. They should get some too. Jake. Mike, you ain't talking my language. What you say just don't apply--in this game, you take what you can get. If Mike intended his remark merely as advice, then Jake's objection is, of course, to the point. But if not, Mike can riposte: But you oughta give them a cut, Jake! They took risks too. It ain't fair what you're doing. And so the conversation wilt proceed. Moral counsel is of course inapplicable considered strictly as advice, if counsellee refuses to consider his problem as moral. The situation may be reversed. Advisee may regard his problem as a moral one, but the adviser may refuse so to consider it. Again criticisms of applicability will be advanced, but in this case they will apply whether what adviser says is considered as advice or as moral counsel.

White. But I can't go out and try to sell people this encyclopedia. It's not worth the paper it's printed on! Black. So what? They'll never know the difference. Look--there's a million suckers who want 'knowledge'--well, we give it to them. Come on--I'm offering you a job and you need the money; you ought to take it. White. No, I shouldn't. If these people don't know what knowledge is, then they ought to be protected from unscrupulous sharks like you, and not taken advantage of. I can't try to sell someone something when I know he shouldn't buy it; I have to consider his interests. The problems which this complication creates are similar to those occasioned by the different functions of advice and counsel in questions of sincerity. A more interesting complication arises from disagreement about the nature of moral considerations. Counsellor and counsellee may be agreed that the problem is moral, but they may not be agreed about what factors are therefore relevant to its solution. It is easy to see that criticisms of applicability will arise from such lack of agreement; we may term them criticisms of moral relevance. -152In prudential discourse, it is agreed that the wants, desires, aims, purposes, and interests of the agent are the considerations relevant to the determination of what he should do. In moral discourse no comparable agreement can be supposed. I have argued that the wants, desires, aims, purposes, and interests of all agents are the relevant considerations, but this may be disputed. The moral counsellor may derive his premisses from what he considers to be the will of God, whereas counsellee may insist that only the greatest happiness of the greatest number is relevant. Each will regard the other's considerations as inapplicable or irrelevant to the practical problem. Consider this extreme example: Dictator. Slobdovia must fight on! There shall be no surrender! Surrender is dishonour! Peace is dishonour! We must stand on the field of battle and we shall conquer! Adviser. But, Your Excellency, consider the hundreds of thousands of lives--Slobdovian lives--that are being lost. Think of the innocents who are suffering; think of. . . Dictator. All that is of no concern! Slobdovians are the MasterRace! The Master-Race demands battle! The Master-Race must exult in conquest! The individual is the instrument--the MasterRace must rise in triumph over the world, whatever petty deaths and sufferings are occasioned! Criticisms of relevance may also arise from disagreement about relevant subordinate premisses. We cannot always appeal to what we judge to be the ultimate moral considerations; we adopt principles, rules, maxims to simplify the establishment of practical judgements in wide ranges of situations. But the applicability of these principles to a particular case--the question whether the case falls within the scope of the principle--then becomes a matter for dispute. Jones. I'm in love with her. My wife and I have been on the outs for years. Why shouldn't i go and live with her?

Smith. But adultery is wrong. Jones. I know that's the conventional moral view. But is it so? Is adultery really always wrong? I can't simply accept that general principle; I want to know, if I shouldn't live with Mary, why, in my particular case, it would be wrong to do so. -153Smith and Jones may or may not agree about the ultimate considerations in terms of which moral judgements must be justified, but they do not agree about the relevance of the principle 'Adultery is wrong' to Jones's problem. As a footnote to this discussion of the appraisal of moral counsel we may remark that the account of functional appraisal outlined in 5.3 will apply equally well here. But functional appraisal remains limited in scope. Such judgements as 'One ought to advise sincerely', or 'One ought to give sincere moral counsel', may be morally justified, but they do not depend merely on consideration of the nature of advice and moral counsel. We must recognize that the characteristics of our actual moral discourse cannot be ultimately independent of our views of the nature of morality. A study of moral discourse may reveal our moral suppositions, but it cannot in itself justify them. -154-

XI PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES IN Chapter VI we mentioned some of the considerations, other than wants, to which we appeal in support of our practical judgements. We must now show how at least some of these can be fitted into the structure of practical reasoning, as we have outlined it. In the chapters remaining, then, we shall examine principles, obligations, and duties.

11.1. General Practical Judgements Let us begin by considering some typical practical principles. I. (i) 'One ought to keep one's promises.'

II.

This principle enjoins actions of a certain kind without qualification or restriction, either in terms of the situation or in terms of the agent's objectives. It underlies arguments such as 'I promised to meet Smith in my office at 2 p.m.; it's now 1.30 and it will take me half an hour to get there, so I ought to set out now.' The principle need not be stated, but it is implied in taking 'I promised to meet Smith' as a premiss possessed of practical force. (ii) 'One ought never to buy on margin in a bearish market.'

III.

This enjoins the non-performance of actions of a certain kind in a certain type of situation. Buying on margin is not condemned per se, but only when the market is falling. This principle is much more a rule of thumb than (i); both its justification and its role will be shown to be quite different. It serves merely as a general rule guiding deliberation; you ask for advice and I reply, 'I shouldn't think this the time to buy Consolidated Cement; the market is pretty bearish right now.' (iii) 'One ought to exercise daily if one would improve one's posture.'

This principle enjoins certain actions as means to an end; its application is restricted to cases in which the end is accepted as a basis for action. Thus it enables one to pass from one practical judgement -155(about posture-improvement) to another (about exercise). A doctor might advise, 'You'd feel a good deal more energetic if your posture were better; you ought to try to improve it and so you ought to do daily exercises.' It might be urged that such principles as (iii) simply transfer the practical force of a judgement about the end to one about the means. 'One ought to exercise daily if one would improve one's posture' would then be equivalent to 'Daily exercise is a means to improved posture.' If one has sufficient reason to improve one's posture, then it follows directly that one ought to exercise daily. This argument rests on the supposition that the end justifies the means, directly and entirely. In general, however, the choice of means involves further practical considerations. Nothing can be derived from 'One ought to improve one's posture' and 'Daily exercise is a means to improved posture', unless it is further established that daily exercise is a suitable means for the agent in question. Consider the analogous argument, 'I ought to try to get more money; robbing a bank is a means to getting more money, so I ought to rob a bank.' The conclusion does not follow unless the second premiss is replaced by the practical principle, 'One ought to rob a bank if one would get more money'--and one may not accept this principle. Thus principles prescribing means to given ends add a new practical element in that they indicate the suitability of the means, given the end. Our reasoning has this form: 'I ought to try to achieve x, if there is a suitable means to it; y is a suitable means to x, so I ought to do y.' Principles such as (iii) are used to provide premisses of the form, 'y is a suitable means to x'. The principles we have discussed have been formulated as general practical judgements. A general practical judgement enjoins (or forbids) the performance of actions of a certain type, perhaps in situations of a specified type, or as means to ends of specified types. Such a judgement may be combined with suitable descriptive statements to derive a particular practical judgement.

11.1.1. Practical Experience General practical judgements have several uses. Perhaps the most obvious is to bring past experience to bear on present problems. -156This experience is useful because the realm of the practical is necessarily a realm of uncertainty. To deliberate fully upon the consequences of future actions, or upon their possible grounds, would often be to ignore the practical context in which we must act.

But retrospective deliberation is always possible. Freed from direct ties with action, such deliberation may proceed at leisure to establish what ought to have been done, appealing, moreover, to the actual consequences of what was done. Retrospective deliberation lacks direct practical value; what ought to have been done cannot now be done. However, although the practical problems ahead are not identical with those behind, they may be similar. What we ought to have done may be a guide to what we ought to do. Were we frequently faced with totally new situations, we might well despair of being able to learn from our practical experience, but in fact we are able to bring the accumulation of experience to bear on most of the situations in which we must act. Through retrospective deliberation we judge what we should do in a situation comparable to that with which we are now faced. Thus the practical wisdom gained through experience is applied to present and future practical problems in the form of general practical judgements-judgements such as those in examples (ii) and (iii). What conditions must be satisfied for a general practical judgement to be true? First, there must be a reason for performing actions of the stated type under the specified circumstances. This condition is not difficult to satisfy. There is always a reason against injuring another person, always a reason for assisting him. There is always a reason for engaging in any activity which is pleasant, or enjoyable, or interesting, or satisfying. Given an end, there is always a reason for performing any action which is a means to it. If this were the only condition to be satisfied in generalizing to a practical principle, principles would be indefinitely numerous--and of little use. For the presence of a reason for performing an action is usually evident without recourse to experience of similar situations. A practical principle does not merely advise of the existence of some reason for acting, but rather--and this provides the second condition--of the existence of a sufficient reason. There is always a reason for assisting another person, but it is not always a good -157enough reason for acting--there are numerous occasions on which we might help someone, but are engaged in more important or pressing or worthwhile tasks. Thus the principle, 'One ought always to assist one's fellows', would not be true as it stands. To show that a consideration of some type provides a generally sufficient reason for acting is often quite difficult. Indeed, if it were necessary to show that it was always sufficient, practical principles would be almost impossible to establish. However, if a principle guides our deliberation, simplifying the task of determining what to do, it is not necessary to show that it holds in every conceivable case logically falling under it; it serves its purpose if it holds for the most part. Thus the principle, 'One ought to exercise daily if one would improve one's posture', would be established, not just by showing that daily exercise leads to posture improvement, but by showing that exercise is in general a relatively convenient and pleasant means to such improvement, that it does not interfere with activities, whether of the agent or of another, which most persons would consider more important, and that it has no harmful effects on the exerciser--not causing undue muscular strain, for example. An ostensibly more interesting principle which generalizes practical experience is, 'One ought not to kill one's fellows.' This would

be established by showing that under most circumstances to kill a person is completely to disregard his concerns, and so to violate the conditions of fairness discussed in Chapter IX. But in fact this principle would be of little use. It does not meet the really hard cases--capital punishment, euthanasia, war--in which killing cannot be dismissed simply as a failure to consider the interests of the person killed, and in other cases it requires but a moment's reflection on the particular situation to convince a rational agent that he ought not to kill This last example shows that, in addition to theoretical conditions which must be met if a general practical judgement is to be true, there are practical conditions which determine its utility as a principle. If it does not simplify practical reasoning, bringing out important characteristics of the particular situations falling under it which the prospective agent might otherwise overlook, then it is useless. -158But if it does assist deliberation in a large or important class of situations, then it is useful despite possible exceptions. It is better to be able easily to reach a satisfactory practical judgement in most cases, than always to be forced to reason from fundamental premisses. We accept pragmatic criteria, not of the truth of general practical judgements, but of their acceptability as principles. The best principle is that which provides the greatest simplification in our practical arguments while permitting the fewest exceptions; as these conditions tend to conflict some compromise may be necessary.

11.1.2. Defeasibility The practical role of a principle differs from that of a statement containing a desirability-characterization. Such a statement serves as a premiss in a practical argument, stating a reason for acting. But a reason need not be sufficient; the reasoner is not saved the task of considering whether other desirability-characterizations must be taken into account. A principle, however, does offer at least prima fade sufficiency, justifying the performance of an action falling under it. Yet principles are not to be followed blindly. I may accept 'One ought not to kill one's fellows' as a principle; do I therefore refuse to serve as a combatant in war? An appeal may be made from the principle to the particular situation. Even if I conclude that I ought not to kill and hence ought to refuse to serve as a combatant, my conclusion is not a simple application of the principle. Practical principles are defeasible. 1 They are subject to exceptions, and to exceptions which cannot be spelled out precisely and attached, as modifying or qualifying clauses, to the principle. Many of the most important and interesting practical disagreements arise over claims that a certain consideration provides an exception to an agreed principle. One class of exceptions are those which arise out of conflict between principles. Obviously if two principles formally apply to a particular situation, yet enjoin different actions, at least one must be modified. But not all exceptions arise in this way; often the exceptional circumstance is one which the agent has not previously

____________________ 1 take the term from Professor H. L. A. Hart. -159considered, and hence cannot have provided for in his experientially based principles. To say that a principle is defeasible is not to say that in particular circumstances it may be ignored. An exception to a principle does not invalidate it, nor deny its applicability to a situation; rather, it modifies the application of the principle. In any particular case to which a principle formally applies, there is a presumption in favour of its strict application. This presumption justifies one in acting directly on the principle unless the presence of unusual factors gives rise to doubts about its full applicability. If an exception is justified, one does not simply put aside the principle; rather, one modifies its application to conform to the exceptional circumstances. Only in extreme cases will this modification require full abandonment of the principle. It is evident that practical principles based on experience, and intended to apply this experience to simplify present deliberation, must be defeasible. Whether all practical principles are defeasible cannot yet be considered; we have not examined situations in which one acts on principle, or as a matter of principle.

11.2. Acting On Principle Practical principles can be employed, not as generalizations, to permit the agent not to consider particular factors, but to prevent him from considering these factors. The principle is then intended, not to substitute for the more arduous discussion of particulars, but to replace this discussion when it is not a suitable means of determining what to do. We must now consider why such principles are necessary.

11.2.1. Personal Rules Jones. There's a first-rate French film showing at the Scala. Do come and see it with me! Smith. Sorry--love to join you, but I've got an examination tomorrow, and I make it a rule never to go out the night before an exam. Smith does not weigh the factors present in the immediate situation, but appeals to a rule which he has adopted, enjoining a certain -160course of action in any such situation. He has adopted the rule because he knows that he writes a better examination if he spends the previous evening studying than if he relaxes, but that he is always strongly tempted to relax. Smith realizes, then, that if he deliberates about what to do in the particular situation, he may be led, by the strength of his present desire, to give undue weight to

the pleasure of relaxation, and thus misjudge what he should do. By adopting a general rule cutting off such deliberation, he reduces the likelihood of succumbing to temptation. He might decide to break his rule, but he is less likely to go against a rule that he has deliberately adopted, than to decide, considering only the immediate circumstances, to follow what is really the less desirable course of action. The rule he adopts is, ' Smith should never relax the night before an examination.' This is a general practical judgement, applying to a class of situations, but particular in that it specifies Smith as agent. This particularity may make it more appropriate to term it a rule, than a principle. In subscribing to this rule Smith need not judge whether others should subscribe to it. He may well consider that each should decide from his own experience. No doubt he could not suppose there to be any rational justification for holding the rule were he not to suppose that anyone in a relevantly similar position would have sufficient reason to adopt it. But he need not consider the rule in relation to others; his acceptance of it may be purely personal. But personal rules need not be so purely personal. Mrs. Brown. Have you sent in our donation for those Easter Charity Seals, George? Mr. Brown. No, and I don't intend to. I'm not going to give anything on principle--I don't think sending around those seals in the post is the proper way of soliciting money. Brown's rule is, ' Brown should never contribute to appeals based on sending out unsolicited goods in the post.' But this is not merely a personal rule; in claiming to act on principle Brown implies that everyone has sufficient reason to adopt this rule. He considers that one ought not to solicit money in such a manner, and therefore judges that no recipient of the appeal ought to subscribe. -161The role of this principle is, however, similar to that of the rule in the previous example. Brown, in adopting it, rules out consideration of the merits of the particular charity, his financial position, and so forth. Were he to consider these factors, he might soften his attitude; tempted by benevolence, he might judge that he should contribute. But he believes that these considerations should not be allowed to outweigh the demerits of the form of the appeal, and so, by adopting a rule, he puts up his guard against them. Whether Brown's reasoning is sound--whether, indeed, he is sincere--is irrelevant to the logic of his position. It is, however, worth noting that one may adopt a principle or rule, not to prevent one from being led astray by particular temptations, but to prevent one from having to choose between what one ought to do and what one wants to do. A selfish man may adopt the principle of never subscribing to charitable appeals, ostensibly on the ground that he can never be sure of the worth of the cause, but actually to save himself the unpleasant choice between rejecting assistance to the very real needs the appeal seeks to meet, and giving up money he wants for his own pleasure.

Note that the claim to act on principle, although applying in general to principles of this type, may be too weighty in particular cases. The beauty consultant, advising women always to varnish their toenails when they wear sandals, is not simply making the general claim that bare feet are more attractive if the nails are painted red, but urging women not to neglect this, not to give way to laziness or carelessness about their appearance on particular occasions. But, although a woman may make it a rule always to varnish her toenails, she would hardly claim to be acting on principle. It might well be supposed that rules and principles intended to prevent deliberation about particular factors cannot be defeasible, since defeasibility primarily involves an appeal to such factors. But this is not the case. The principle need not be intended to rule out all possible particular considerations, although its precise scope may be incapable of specification. Smith may make it a rule never to go out the night before an examination, but if he were a devotee of Pablo Casals, and were to have the opportunity of hearing Casals play on such a night, he might well decide that he should allow an exception. -162Again, it is quite possible that different rules may conflict in their application to a particular situation. Unless the rules should be fitted into a hierarchical structure, at least one must be defeasible. If I make it a rule to save a certain proportion of my salary, and also make it a rule always to contribute to appeals for refugees and displaced persons, I may find on a particular occasion that these rules conflict--I cannot make a contribution without cutting into my savings. What I decide to do is likely to depend more on such particular factors as the nature of the appeal and the total amount of my savings, rather than on any hierarchical order to which my rules allegedly belong. It is evident that personal rules would not serve their purpose if exceptions to them were based on those very factors whose consideration they are intended to prevent. The man who acts because he has made it a rule to act in a certain manner, or who acts on principle, must accept the rule or principle as more than a prima fade guide to action. He cannot treat it as a mere practical convenience, to be jettisoned whenever seemingly advantageous to do so, because he has adopted it to prevent his being led astray by seeming advantage. But he need not treat the rule as absolute, as holding in every possible circumstance. To be resolute is not to be obstinate.

11.2.2. Equity To act in a fair or equitable manner when one considers each consideration and those concerned in it entirely in terms of their own particular characteristics is more than difficult. The independent treatment of separate, but similar, situations is likely to hinder the satisfaction of one of the basic requirements of equitable actions --that like persons, in like situations, receive like treatment. The criteria for relevant likeness are not our concern. To say, for example, that all persons over twenty-one years of age, who are British subjects, resident in the United Kingdom, not confined to criminal or mental institutions, and not peers, are to be permitted to strand for election to the House of Commons, is to make a practical judgement, and making practical judgements is not our task. We are

concerned with the methods which ensure that like actions are judged suitable to like situations, however likeness be established. -163The requirement can be met only if our deliberation on different occasions is consistent, so that the same types of factors are always assessed in the same ways. This would pose no problem to an omniscient agent, who would always be able to reach the correct-and hence most equitable--judgement. But human beings fall far short of omniscience. For us, consistent deliberation depends in large part on our ability to assess situations using principles which determine a constant relationship between characteristics of the situation and the action to be done. Such principles do not guarantee equity. They ensure only that certain features of the situation correspond to certain intended characteristics or effects of the enjoined actions; they do not guarantee either that all relevant features of a situation are considered, or that the correspondence ensured is reasonable. But in assisting us to act similarly in similar circumstances they achieve a necessary condition of equity. In marking a set of examination scripts, I decide initially the form and content of answers that I shall expect. In so deciding, I adopt a set of rules or principles for marking the particular scripts. My rules may not include all of the features of the scripts which should be relevant to my assessment of them; my rules may not provide a reasonable correlation between features of the scripts and the marks assigned. But without these rules I should be quite unsure that I was assigning the same value to all answers of the same type. My rules, then, are necessary, although not sufficient, for equitable marking. Principles of equity are also of use in dealing with conflicts of interest. For they ensure that no special pleading based on some of the conflicting interests has been used to establish the practical judgement. Both the relevance and the fairness of the principle may be disputed, but at least one step has been taken towards a solution which seems fair to all concerned. Of particular importance are those principles of equity which determine the social framework in which we live. It is generally supposed convenient, or morally requisite, to permit each person to perform certain actions or to participate in certain activities as a matter of right, and to assign to each person the use of certain -164objects as possessions or property. The recognition of fights and of property may not rest on considerations of equity, but the distribution of rights and property among different persons will require an appeal to such considerations, and indeed to general rules of equitable distribution. The possible violation of these rules leads to a further set of principles, determining the equitable administration and enforcement ora system of rights and possessions. Indeed, all principles which concern the distribution of what is considered desirable (goods, rights, privileges, honours, . . .) or undesirable (duties, punishments,. . .) are based on considerations of equity.

Are principles of equity defeasible? Since they are intended to ensure like action in like situations, it might be supposed that any exceptions to them would promote unlike action in like situations --or like action in unlike situations--and thus be inequitable. But this supposition is unfounded; if the principle is a generalization, it may be defeasible in just the manner that other experientially based principles are defeasible, although this defeasibility must be limited to considerations which do not affect the equitable content. But principles of equity are defeasible in a further sense. Not only is the sphere of the practical one of uncertainty; it is one of imperfection. Situations arise, whether occasioned by deliberate action, or by a natural lack of some of those things needful to human satisfaction, in which full equity is impossible. In such situations exceptions to principles of equity must be admitted, since no action will fully meet the principles. The defeasibility of principles of equity in this way is a necessary misfortune. Of course, this does not justify all proposed exceptions to these principles; many misfortunes are unnecessary. But here, as elsewhere in morals, to demand absolute, invariant principles is to demand all or nothing; if all is impossible, then one is left with nothing. To lapse from philosophy into moralizing, our task is to make the world more equitable; only the gods could make it just.

11.2.3. Assurance In determining what to do, we often find it useful, or even necessary, to know, and so to be able to count on, what some other -165person or persons will do. Two men arrange to meet; each wishes to assure himself that the other will be present, so that he will have reason to be present himself. One man is willing to assist another in digging his garden this week-end, if he can count on the other giving him similar assistance next week-end. A man wants to be certain that, after his death, his fortune will be used by his executors to provide scholarships for needy and talented students. Knowledge of the future actions of another person may be based on prediction. I always eat two slices of toast for breakfast, so you can predict that I will eat two slices tomorrow. Such knowledge may be based on calculation of what another person has reason to do. I have accepted an invitation to address a meeting in Reading on Tuesday, so you judge that I shall go there on that day. But usually neither prediction nor deliberation is sufficient to give us the knowledge we need if we are to be able to count on what another person will do. In most cases, if I am to know what you will do, you must now decide what you will do, and communicate that decision to me. But even this is not sufficient, for what you now intend may not be what you intend when the time comes. I must have some assurance now that you will perform the action in the future, that you will not change your mind and act differently. This assurance can be provided, if I can know now that you have, and will continue to have, sufficient reason to perform the action

in question. But how can you communicate your decision to me in such a way that I may know this? Consider again our two gardeners--call them Smith and Jones. Jones says to Smith, 'I assure you that I shall help you dig your garden next week-end.' But this can serve to assure Smith only if he can know that Jones has sufficient reason to help him. If this knowledge is to depend just on the giving of the assurance, if, that is, whenever one is told 'I assure you. . .', one is thereby to be assured, then the giving of the assurance must itself provide a sufficient reason for the performance of the action. Jones must, then, if he is to assure Smith, be prepared to reason from the fact that he has assured Smith that he will help him dig his garden, to the judgement that he ought to help Smith dig his -166garden. Generalizing, everyone must reason from his assurance to the judgement that he ought to perform the action assured, if his assurance is to assure. But this is to say that everyone must accept the principle, 'One ought to act in accordance with one's assurances', if the giving of an assurance is to provide a sufficient reason for acting, and hence enable the recipient of the assurance to count on what the giver will do. The justification of the principle, 'One ought to act in accordance with one's assurances', is the concern of the moralist. All we have shown is that it must be justified if assurances are to assure. The moralist's argument will no doubt appeal to the utility of being able to count on what some other person or persons will do--and to the utility of being able to make others count on what we will do. Assuming the principle to be justified, we may term it the principle of promise-keeping. The introduction of 'promise' incorporates the justification of the principle into its very statement. That is, in saying 'I promise. . .', I am saying 'I assure. . .', and implying the commitment to perform the action which is necessary if my assurance is to assure. If I say 'I promise. . .', and do not realize the validity of the principle of promise-keeping, then I use 'I promise. . .', without full understanding of its use. Because 'promise' plays this complex role in the giving of an assurance, it is often supposed that the principle of promise-keeping is justified simply by showing that it is implicit in the use of 'promise'. And this argument is correct, but insufficient. To provide just this account of why one ought to keep one's promises is to perform a piece of verbal sleight-of-hand; one brings off the trick all right, but the auditors are entirely mystified, and hence not really convinced. Our remarks on the defeasibility of principles of equity may be applied equally to principles of assurance. It is always a misfortune when such a principle must be violated, but there can be sufficient reason for doing so. Indeed, the making of a promise might be said to provide a reason for acting whose strength varied with the importance of the subject-matter of the promise, a reason which would in all cases over-ride standard counter-considerations (otherwise it would not be generally sufficient and the promise would not assure), -167-

but which would give way, before quite special and unfortunate factors, at some point which would be dependent on its strength.

11.3. Principles and Morality Many contemporary moral philosophers place great emphasis on the role of principles in moral reasoning and morality. This emphasis seems to me mistaken; to show this I shall examine certain of the arguments of three important and representative thinkers.

11.3.1. R. M. Hare Hare maintains that any reasoned decision about what to do must rest on a principle.1 This is not to say that any such decision must be related to a principle previously adopted; the making of the decision may be the act whereby one subscribes to the principle. A decision or choice not resting on a principle must be arbitrary--we can give no reasons for it, and we do not suppose we need repeat it in a similar situation. But 'to choose effects because they are such and such is to begin to act on a principle that such and such effects are to be chosen'. 1 The principle underlying a rational decision equally underlies the corresponding prescription, or moral judgement. Hare argues that it would be 'logically illegitimate' to make a singular 'ought'-judgement 'while denying that there was any principle on which it depended', a principle being a universal 'ought'-judgement. 2 Thus Hare reasons: Suppose that I say 'They ought not to build any more by-passes around Oxford.' This depends on some such general principle as 'When traffic census figures show that ail but a very small proportion of the traffic in a town is terminating traffic which could not use a bypass, large sums of money ought not to be expended on one.' 3 But it is surely odd to claim that such a practical judgement as, 'They ought not to build any more by-passes around Oxford', rests on some principle. Rather, it rests on an assessment of the various particular considerations relevant to the building of by-passes ____________________ 1 The Language of Morals, p. 59. 2 Ibid., p. 157. 3 Ibid, p. 158. -168around Oxford--traffic density and direction of flow, dislocation entailed by possible by-pass routes, cost of road-building, and so forth. One would set out the evidence, weigh it, and then say something like, 'For these reasons, I conclude that they ought not to build any more by-passes around Oxford.' It is, of course, true that this is a reasonable conclusion only if, given a similar situation elsewhere, one would draw a similar conclusion. The practical argument is capable of generalization, so that it is possible to establish a general practical judgement, 'When-

ever such-and-such conditions are met, by-passes ought not to be built.' Now if Hare's claim that a singular 'ought'-judgement must depend on a principle were simply the claim that a singular 'ought'judgement can be established only as the conclusion of an argument which could be reformulated to justify a general 'ought'-judgement, we could not disagree. For any rationally established conclusion must depend on an argument which is capable of generalization. But Hare's claim is rather that a singular 'ought'-judgement is established only by an argument which derives it from a principle, and, in turn, a principle is established only by an argument which derives it from a higher-order principle. Practical inference, in Hare's view, must proceed from principles; only in this way can particular judgements be logically derived. But why must practical inference proceed from principles? It is this position which I have endeavoured to combat throughout this study. I have argued that the condition of practical inference makes it possible to derive particular practical judgements from particular premisses. Any such derivation may be generalized by removing the logically incidental particular references in the premisses, but this does not imply that the derivation proceeds from a principle. The derivation does proceed in accordance with a principle--the condition of practical reasoning. But this condition is not a general practical judgement, and hence not a practical principle. Hare's position combines two logically distinct propositions: a practical principle may be derived from any practical argument, and, a practical principle is required for any practical argument. The undoubted truth of the first--which is entailed by the -169possibility of generalizing any rational argument--is entirely un related to the truth of the second. Note that in Hare's argument, 'principle' means simply 'universal "ought"-judgement'. Hare seeks to show that such a judgement must be present in every moral (or practical) argument. But this use of 'principle' is much broader than the ordinary use, in which principle constitute a sub-class of universal or general practical judgements singled out for such special uses as those examined in the first two sections of this chapter. Hare does recognize at least one of these special uses. He state that principles are required 'because we do not in fact have complete g knowledge of the future, and because such knowledge as we do have involves principles'. 1 But he does not realize that these principles are a sub-class of universal 'ought'-judgements, playing a very different role from that which he assigns to the entire class. For principles employed as guides to future action must be available before they are used in an actual practical argument; they cannot be elicited from the argument, nor can the act of subscribing to them be simply the making of a decision falling within their scope.

11.3.2. P. H. Nowell-Smith

Nowell-Smith treats moral principles as a special class of what he terms 'pro-attitudes', pro-attitudes being very roughly equivalent to what I have called wants. 2 They are distinguished from other pro-attitudes in that they are 'relatively dominant . . . and concerned with an important matter', are acknowledged by the agent as 'those on which, in his more reflective moments, he honestly says that he would like to act', and are applicable universally. 3 Moral principles constitute one or more hierarchies, each terminating in a fundamental principle. Fundamental principles cannot be questioned, but no principle need always be accepted as fundamental and hence no principle is immune from questioning. 4 The fundamental principles a man adopts will, in the end, depend on his vision of the Good Life, his conception of the sort of world that he desires, so far as it rests with him, to ____________________ 1 The Language of Morals, p. 60. 2 Ethics, pp. 306-7. 3 Ibid., pp. 307-9. 4 Ibid., pp. 310-13. -170create. Indeed, his moral principles just are this conception . . . it is ultimately by reference to this conception that all his choices are made.' 1 Choosing where to go for dinner, choosing French rather than German as one's language option, deciding to pay a debt, deciding to drop a note to a sick friend--these have little to do, at any ordinary level of consideration, with the Good Life. Indeed, the Good Life is the wrong place to start in the practical sphere; if one must have it one way or the other, it is ultimately by reference to our choices that our conception of the Good Life is determined. Nowell-Smith talks as if moral principles were grounded ultimately in very general, high-order principles which were then interrelated into a conception of the Good Life. But in fact principles are usually established by generalizing from particular situations, and are criticized in terms of further situations--situations which logically they cover, but which prudentially or morally they do not fit. There is a significant comparison here between practical principles and scientific laws. Just as laws must fit the facts, must provide explanations of the various particular events which are observed to occur, so practical principles must fit reasons for acting, must--if our account of these reasons be correct--provide for the satisfaction of the various wants of different persons. Elegant as a hierarchy of moral principles may be, valuable as it may be in simplifying our deliberation, it must finally be tested in terms of its power to determine those particular actions which ensure that each person will attain the greatest satisfaction of his wants compatible with the similar satisfaction of each other person's wants.

11.3.3. Kurt Baier Baier rests his account of morality on the contention that 'our moral convictions are true if they can be seen to be required or

acceptable from the moral point of view'. says that

2

in explaining this, he

answers to practical questions can be arrived at by reference to a point of view, which may be defined by a principle. . . . To look at ____________________ 1 Ibid., pp. 313-14. 2 The Moral Point of View, p. 184. -171practical problems from that point of view is to be prepared to answer practical questions of the form 'What shall I do?' 'What should be done?' by reference to its defining principle. 1 If this defining principle be what I have termed the condition of practical inference, then Baier's contention is unexceptionable. But he contends that acting from the moral point of view is acting on the basis of a system of moral rules which are treated us principles. If one has adopted the moral point of view, then one acts on principle, and not merely on rules of thumb designed to promote one's aim. This involves conforming to the rules whether or not doing so favors one's own or anyone else's aim. 2 Now it is true that moral principles as such are independent of the aims of wants of any person. As we have seen, many such principles ate intended to rule out direct consideration of wants and aims. And it is true that moral action is based on considerations other than one's own aims. But why suppose that moral action must be action on moral principles? Baier is rightly opposed to the deontologists' claim 'that rightness is a simple property which we can "see" or "intuit" in ah act', and to the utilitarian view 'that rightness is . . . the tendency of an act to promote the greatest happiness of the greatest number'. 3 Rejecting these views, he compares a moral system to a legal system, and to a system of conventions and customs. Legal systems ate systems of principles called laws; systems of customs are systems of principles called customs. Both laws and customs must take the form of universal imperatives or universal practical judgements. Thus he thinks of morality us a comparable system, a system of universal practical judgements called moral rules or moral principles. But is this the only alternative to the positions Baier rejects? Baier also compares the moral point of view to the self-interested point of view, and he recognizes that the self-interested point of view is not constituted by a set of prudential principles. Just as an action is expedient if it is in accordance with the balance of selfinterested reasons, so we may say that an action is moral if it is in accordance with the balance of moral reasons. In this way, morality ____________________ 1 The Moral Point of View, p. 184. 2 Ibid., p. 191. 3 Ibid., p. 192. -172-

is viewed, not as a system of principles for deducing moral judgements, but as a procedure for establishing moral judgements in terms of the agent's situation, and his relationship with other agents. Note that Baier supposes that the interests, enjoyment, and desires of others provide reasons for acting. But he cannot treat these reasons as moral, because they are merely particular considerations, and not universal principles. Yet surely the acceptance of the wants of others as providing reasons for acting is of the essence of morality. Baier is precluded from giving an adequate account both of these reasons and of the relation between concern for others and morality just because he views morality as a system of principles. The final objection to Baier's approach has already been discussed in 7.2.1. Baier recognizes that principles, however characterized, do not in themselves provide reasons for acting; they require justification. If morality is a system of principles, then morality requires justification. Baier accepts this, and seeks to justify the moral point of view; we have shown that his argument fails, and must fail. Morality needs, and can need, no justification beyond itself; it is in terms of our conception of morality that we establish those procedures which do justify our moral principles. -173-

XII OBLIGATION IT is worth remarking that the concepts of 'duty' and 'obligation' and what is now called the 'moral' sense of 'ought' are survivals from a law conception of ethics. . . . None of these notions occur in Aristotle. The idea that actions which are necessary if one is to conform to justice and the other virtues are requirements of divine law was found among the Stoics, and became generally current through Christianity, whose ethical notions carne from the Torah. 1 This useful reminder from G. E. M. Anscombe will serve as a preface to our discussion of obligation and duty. Just as we have found confusion underlying discussion of the moral sense of 'ought', so we may expect to find confusion in many discussions of 'obligation' and 'duty'. in seeking to clarify the role of these important concepts, we may begin with the more general practical conception of being obliged.

12.1. The Uses of 'Oblige' The etymological history of 'oblige' leads us to 'ligare', 'bind'. Although no direct connexion need exist between the meaning of the root and the meaning of the derivative, there seems here no reason to doubt a close relationship. If one is obliged, one is bound. If I promise to meet you in my office at 2 p.m., then I am bound to be there--bound, not by physical ties, for I am able to be elsewhere, but morally, by my promise. If one is bound, one is bound by something. The possible bindings vary greatly; one may be bound by cords of ropes, by desires or cravings, by promises, by the historical situation, by the decrees of

the Deity--to mention but a few examples. Not all of these can plausibly be considered obliging ties; one may be obliged by a promise or a divine decree, but not by cords or ropes, and not (usually) ____________________ 1 Intention, p. 78 n. -174by one's desires or one's historical situation. That by which one is obliged is of central importance in a discussion of obligation; we shall term it the obliging factor. If one is bound, one may be bound to do something. Such 'binding' is, of course, at one remove from the physical process--bookbinding, for example--and its metaphorical derivatives ('Blest be the tie that binds/Our hearts in Christian love'). One may be bound by cords to a stake, but to be bound to an object is not to be bound to act. Only when one is bound to act, can one be obliged. Our hearts are not obliged in Christian love, nor was Saint Joan obliged to the stake. One may be obliged if one is bound to some person, but then one is obliged to perform some action, of which that person will be beneficiary. You invite me to dinner; I regard myself as bound to you for your hospitality--obliged to repay you in some way. However, one is not always obliged when bound to do something. To be obliged, one must be able to avoid the action to which one is bound. We may say that given the development of the automobile, interurban electric railways were bound to fail, but not that they were obliged to fail--their managers could not escape the effect of the automobile. Or we may say that a man is bound by his craving for drink to live out his days in misery, but not that he is obliged so to live, for he cannot decide to reform his ways (if he can, his claim to be bound by his craving for drink fails). On the other hand, we may say that a roofer is bound, or obliged, by bis contract to fix your roof to your satisfaction; he may fail to do so. But if the roofer does fail to fulfil his contract, he does not escape his obligation--he may be compelled to make good his failure. To say that obliging ties are avoidable is only to say that in themselves they do not necessitate the performance or an action. But they may be reinforced by further ties, consequent on the obligation, which bind (but do not oblige) to the performance of the action. Because the roofer is obliged by his contract, he may be sued for nonperformance; t]he possibility of such suit may bind him to perform, and thus to meet bis obligation. These further ties may make performance of the action to which one is obliged unavoidable in practice. If there is a budget leak, the Chancellor of the Exchequer is obliged to resign, and cannot avoid -175resigning. However, we can distinguish bis action in voluntarily placing his resignation in the hands of the Prime Minister, which is what, strictly speaking, he is obliged to do, from the manner in which he may be compelled to resign, should he fail to meet this obligation.

The avoidability of obliging ties is of especial importance in virtue of the close relationship between obligation and necessity. We say that an action which we are obliged to perform is one that we must perform, that it is necessary we perform. Were we, however, to mean that we cannot but perform it, that it is impossible for us not to perform it, then it could not be truly obliging. The chains of obligation cannot shackle our capacity to determine what to do--even though further chains which do shackle this capacity may wait in the wings. Since obligations are avoidable, it follows that, although we may be obliged to act through the use or threat of coercive force, what we are obliged to do cannot be what we are physically compelled to do. If I am carrying a large sum of money and am set upon by thieves, and forcibly deprived of the money, I should not say that I was obliged to give it up. But if my wife, accompanying me, is held at gun-point, so that I must choose between giving up the money and giving up her, then I may say that I was obliged to give up the money. My action was avoidable; I might have chosen to lose my wife. Thus one can be obliged only to those actions which are chosen, which are performed by the agent with full intent, but to the performance of' which he is bound. There may be the appearance of paradox in this conception--being bound yet free--but our discussion should show that it is only appearance.

12.1.1. The Context of Objectives A chess-player, working out the consequences of a superficially promising attack, realizes that, if he pursues it, he will be obliged to sacrifice his white bishop. The sacrifice may, in the context of his plan, be of no importance, but it is in itself to be avoided. If, however, the sacrifice will render the attack ineffective, then the player may regard himself as obliged to abandon the plan, despite its promise. -176Both occurrences of 'obliged' in the foregoing paragraph depend on the opposition of two sets of considerations about what to do. On the one hand, there are apparent advantages to the plan of attack; on the other, there are apparent advantages to retaining the white bishop. If one accepts the one set as sufficient grounds for action, one must then accept the disadvantages of neglecting the other set. To speak of being obliged is to recognize this necessity. If he is to pursue his attack, the chess-player is obliged to lose his bishop; if he is to save his bishop, he is obliged to abandon the attack. Suppose that in working out further consequences of the plan, the player determines that it will lead to the exchange of one of his pawns for opponent's queen. Although this might follow as inevitably from adoption of the plan as would loss of his white bishop, the player would certainly not consider himself obliged to make this trade. For it is prima facie advantageous; no factor opposing acceptance of the consequences of bis plan presents itself. A second example may afford further clarification of this use of 'oblige'. You have been invited to visit a friend in Cambridge, and are planning to motor, but a few days before your intended departure, your car breaks down, requiring complex and lengthy repairs.

You, who dislike railways, now consider that you shall be obliged to take the train. However, should train travel make you ill, you might well postpone your visit. Realizing that you would be obliged to take the train in order to visit your friend, and considering that this would make you ill, you decide that you are obliged to defer your visit to Cambridge, despite your desire to see your friend. These examples suggest that we speak of being obliged to perform an action if the action is undesirable in itself, but necessary to the attainment of some more desirable objective. If we consider the action apart from its context, we judge that we have good reason not to perform it, but we have stronger or better reason to pursue the objective to, which it is a necessary means. The action to which we are obliged is, then, one which we must perform, given all of our reasons for acting, and to which we ate bound, in despite of the reasons against it, by the reasons for the course of action which requires it. -177Note that we do not speak of being obliged to perform an action just because there are reasons against it, which are outweighed by reasons for it. If I am trying to decide whether or not to go to the cinema, weighing my desire to see Ingemar Bergman's latest achievement against my tiredness, I do not say, if I decide to go, that I am obliged to go despite my tiredness. For what I decide to do is what, on balance, I want, or have good reason, to do, considered in itself. I am obliged to perform an action only if on balance I do not want, or do not have good reason, to do it considered in itself, but only have reason to do it as a means to some other action or objective. Note also that we consider ourselves obliged only when we are reluctant to make the sacrifice entailed by performance of the undesirable action. Considered in itself, hurrying through dinner to go out in the evening is unpleasant, but I do not regard myself as obliged to hurry when an exciting evening at the theatre awaits, although I may if only a routine committee meeting looms ahead. Our account of being obliged corresponds in part with that of P. H. Nowell-Smith, who says, 'It is when, in order to do what we want, we have to do other things that we do not want to do for their own sake that we talk of being obliged.' But he continues-'Circumstances which oblige us are untoward and unusual obstacles; or, rather, though they may be quite usual, they are only thought of as "obliging" when contrasted with less obstacle-ridden courses which ate within the bounds of possibility.' 1 This contention fits situations such as that in our second example--taking the train to Cambridge is a less desirable way to travel there than motoring, but motoring, although usually possible, is ruled out in the particular situation. However, it does not fit other situations. If I have the toothache, I may well say, 'Damn, shall be obliged to go to the dentist', although going to the dentist is, for the person with toothache, the least 'obstacle-ridden course' possible. I consider myself obliged, not because I can envisage an easier way of dealing with toothache, but because I consider going to the dentist per se undesirable. No doubt when we must go out of our way to get what we want, we are particularly prone to grumble ____________________

1

Ethics, pp. 208-9. -178-

and to think of ourselves as obliged by the untoward circumstances. We have an especial dislike for the harder way to our goals. But it is our dislike of the way, whether occasioned by comparisons with easier ways or not, which grounds our use of 'oblige'.

12.1.2. The obliging Factor You invite me to dinner. I may then consider myself obliged, in virtue of your hospitality, to make some return. It is hardly possible to place this example within the category just considered. I am not obliged in virtue of some activity which I am pursuing, but by your action in inviting me to dinner--by, that is, an occurrence which affects the situation in which I must act. Moreover, I am not obliged to do something which, in itself, I need not want to do. Although I may not want to make some return, I may equally take great pleasure in fulfilling my social obligations. What is the force of 'oblige'? You invite me to dinner. I consider that your invitation brings into operation a set of reasons for acting sufficient to ground the making of some return, such as inviting you to dinner. I may deliberate about what return to make, and when to make it, but not, save in exceptional circumstances, whether to make a return. Your hospitality settles the question of what I ought to do. To say that your invitation brings into operation a set of reasons sufficient to ground some action is to say that it provides reasons for acting which take precedence over whatever other reasons may be relevant to what I may do, necessarily outweighing them. I should disregard considerations which might otherwise affect my practical judgements, and arrange my activities so that I am able to return your hospitality. What I may want to achieve, or what others may want, does not bear on what I should do. If there were no factors which might oppose the reasons for acting dependent on your invitation, there would be no occasion to speak of being obliged. Such factors need not be present--we may enjoy returning others' hospitality. But to talk of being obliged is to imply that there are likely to be opposed considerations, which must be disregarded; we do not consider ourselves obliged to do that which we have every reason to do. -179Promises constitute a very important class of performances which we consider obliging. Our reasons for supposing that promises oblige are similar to our reasons for accepting the principle of promise-keeping (cf. 11.2.3). Indeed, a practical principle which is intended to rule out certain considerations from deliberation is often dependent upon a class of occurrences which provide sufficient reasons for acting.Thus we can argue that, if the giving of a promise is to assure the promisee, the promiser must consider that it provides a sufficient reason for keeping the promise. But frequently there are other circumstances which, taken in themselves, would lead him to judge that he ought not to perform the action promised. He must therefore consider his promise obliging to the performance of the action,

if it is to serve its purpose.The relationship between the principle of promise-keeping and the obligation to keep a promise depends upon the presence of some factor--in this case, the promise--by which one is obliged. In the absence of such a factor, a principle will not be paralleled by an obligation. An example may clarify this important limitation on our use of 'oblige'.'One ought not to lie' would be widely accepted as a practical principle, intended not only to generalize practical experience but to rule out counter-considerations from deliberation. If we assume it to be valid, we must agree that, in a situation in which one might make a deliberately false statement, one has sufficient reason not to do so, in despite of reasons for making it. But is one obliged not to lie?Consider these utterances: 1. 'You shouldn't say that; it's a lie.' 2. 'You're obliged not to say that; it's a lie.' 3. 'You're obliged not to do that; you promised not to.' Both (i) and (iii) are quite natural ways of expressing an adverse judgement on someone's prospective or present conduct. If it is a lie, then you should not say it; if you promise not to, then you are obliged not to do it. But (ii) is odd; its meaning is plain but it is not the appropriate way of expressing adverse judgement when -180someone is telling, or about to tell, an untruth. And it is odd because there is no action or event to appeal to in order to justify the claim that the person is obliged; there is nothing by which he is obliged But consider now this further utterance: 1. You're obliged not to say that; it's a lie and you swore to tell the truth.' 2. is quite appropriate; if you swore not to lie, then you are obliged not to. Your swearing is the performance by which you are obliged. A person is obliged, in the manner now under discussion, if he has a reason, sufficient for acting in despite of possible contrary considerations, provided by some circumstance--an action or event affecting him in some way. Very often the circumstance is an action performed by him, but this need not be the case. The circumstance provides the obliging factor. An obliging factor must bring into operation reasons sufficient for performing some action. Prior to its occurrence, the agent's reasons for acting do not suffice to ground performance of this action in despite of possible counter-considerations; after its occurrence, they do suffice. Thus the obliging factor must alter the situation in which the agent acts, and alter it in a decisive way. The sufficiency of the reasons brought into operation by the obliging factor must be established without reference to the particular situation. Many actions and events may provide reasons for acting which, in an actual situation, outweigh other factors, and thus prove sufficient on balance. But they do not enable us to rule out consideration of these other factors--they do not provide us with reasons for acting in despite of possible contrary factors. And thus they do not oblige us to act. A political example may clarify this point. Middling and Leftman are Labour members of Parliament, confronted with the conflict between the vote of the Scarborough conference on defence policy, and the views of their leader. Leftman considers that the party conference must have the final say on policy, and that defiance of its decision is sufficient reason for removing the parliamentary

leader. He therefore considers himself obliged to vote against the leader--for him, no doubts a welcome obligation. Middling -181recognizes both the right of the conference to decide policy, and the right of the leader to lead. He considers the leader's defiance, the nature and importance of the issue, the alternative leader, and other relevant factors, and finally concludes that the act of defiance outweighs the considerations in favour of retaining the leader, so that he should vote against him. For Leftman the leader's defiance is an obliging factor; for Middling it is not, although in the situation it proves to provide the strongest reason for acting. The obliging factor, in providing a sufficient reason for acting, justifies a practical judgement. What I am obliged to do, I ought to do. The judgement may be capable of justification without reference to the obliging Factor. I am obliged to attend a meeting because I promised to do so, but it may be that, as a member, I ought to attend the meeting in any case. However, the obliging factor must give new force to the judgement in that without it the judgement would rest, not on an appeal to a singie, decisive consideration, but only on the balance of reasons for acting in the situation. And in many cases the judgement depends entirely on the obliging factor. I may have no reason to entertain you to dinner other than that provided by your hospitality, which obliges me; no reason to meet you other than that provided by my promise, which obliges me; no reason to pay you money other than that provided by my borrowing from you, which obliges me. The occurrence of an obliging factor may be a misfortune. I promise you a job, although I am over-staffed, losing business, and consider you unqualified. It is quite possible that I ought not to have promised to employ you, in these circumstances. I am obliged to employ you, but by something which I ought not to have done, and hence am obliged to do something which, apart from the obligation, I ought not to do. We must, however, guard against the supposition that an obliging factor obliges absolutely to the performance of some action. Rather, we must recognize that, just as the principle of promisekeeping is defeasible, so the obligation to keep a promise is defeasible. An obliging factor provides only a generally sufficient reason for acting. I have promised to meet you, and hence am obliged to do so; -182I am hastening along the river-bank to our rendezvous but here, as usual, is the drowning man, whom I ought to rescue (since I can swim). To do so, I am obliged to disregard my obligation to you. The conditions under which an obligation may be defeasible are, however, limited in one very important respect. If I am obliged to perform some action, then no further question about the performance of the action, considered in itself and as described, may properly arise. Your invitation obliges me to make some return; no other factor can lead me to conclude that I ought not to make some return, ,considering this just in itself. Only if I were to judge that your invitation did not really oblige me (because, say, you

invited me, not to be hospitable, but to make some use of me) could I judge that I ought not to make a return. However, if fulfilment of the obligation is incompatible with something else which I ought, or am obliged, to do, then I may be entitled, or even obliged, to disregard the obligation. Were I unexpectedly off,red a position abroad, requiring me to take up duties at once, I should not insist on postponing my departure until I had met all of my outstanding social obligations. Although I should be willing to return your hospitality, should future circumstances permit, yet my obligation to you might remain permanently undischarged. Note that our discussion in this section has been entirely hypothetical. We are not concerned to show that there are obliging factors, or that, if there are, any particular types of action or event comprise such factors. We have considered examples of factors which may be supposed to oblige, but we are not committed to the correctness of the suppositions. All that we are committed to is the claim that, if there is a factor which brings into operation a set of reasons sufficient to ground some action in despite of possible contrary considerations, then this factor obliges to the performance of that action.

12.2. Obligation and Morality We often speak of being obliged when we should not speak of having, or bring under, an obligation. You may be obliged to take the train to Cambridge, but clearly you have no obligation to take -183the train. A chess-player may be obliged to sacrifice his bishop, but he is under no obligation to sacrifice it. If a person must perform some undesirable action in order to realize some more desirable objective, we speak of his being obliged, but not of his having an obligation. On the other hand, I have an obligation to repay your hospitality, to meet you in accordance with my promise, to repay the money you lent me. Obliging factors very often, if not always, give rise to obligations. An obligation is characteristically owed to someone. To have an obligation is to be obliged to some person or persons. If I make a promise, I put myself under obligation to the person to whom I make the promise. If I take an oath, I put myself under obligation to God. If I receive a kindness, I am put under obligation to the person who confers it. The person to whom one is obliged will in most cases be the beneficiary of the action to which one is obliged. But this is not always the case. If I promise my dying brother that I will care for his wife and children, I am obliged to him, but the principal beneficiary will be his family. But how is one obliged to a person? To be obliged by some action or event is to be provided, by that action or event, with sufficient reason for some further action. This reason may concern the wants and interests of some person, but it does not thereby

oblige me to that person. My brother's family's interests are furthered by my obligation to care for them, but I am not obliged to them. If one is obliged to some person, the obliging factor usually relates one directly to that person. I make a promise to you, contract a debt with you, receive a kindness from you; I am under obligation to you. Your wants and interests are affected by the obliging factor, so that they provide at least some of the reasons which bind me to the required action. But why am I bound to you? Part of the answer lies in the conception that an obligation is something owed. If I am under obligation to you, I owe you performance of some action; you may claim its performance as your due. Should I default, you are entitled to some compensation. -184Although you may not be entitled to compel me, by every means in your power, either to fulfil my obligation or to make good, you are entitled, and have sufficient reason, to take some action to ensure your reasonable satisfaction in the matter. Of course, you may not be in a posit/on to take any action; my dying brother can do nothing if I fail to fulfil my promise to care for his wife and children after his death. But the particular circumstances under which certain obligations are assumed do not affect the general rule. The obliging factor does not only provide me with sufficient reason to perform some action; it also provides you with sufficient reason to ensure either that the action is performed or that you are compensated for non-performance. Furthermore, an obligation is, in general, something from which one may be released. To release someone from obligation is to cancel the effect of the obliging factor, to suspend the reasons which it brings into operation. If I borrow money from you, and then become ill and unable to work, while you come into a modest fortune, you may cancel my loan, releasing me from my obligation to repay you. Note that I may then consider myself obliged to you in virtue of your cancellation of my debt, but I am now obliged, not by my borrowing money from you, but by your releasing me from repayment. Release from obligation may itself be an obliging factor. Thus, if I am obliged to someone, the obliging factor relates that person to me in two ways. First, it provides him with sufficient reason to exact performance of the action from me. Secondly, it entitles him to release me from the necessity of performing the action, should he choose to do so. An obligation, then, characteristically rests on an obliging factor which relates obligee to some person--some other person--in these ways. It is impossible to have an obligation to oneself. I cannot (literally) owe myself anything; I cannot claim performance of some action from myself as my due. (Of course we say, 'You owe yourself a real holiday'--now is the time to think of yourself and what you deserve. But this is not treated as an obligation.) Nor can I release myself from the effect of an obliging factor--I may have promised myself a holiday last summer, but if I did not take it I should say neither that I broke my promise nor that I released myself from it. -185-

We might ask whether all obliging factors must put one under obligation to some person, and, if not, whether we may speak of being under obligation but not to any person. But these questions of linguistic detail lack definite, hard-and-fast answers. Typically, obliging factors do put us under obligation to someone, and typically, obligations are owed to someone. But we tend to overwork the word, making it do duty whenever an action is morally justified--or is the only action morally justified--whether or not it is owing to any person. An admirable commentary on this misuse of 'obligation', save for its confusion of 'obligation' with 'duty', is expressed by one of Jules Feiffer's characters: All my life people been telling me I have a moral obligation. Before the war I had a moral obligation to fight Fascism. During the war I owed it to my country to join the army. After the war it was my duty to work for peace, integration, decent housing and better television programs. So i can't be for something because it's just right anymore. I got to be for it because I'd owe somebody if I wasn't. I feel as if I'm living in a moral debtors' prison. 1

12.2.1. Thomas Hobbes on Obligation The account of obligation which I am presenting owes much to the thought of Thomas Hobbes. Hobbes is often supposed to have failed in his attempt to formulate a theory of obligation. Failure is the common lot of philosophers, and no doubt Hobbes does fail; however, his theory is much the best to be found in philosophical literature. I want to outline what I believe to be its main features here; I shall defend my interpretation elsewhere. 2 Hobbes supposes that a man is naturally at liberty to do whatever he chooses to do. This liberty he terms the right of nature. It is, of course, compatible with the existence of reasons for acting-if there were no reasons, there would be no occasion to speak of a liberty to act. The primary reason for acting, which occasions the right of nature, is the desire for self-preservation. But all reasons are entirely prudential--and this will prove the weakness of the theory. If each man exercises his absolute liberty, his right to all things, ____________________ 1 Feiffer, The Observer, London, Sunday, 18 February 1962, p. 15. 2 I shall not attempt to document in detail my account of Hobbes's argument. My principal source is, of course, Leviathan. -186then all will find themselves in a state of war, the war of all against all, which prevents each man from attaining the security and wellbeing which he desires, ensuring rather a quick and violent death. Thus each man, in so far as he is rational, realizes that he 'ought to endeavour peace', and, since peace is prevented by unlimited exercise of the right of nature, that he ought to 'be willing, when others are so too, as far-forth, as for peace and defence of himself he shall think it necessary, to lay down this right to all things'. 1 To lay down a right, to divest oneself of liberty, is to take on an obligation. 'And when a man hath abandoned or granted away his right; then he is said to be OBLIGED or BOUND, not to hinder those, to whom such right is granted or abandoned, from the benefit of

it.' 2 In laying down one's right, one ceases to be at liberty to decide what to do, to deliberate about what to do in terms of the various considerations which provide reasons for acting in the particular situation, and instead one binds oneself to act, or not to act, in some specified way. Thus the act of laying down a right constitutes what I have termed an obliging factor, providing sufficient reason for staying within the confines it imposes. Hobbes's argument to this point is an entirely adequate account of one way (although not, as he believes, the only way) in which we may come to be under obligation. We bind ourselves in circumstances in which initially we are free to do as we please, and we bind ourselves because it is to our advantage to do so. Many of the actions which oblige us are undertaken for purely prudential reasons. I borrow money because I need it. I join the North Oxford Association of Birdwatchers and Trainspotters, obliging myself to accept the duties of membership, because I enjoy spotting engines. But we must ask whether the prudential reason for undertaking the obligation suffices to ground performance of the action to which one obliges oneself. If it does, then there are a large class of obligations concerned with the wants and interests of others in a purely derivative manner. And since these obligations appear to have ____________________ 1 Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan or the Matter, Forme and Power of a Commonwealth Ecclesiasticall and Civil, edited by Michael Oakeshott, Basil Blackwell, Oxford, 1955, p. 85. 2 Ibid., p. 86. -187moral force, at least one important part of morality is based on considerations of prudence--despite our criticism of Baier. Returning to Hobbes, we must consider how the action of laying down a right does provide one with sufficient reason for acting, in despite of other circumstances. How, that is, can one be sure that the action really achieves its intended result--to oblige the agent? I can say, 'I lay down my right to do x', but I oblige myself thereby only if my so saying provides a sufficient reason for my not doing x. Hobbes requires an argument comparable to that, mentioned in 11.2.3, which would show the validity of the principle of promisekeeping. He must show that one has good reason to regard the laying down of right as providing sufficient reason for the restriction on one's actions which it purports to impose. He attempts to provide this argument by showing that it is rational to keep one's covenants--covenant, the mutual transfer of right, being the principal method whereby one obliges oneself. The argument falls into two parts. On the one hand, he contends that, unless men perform their covenants, 'covenants are in vain, and but empty words; and the right of all men to all things remaining, we are still in the condition of war'. 1 That is, unless the covenant provides a sufficient reason for acting, it is in vain--not really a covenant or transfer of right. This is merely a logical point; it shows that covenants must oblige if they are to serve their purpose, but not that they do oblige.

The other part of Hobbes's argument is most clearly set out in De Cire: 'to convey certain rights. . .is so far forth only conducible to peace, as we shall perform ourselves what we contract with others shall be done or omitted. . . to stand to our covenants, or to keep faith, is a thing necessary for the obtaining of peace.' 2 Hobbes here repeats the prudential reason for the making of covenants; unless a man really renounces some part of his natural right, and hence regards his ostensible renunciation as an obliging factor, he does not attain his end--peace, security, and well-being. Thus his end provides him with reason to accept the making of a covenant ____________________ 1 Leviathan, p. 93. 2 Thomas Hobbes, Philosophical Rudiments concerning Government and Society, The English Works, vol, ii, edited by Sir William Molesworth, Bohn, London, 1839-45, pp. 29-30. -188as an obliging factor. One has an obligation to the person with whom one has covenanted; this obligation rests on the act of covenanting, which must be considered as providing a sufficient reason for acting if one is to attain security. Hobbes recognizes, however, that one's interests are not always served by keeping one's covenants. When the occasion to perform arises, one's interests--even taking into account the supposedly obliging factor--may not be served by performing. Since one is moved to act only by one's own interests, it follows that one cannot consider that the making of a covenant provides a fully sufficient reason for keeping it. At best, it may provide a reason sufficient for the most part. And this, Hobbes realizes, is not enough--for, if non-performance of covenant can reasonably be suspected, the covenant is void. A void covenant does not succeed in its intention --it transfers no rights, creates no obligations. Hobbes deals with this problem by cutting the Gordian knot. He states that 'covenants, without the sword, are but words, and of no strength to secure a man at all'. 1 He must provide a sword-a coercive power able to ensure that a man always finds it in his interest to keep his covenants. This coercive power is the sovereign. The effect of the sovereign is to by-pass the act of covenanting as an obliging factor, and to ensure that each person is directly obliged to fulfil his covenants in his own interests. Each person is obliged, then, not by his Covenanting, but in order to preserve himself. But no obligation is created in this way; the man who is obliged by the coercive power of the sovereign to keep his covenants need not be supposed to give up any part of his liberty. He may be quite free to determine whether or not to perform the action he has 'covenanted' to perform, but, if the sovereign's power is effective, and if the man is rational, he will decide to perform the action. Hobbes fails to see that coercion effectively undercuts obligation in his political theory. Is it possible to make obligation effective under the conditions Hobbes imposes? Given that only prudential reasons for acting are operative, can we oblige ourselves by covenant? The making of a covenant does not provide a fully sufficient ____________________

1

Leviathan, p. 109. -189-

reason for keeping it. But may it not suffice for the reason to be generally sufficient? Obligations are defeasible; may not the absence of a sufficient reason be the ground of defeasibility? In 12.1.2 I argued that if one is obliged to perform some action, no further question about the performance of the action as such may properly arise. Defeasibility can enter only in so far as the action is considered under some other description, applicable in a particular case but not foreseen, or in so far as the action is considered in an unforeseen relationship with other actions. But in the case we are now considering, one may lack sufficient reason to fulfil one's covenant just because it is one's covenant. The advantage that one hopes to gain may depend directly on breaking one's covenant, and not on some factor related only accidentally to this. Defeasibility will not cover this possibility. If I can have sufficient reason to violate an obligation just because it is an obligation, then the obligation does not provide sufficient reason for acting to fulfil it, and hence cannot be valid as an obligation. A covenant can be effective only if neither party has reason to suspect non-performance on the part of the other. If each party realizes that the other may find it in his interest to violate the covenant, then it can be effective only if both parties are prepared to act against interest. But, if only interested reasons for acting are allowed, this is to say that both parties must be prepared to act against reason. As I maintained in 7.2.1, one cannot have reason to embark on a course of action whose effectiveness depends on one's readiness to carry it through against reason. One cannot, then, have good reason to make an effective covenant--and hence to oblige oneself. Obligation cannot be effective under the conditions imposed by Hobbes. Furthermore, the objections urged against his theory serve to defeat any attempt to show that a prudential reason for undertaking an obligation suffices to ground performance of the action to which one obliges oneself. Prudential considerations may lead us to undertake obligations, as Hobbes clearly sees, but these obligations must provide independent, moral reasons for acting in order to oblige. In obliging oneself, one may introduce moral considerations not previously relevant to one's actions, and one may -190introduce them on prudential grounds. But the practical force of these considerations cannot depend on the grounds for introdudng them.

12.2.2. Conclusion In our argument, we have steered between those who suppose all moral judgements to be judgements of obligation, and those who in effect deny the possibility of judgements of obligation. The first position is seriously misleading because it over-emphasizes the role of conflict in morality, and because it leads to an absolute or authoritarian morality.

A man considers himself obliged to perform an action when he has, or is likely to have, reasons not to perform it. If moral judgements are equated with judgements of obligation, then moral reasons for acting are presented as opposed to other reasons--to prudential reasons. A morality of obligation emphasizes the moral/ prudential conflict, suggesting that moral considerations must be opposed to the wants and desires of the individual. This opposition does sometimes arise, but it is by no means universal; one's wants may accord with moral considerations--or one may want to act in accordance with them. Secondly, if all moral judgements are judgements of obligation, all moral reasons for acting must be prima facie sufficient reasons, ruling out consideration of otherwise relevant factors. But, since their sufficiency cannot be established in terms of non-sufficient moral reasons--since their sufficiency cannot be the conclusion of an argument based on prior considerations--it must be inherent in the reasons themselves. Moral reasons for acting are, then, inherently superior to others. They are removed from the sphere of deliberation, imposed as over-riding considerations of incomparable importance. So to treat them is to regard them as absolute, as possessed of a natural authority which cannot be justified, yet cannot properly be challenged. But to regard morality as concerned with authoritative grounds of action is to deny the true autonomy of the moral agent. And this is ultimately to subvert morality, for in denying the autonomy of the agent, the entire basis of moral action is destroyed. The agent, -191unable to understand the obligations laid upon him, casts off his bonds, but in so far as he has come to accept the status they implied, he becomes purely amoral. When a bondage imposed in the name of morality replaces true moral liberty, it is in turn replaced by a licence accepted in the name of liberty. The reduction of morality to obligation is perhaps more dangerous than the elimination of obligation, But this position, like its counterpart, the elimination of principles, leads to the conclusion that moral judgements are valid only if correctly derived from an estimation of the particular reasons for acting in a particular situation. And this subverts such procedures as promising, contracting, taking oaths; it complicates the distinction between equitability and expediency. Morality without obligation remains a highly flexible and sophisticated practical instrument, but it lacks a definiteness and a toughness--a direct resistance to prudential rationallzation which, again, can replace moral liberty by licence. -192-

XIII DUTY THE concept of duty, like that of obligation, has suffered from the mistaken attentions of moral philosophers. Historically, misunderstanding would seem to date from the secularization of Christian ethics. The perfectly clear use of 'duty' in relating man to God, the use exemplified in such phrases as 'the whole duty of man', has been carried into a non-theistic framework, in which the duties remain,

but the relation to God disappears. Kant retains the moral law, but discards the moral lawmaker--or rather, by making each individual a moral lawmaker, destroys the rationale of the conception. Recent deontologists have divorced duty from law, giving it quasi-objective status as a characteristic of certain situations or states of affairs. But in this way they have opened themselves to the logical positivist dismissal of ethical discourse as meaningless. Our concern must be to untangle 'duty' from these misuses.

13.1. The Use of 'Duty' Such careful inquirers into the use of moral terms as P. H. Nowell-Smith have maintained that 'the connexion between duties and the demands of others comes out clearly in the fact that we use the word "obligation" as a synonym for "duty"'. I Less careful inquirers have extended this synonymy to include 'what I ought to do'. To break down the effect that these authorities have had, let us consider a few everyday examples in which these expressions are not synonymous. Suppose a mother is chastising her child for hitting its brother. She might well say, 'You shouldn't hit your brother, or 'You oughtn't to hit your brother', or 'It's wrong to hit your brother', or 'It's very naughty to hit your brother'. But she would not say, ____________________ I Ethics, p. 200. -193'You are obliged not to hit your brother', or 'You have an obligation not to hit your brother', or 'It is your duty not to hit your brother'. Neither locutions involving 'obligation' nor those involving 'duty' are in any way appropriate here. Yet there is no doubt that the mother's chastisement is moral. Perhaps it may be suggested that 'duty' and 'obligation' are too serious, too weighty terms to use about an unimportant matter. Consider, then, how we may judge a very grave set of actions. We may say, ' Adolf Eichmann ought not to have ordered the execution of Jews', or 'It was wrong of Eichmann to order the execution of Jews', or 'It was morally intolerable for Eichmann to order the execution of Jews'. But we should not say, ' Eichmann had an obligation not to order the execution of Jews', or 'It was Eichmann's duty not to order the execution of Jews'. Eichmann's defence, if he had one, was in terms of his obligations and/or duties; we wish to deny that he could have had a moral duty or obligation to perform such atrocities, but not to show that he had a duty or obligation to refrain. The appropriate condemnation, all too weak as it must be in this case, is 'wrong'. It is not the seriousness or significance of the moral issues involved that underlies our use of 'duty', or, for that matter, of 'obligation'. We do not take the moral degradation of the Nazis lightly because we use other words. Indeed, it might be argued that the primary moral offence is cruelty, the infliction of pain or suffering on other persons, and cruel behaviour is not contrary to what we ordinarily consider our obligations and duties. A sadist may provide well for his wife and children, be a good worker, a loyal and active citizen, perform conscientiously the tasks he under-

takes, and so forth--but the tasks he undertakes may be the torturing of prisoners. Our first two examples have distinguished 'duty' and 'obligation' from 'ought' and 'right' (or 'wrong'). This is not really a difficult task--the puzzle is to understand how synonymy can be supposed. But the equation of 'duty' with 'obligation' is much more plausible. Reflection may, however, lead us to reject it. The primary duty of a recording secretary is to keep minutes. Is the primary obligation of the secretary to keep minutes? Surely not. -194Nevertheless, if Jones is a recording secretary, we may say 'Jones is obliged to keep minutes'. But this statement is derived from the statement of duty; if asked why Jones is obliged to keep minutes, we might answer, 'Well, he undertook to be secretary, and it is the duty of the secretary to keep minutes.' That this is an answer shows that 'duty' and 'oblige' are not equivalent; if they were, we should merely have repeated ourselves. This example concerns an essentially non-moral situation. But there is no reason to suppose that 'duty' and 'obligation' acquire new patterns of behaviour in moral contexts. You walked along the river-bank, noticed the drowning man who permanently inhabits philosophical rivers, and passed by. Later I say, 'It was your duty to attempt to rescue him.' But would I say, 'You had (were under) an obligation to try to rescue him'? This is a clear case of violation of duty, but there is no factor by which you are bound (unless you had, say, vowed to try to rescue drowning men). We use 'duty' in contexts in which we should not happily substitute 'obligation'. Equally, we use 'obligation' in contexts in which we should not substitute 'duty'. If I promise to meet you in my office at 2 p.m., then I am obliged to be there at that time, but it is not my duty to be there. If I am not there, I fail to meet one of my obligations, but not to discharge any of my particular duties. We do, of course, speak of the duty of promise-keeping. This way of speaking may be rooted in the assumption of a religious ethic, but it is ordinarily acceptable, and hence not to be rejected cavalierly. But there is a difference between supposing that promisekeeping is a duty, and supposing that keeping this particular promise is a duty. I defend the judgement that I ought to keep my promise to you by showing that I have obliged myself to you by promising. Having an obligation to keep each particular promise that I make, I come to think of the general practice of promisekeeping as a duty. But, it may be objected, although these examples do suggest that 'obligation' is more appropriate to some contexts, 'duty' to others, yet there is no firm distinction between them. And I do not wish to deny the force of this objection. The distinction between the two is partially submerged, perhaps because of the secularization of -195ethics (not in itself to be deplored) and the oversimplifications of moral philosophers and moralists. But the cause of its submergence is not our concern--the distinction is useful, and hence one that invites reinstatement in usage, through terminological legislation.

13.1.1. Duties and Roles Consider some statements ascribing duties to persons: 'It is the duty of the recording secretary to keep minutes.' 'It is the duty of a judge to be impartial between litigants.' 'It is the duty of a father to provide for the well-being of his children.' 'It is the duty of a citizen to defend his country.' 'It is the duty of all of God's creatures to worship their Maker.' Each of these statements specifies a duty, and a class of persons to whom the duty pertains. If Jones is a member of the class of fathers, then the duty of providing for the well-being of his children pertains to him. The class of persons specified is not related accidentally to the duty. Rather, the duty applies to members of the class in virtue of their membership. It is because Jones is a father, that it is his duty to provide for his children. What is the nature of the connexion between the duty and membership in the specified class? We cannot say that the statement of duty makes explicit part of what is involved in belonging to the specified class. One can be a secretary without keeping minutes (although one may not long remain a secretary). One can be a judge without displaying impartiality; one can be, and remain, a father, without providing for one's children. Keeping minutes is essential, not to being a secretary, but to bring a proper secretary. Providing for the well-being of one's children is essential to being a good father. Defending one's country is essential to being a loyal citizen. The statement of duty makes explicit part of what should be involved in belonging to the specified class. The actions that it is one's duty to perform are actions which a member of the class, as such, ought to perform. A recording secretary ought to keep -196minutes; a father ought to provide for his children; God's creatures ought to worship their Maker. More generally, a statement of duty specifies actions which are necessary to the proper fulfilment of a role. An action is a duty, or required by duty, for an agent, if the action is necessary to the proper fulfilment of some role appropriately assigned to the agent. To clarify this thesis, the vague concept of role must be made somewhat clearer and more precise. We may note first that the concept must be practical in character. To fulfil a role one must perform certain actions in certain situations or under certain conditions. These last qualifying phrases are needed to distinguish playing a role from merely performing the actions involved in

playing a role. Not everyone who takes minutes at a meeting thereby fills the role of secretary, although he may perform the actions appropriate to a secretary. A role must be practical, but not every specifiable set of actions, nor every specifiable set limited by reference to situations and conditions, constitutes a role. Rather, the framework within which an agent fills a role must relate his activities to the concerns of some other person or persons, individual or corporate. The practical character of a role must be expressed within a social setting. The role of father has already been mentioned. The primary human relationship involved in fatherhood is purely biological, but, in most human societies, the relation of a father to his children is not exhausted by the biological facts. The father is held responsible for the well-being and upbringing of his children; certain activities are assigned to him in virtue of his (biological) fatherhood which constitute the duties of his position. These activities relate to his children; it is their interest, and the more general interest of society expressed through them, which the father satisfies in performing his duties. That the role of father is not a constant among all peoples is of no importance to our argument. That different tasks should be assigned persons on the same grounds but in differing social and environmental circumstances is only to be expected. The role of secretary has also been mentioned. The duties of a secretary relate, not to particular individuals, but to an association -197or an organization--a particular corporate person. A corporate person exists ideally as a vehicle for assuring certain objectives of one or more individuals. It acts through certain individuals, who may be termed functionaries--a secretary is one of these. Without functionaries, a corporate person would be unable to translate its reasons for acting into actual practice. What a functionary must do, as the agent of his association, comprise his duties. The social setting of the functionary is, then, not so much interpersonal as intra-personal; it is not the relation of the functionary to someone else, but to 'someone' of whom he is part, that determines his duties. But, of course, this 'someone', this artificial person, has its raison d'être only in the concerns of natural persons. The duties of a citizen are the duties of a functionary--in this case a functionary of that embracing association, the state. To say this is not to say that a citizen is simply the functionary of his state. Although this may be the totalitarian ideal, the liberal sees the state as more properly the instrument of the citizen. Nevertheless, the state, as an agent, requires individuals to perform those actions which it wills, given its basis for acting. In so far as this task devolves upon all of the persons who make up the state, rather than on certain individuals among them, it provides the duties of the citizen. The conception of role may now be clearer, but it is by no means precise. This imprecision is unavoidable, corresponding to a genuine uncertainty about the extent of our duties. What roles do we fill, or, which of our activities are tied to our relationships with others in such a way that they become duties? In a society in which emphasis on the individual is a matter for commonplace remark, the

delimitation of those spheres of action which are properly of social or inter-personal concern is understandably controversial To what extent do our economic relationships give rise to duties? Questions about particular duties are not for the philosopher to answer. But their methodological aspect is his concern. On what grounds are activities to be assigned to roles as duties? How is it possible to determine the duties of a father, a secretary, a citizen? The duties of many roles are formally specified. The constitution of an association frequently contains a section headed 'Duties of Officers'. The association, as an agent, must be possessed of means -198of acting, and these means demand functionaries, who maintain the continued existence of the association, and promote its well-being as defined by its purposes and objectives. Thus it is not surprising that their duties should be determined by the set of rules which establishes the character and structure of the association as a whole. But from the judgement that it is one's duty, as holder of a certain position, to perform certain actions, it does not follow that one ought to perform those actions. A necessary condition of the validity of this inference is that one hold the position rightly. The force of 'rightly' demands careful attention; it is not a synonym for 'ought' in this context. We may, for example, suppose that Mr. Macmillan ought not to be Prime Minister, because we consider him inept, but we would not say that he was not rightly Prime Minister. If he is inept, he performs those actions which it is the duty of the Prime Minister to perform in an unsatisfactory manner, but, of course, these are the actions he ought to perform. However, suppose we were to consider Mr. Macmillan an unconstitutional Prime Minister, a usurper in the office. Here we should suppose that he was not rightly Prime Minister, that he ought to relinquish his improper hold on the position. We should not say either that he ought or ought not to perform those actions which it is the duty of the Prime Minister to perform; either judgement would imply that he was tightly Prime Minister. If one holds a position rightly, one holds it in accordance with the provisions established for holding it. But this, although necessary, is not sufficient to show that one ought to perform those actions which it is the duty of the holder to perform. For the position itself may not be rightly established. Once again, the force of 'rightly' is not equivalent to that of 'ought'. A position may not be specified as it ought to be; the role of the functionary of an organization may not be ideally suited to the character and purpose of the organization. There may then be good reason to alter the duties assigned to a role, but it is the actual assignation which determines the duties of the holder. But consider the position of Führer. We may agree that Hitler held this position in accordance with the provisions he laid down -199-

for holding it, and that the duties Hitler specified for it were suited to the character and purpose of the Third Reich. But we may not agree that Hitler should have performed these duties, or that they were the duties of Hitler or any other person, on the ground that the position of Führer, and indeed the Third Reich, ought never to have existed, so that no one, and least of all Hitler, ought to have been Führer. Although many roles are formally specified, many are not. It would seem that the duties inherent in non-formal roles are to be determined by judging what one ought to do, given only that one meets the descriptive conditions specified in the role, in the circumstances under which the role is played. Particular considerations about the role-holder, or about other persons concerned, are quite irrelevant in determining his duties. Thus, from an account of what is necessary if children are to survive and mature, taken with an account of the physical and social environment, some conclusions about what parents ought to do for their children may follow, and these will state the duties of parents. The question whether one ought to perform the duties inherent in the non-formal roles one fills would seem not to arise. For filling such a role is taken simply to mean meeting the descriptive conditions implicit in it; the duties are what anyone meeting those conditions ought to do. But this argument over-simplifies. Duties are never without their conventional aspect. Although not all roles are formally specified, to speak of certain actions as duties is to imply that there is a recognized relationship between the applicability of certain descriptive conditions and the consequent appropriateness of certain courses of action. If I reason from the biological fact of my fatherhood to certain consequent practical judgements, I suppose that these specify duties only if I think them, not only appropriate to all fathers, but as judgements whose appropriateness ought to be generally recognized. Now it is quite possible that what are generally recognized as duties may in fact not be justified by the descriptive aspects of the roles to which they belong. A role is constituted by a connexion between descriptive conditions and practical judgements; a supposed connexion may be ill-founded. A believer in free love may be -200married, but not consider that the role conventionally assigned to married persons is a reasonable one, and hence not consider that he ought to respect the conventional duty of marital fidelity. A role is constituted by the fact that a person, in virtue of satisfying a certain descriptive condition, has sufficient reasons, which are, or should be, generally recognized as applying to all such persons, to engage in certain activities. The duties involved in a role must be matters of some significance, and, indeed, the role itself must embody personal relationships of some importance. Not every action which a father, or a friend, a secretary, or a judge, ought as such to perform, is of sufficient note to warrant the appellation 'duty'.

13.1.2. Duties and Obligations

Both duties and obligations are determined by factors which determine generally sufficient reasons for acting. But the factors are of quite different types: a duty is determined by a role, an obligation by some particular action or event. 'I have (am under) an obligation to do x', and 'It is my duty to do x', are thus judgements to be justified in quite different ways. But they may be confused with the higher-level judgements, 'I have an obligation to do my duty (to carry out my duties)', and 'It is my duty to fulfil my obligations'--judgements which do not equate duties and obligations, but rather are used to ground one in the other. Are these higher-order judgements true? Consider the duties of office. It is in general possible to suppose an obligation to perform such duties, an obligation whose ground is found in the action of assuming office. Just as, in swearing to tell the truth in court, I oblige myself to tell the truth, so, in accepting the secretaryship of the North Oxford Association of Birdwatchers and Trainspotters, I oblige myself to take and to keep minutes, to handle the correspondence of the society, and so on. In the marriage ceremony, the participants in effect oblige themselves to the duties of husband and wife. The possibility of obliging oneself to the performance of certain duties is of great practical significance. The capacity to act in this way is one of the most important facets of moral maturity--and -201one of the facets least attended to in our society. The fact that it is difficult, if not impossible, to provide for such a possibility in terms of many contemporary moral theories does not seem to me accidentally related to this inattention. Rather, it displays in yet another instance how mistaken is the notion that moral philosophy is morally neutral. Not all roles are voluntarily assumed--or, for that matter, assumed at all--so that one does not oblige oneself to the performance of every set of duties. It may not always be easy to determine whether a role is voluntarily assumed or not--is fatherhood assumed by engaging in sexual intercourse, so that one obliges oneself to duties concerning the welfare of any resulting child? How one answers this question is not for us to consider, but it may well be important in determining one's attitude toward sexual relationships. Are there duties to fulfil obligations? Particular roles may determine duties which require one to oblige oneself. It may be the duty of a soldier to swear allegiance to his country--that is, to oblige himself to allegiance. But no general relationship between duties and obligations, corresponding to the relationship involved in assuming a role, arises in this way. We mentioned previously the duty of promise-keeping--the duty of fulfilling one's obligations to keep promises--and suggested its religious basis. It may be supposed one's duty to God to keep promises, to tell the truth, and indeed to do almost any morally required action. Theocentricity in morals opens the door to a wholesale extension of the conception of duty--an extension which tends to blur the role of human relationships in determining what one ought to do. The person who permits 'the whole duty of man' to pre-empt the field of duty, and, indeed, of all morality, is unable to understand an anthropocentric point of view--and so he loses the basis of his morality if he loses his faith.

13.2. Duty and Morality We speak of the duties which pertain to the role of a father; we speak also of the duties of the person who fills the role, who is a father. In considering the relation of duty to morality, we are concerned with duties as the duties of persons. As being under obligation is supported by reasons some of which -202must have moral force, so having a duty requires moral support. I have maintained that a duty-determining role must relate one to other persons; one has no role in relation to oneself. This does not show that duties involve moral reasons for acting; one might assume and play a role simply in self-interest. But to suppose that the duties of the role are duties for oneself--to suppose that the duties specify actions that one ought to perform in virtue of the relationships involved in the role--one must appeal to moral as well as to prudential factors. The argument of 12.2. I might be reformulated to apply here. As a person may take on an obligation for purely prudential reasons, so he may assume a role, and the duties involved in the role, for such reasons. I may become secretary of the North Oxford Association of Birdwatchers and Trainspotters out of my lust for power, but once in office, I find that the wants embodied in the association, the wants of generations of birdwatchers and trainspotters throughout north Oxford, now weigh upon me in the form of the duties of my office. Having accepted the position, I must now keep minutes, whether I would or no; the continued orderly and effective existence of the association depends upon it. All duties, then, have a moral aspect. But there are certain duties which are moral in a more particular respect, duties which are thought of, not as tied to some special role which a person may or may not play, but as pertaining to every man. If I see someone drowning, I should consider it my duty to endeavour to rescue him. Such a duty depends on my relationship to the drowning man, but this is a relationship which every man has with every other man. We state it in such phrases as 'All men are brothers', or 'Every man is my neighbour', or even 'We are all fellow human beings'. But it is not a merely tautologous relationship, as the last phrase might suggest. It is quite possible to deny that a common bond unites all men. The supposition of such a bond emerges relatively late in human history; it is still denied by many racists, as well as by those who consider the lower (or upper) classes somehow 'different'.

13.2.1. Duties and Rights of a Rational Agent A rather special class of duties which apply to every man are those Which concern man considered simply as a rational agent in -203a world of rational agents. Every man to whom duties may be ascribed--infants, extreme mental defectives, and those afflicted with certain mental illnesses must be excluded--may be charac-

terized as a rational agent. This in itself does not determine a role, but the relationship between any two rational agents assigns a role to each. This role was discussed in 8.2.2; it requires each rational agent to respect every other agent, to regard the wants of every other agent as reasons for acting. Respect is, then, a moral duty--and, since respect lies at the root of moral action, it is the primary duty. In declaring it to be such, we do not abandon the role of moral philosopher for that of moralist; the duty of respect is a formal duty, based on the conception that rational agents provide reasons for acting, and not on any particular reasons for acting which they provide. In itself, it has no content-it can be given content only in terms of particular reasons for acting, which are the proper concern of the moralist. Since respect underlies alt moral reasoning and moral action, it might be thought that to term it a duty is to claim that the sphere of duty and the sphere of morality are coextensive, that all moral judgements are judgements of duty. But this is not the case. The claim that duty and morality are coextensive is the claim that 'you ought to' and 'it is your duty to' are equivalent, as far as moral grounds for acting are concerned. The claim that respect is a duty is the claim that the judgement, 'It is the duty of a rational agent to do what, on moral grounds, he ought to do', is true. If 'you ought to' and 'it is your duty to' were equivalent, this would become either, 'It is the duty of a rational agent to do what, on moral grounds, it is his duty to do', or, 'A rational agent ought to do what, on moral grounds, he ought to do'--both empty tautologies. But why introduce this duty, which merely reformulates our previous conclusion about the foundation of morality? The answer to this question turns on the connexion of 'duty' and 'right'. Duties and rights are often supposed correlative. Given a situation in which two persons are concerned, if one has a duty to perform a certain action, then the Other has the right to have the action performed, and if one has a right to perform a certain action, then the other has the duty to allow the action to be performed. -204Now a simple correlation of rights and duties cannot be assumed. A chairman may have the duty of presiding at all meetings, but the association would not be said to have the right of having him preside. Equally, the chairman may have the right to a casting vote, but it is not ordinarily any person's duty to allow him to have it-although no doubt he ought to be allowed it. Nevertheless, many duties and rights are correlated. The duties ora father to his children may be considered as rights of the children with respect to their father. The duties of citizens to their country may be considered as rights of the country with respect to its citizens. In this way, the fundamental moral duty of respect may equally be considered the fundamental moral right. As every rational being has the duty of respecting every other rational being, of considering the wants and interests of every other rational being as reasons for acting, so every rational being has the right to be respected by every other rational being, the right to have his wants and interests considered as reasons for acting. This right, like the correlative duty, is strictly formal. It is a right to consideration in determining what ought to be done, but the content of this consideration depends on the wants and interests

of the person possessing the right, tt is in no sense a right to certain treatment. No, particular actions or types of action are either required or excluded by it; no particular wants or interests or types of want or interest are assured or denied satisfaction. Apart from this formal right to be respected, to be considered in practical reasoning and in action, every man can have only those rights correlative to whatever duties may be justified by an appeal to human brotherhood. Some men, under some conditions, may have further rights, but these are not universal. The right to respect must then be the starting-point in any account of 'the rights of man'--the rights proper to human beings in their character as rational agents and moral persons. This conclusion is of no little importance for political thought. It provides a basis for normative political argument which avoids both the extreme liberal view that the best government is that which governs least, which leaves each individual to provide for himself as far as possible, and the utilitarian socialist view that government is -205to do whatever benefits mankind as a whole, without particular concern for the individual except as part of that whole. It avoids both an unrestricted individualism, and an undifferentiated collectivism. Each individual has the fight to equitable consideration with his fellows, and hence the right to be not only allowed but enabled to seek the maximum satisfaction of his wants and interests compatible with the proportionate satisfaction of his fellows' wants and interests. It may be supposed that the extent and nature of political activity which offers the best possibility of ensuring this right will vary with particular circumstances. The only political invariants will be provided by whatever is fixed in the nature of man, and in the character of his environment, and by this formal right. The conception of a fundamental right of al men is derived from viewing man as rational and as moral. it is not supposed that men always behave rationally and morally, but only that men have the capacity so to behave under at least some conditions--that rational considerations (of which moral considerations form a sub-class) are relevant to the explanation and appraisal of human action and human nature. The failure of much recent moral philosophy to appreciate this conception of right derives from its failure to view man in this light --indeed, from its failure to view man. Excessive preoccupation with actions in relation both to the situations in which they are performed, and to the consequences which follow, or are intended to follow, from them, has led to neglect of actions in relation to those performing them--in relation to agents. In this study I have endeavoured to reintroduce the agent--the rational agent--into discussion of some of the principal themes of moral philosophy. The very brief remarks I have made on right are intended to suggest the possibility of reintroducing the agent into discussion of some of the principal themes of normative political inquiry. I should argue that political inquiry depends upon moral thought to a much closer extent than is commonly recognized at present.

But that is another argument. With the introduction of rights, we have reached the limit of those subjects which may profitably be examined with the tools of the moral philosopher. -206-

INDEX action, 1 - 8 passim, 25 - 27, 49, 89 - 90. -- on impulse, 36 - 37. -- and inference, 44 - 45. -- and laws, 111, 115. -- rational, 116 - 17, 119. -- and irrational, 17 - 18. advice, 52 - 57, 58 - 65 passim. -- appraisal of, 66 - 80, 148 - 54. -- and moral counsel, 135 - 6, 145 - 8. agent: and deliberation, 25 - 27. -- moral, 120. -- rational, 18, 48, 85, 111 - 22, 134, 191 - 2, 206. -- duties and rights of, 203 - 6. -- and objective end, 114. -- standpoint of, 131. aims, see interests, wants. -- of adviser, 55 - 56. analytic, v. substantial, 95, 103. -- v. synthetic, 47. animals, as agents, 87 - 88. Anscombe, G. E. M., 28 - 30, 36, 44, 174. answer, to practical question, 5, 9, 14, 58, 81. applicability: of advice, 73 - 74, 76 -- of moral counsel, 151 - 4. appraisal: of advice, 66 - 80. -- of moral counsel, 148 - 54. -- of practical arguments, 50. -- of substantial arguments, 98 - 99. Aristotle, 24 - 33, 42 - 45, 174. assent to imperatives, 13, 63 - 65. assistance: and advice, 53, 70, 77 - 79. -- and moral counsel, 149 - 50. -- and the wants of others, 89 - 90. associations, 132, 198 - 9. assurance, 165 - 8 : see promising. attitudes and beliefs, 100 - 1. authority, 8, 69. -- and command, 52, 61 - 62, 64. -- and God, 143 - 5. -- and moral counsel, 137 - 40. -- and morality, 65, 141, 191. autonomy, 111 - 22, 144 - 5, 191 - 2. Baier, Kurt, 104 - 57, 111, 171 - 3. basis of practical reasoning, 30 - 31, 81, 84, 86, 90, 91, 94. -- and advice, 55 - 56, 72. -- and concern, 84 - 85. -- moral, 81 - 94 passim. -- and objectives, 32 - 33. -- prudential, 30 - 31. -- and respect, 118. belief and attitudes, 100 - 1. 'best', 10 - 11, 27 - 28, 43. biology, 93. 'bound', 174 - 6, 187.

command, 13, 50, 52 - 53, 61 - 62, 63 - 64. -- of God, 46, 143 - 5. -- and morality, 65, 135, 137 - 45. commitment, 97, 104, 122. competence: of adviser, 66 - 68, 69 - 70. -- of counsellor, 148. competition, 132 - 3. concern: practical, 53, 84 - 85, 89. -- measurement of, 127 - 31. -- and title, 69 - 70. conformity, 92 - 93. consciousness, 116. covenant, 187 - 90. criticism, see appraisal. cruelty, 140 - 1, 194. customs, 90 - 91, 172. Darwinians, 92. decision, 5 - 8, 63 - 64, 166. -- and authority, 8, 50. -- and commitment, 96 - 97, 104. -- and judgement, 12 - 17. defeasibility, 159 - 60, 162 - 3, 165, 167 - 8, 182 - 3, 190. deliberation, 24 - 27, 31 - 32, 43, 85. -- and principles, 156 - 9, 163 - 4. -- and the rational agent, 111, 115 - 16. demonstrability, 45, 48 - 49, 97. deontologists, 172, 193. desirability, 29 - 37 passim, 43, 81 165. -- 'desirable' and 'ought', 45 - 48. -- and obligation, 177 - 9. -- relative, 123, 127 - 8. desirability-characterization, 30, 32, 40 44 passim, 86 - 87, 91. desires, 13, 40, 105, 112, 173 : see wants. direction: and instruction, 52, 57 - 59. -- and motivation, 91 - 92. Duncan, A. R. C., 115 n. duty, 145, 193 - 206. -- and morality, 23, 174, 202 - 4. -- and obligation, 21, 186, 194 - 6, 201 - 2. -- and 'ought', 21, 193 - 4. -- and prudence, 18 - 19. -- and right, 204 - 5. -- and wants, 90 - 91. efficacity, 60, 63 - 64. emotivism, 52 - 53, 64 - 65, 100. ends, 4, 31 - 32, 42 - 43 : see objectives. -- and instruction, 57 - 58. -207ends, and means, 25, 44, 155 - 6. -- objective and subjective, 113 - 14 117 - 18. entailment, 14 - 15, 17, 45, 95. equality: of benefit, 125 - 7, 131. -- of persons, 88 - 89. equity, 163 - 5, 206. evolution, 92 - 93. exhortation, see hortation. explanation: of action, 27, 29, 44, 49. -- of wants, 34 - 35. extrinsic criticism, 75 - 76. Feiffer, Jules, 186.

force: moral, 20 - 22. -- motive (or impelling), 36 - 38, 40, 85. -- practical (or rational), 31, 32, 40 - 42, 85 - 86, 94, 156. -- prudential, 20 - 22. freedom, 117. Freud, S., 37. function: of advice, 53 - 54, 76 - 80. -- of moral counsel, 149 - 50, 154. functionary, 198 - 9. God: and duty, 193, 202. -- and morality, 143 - 5, 193. -- and reasons for acting, 46, 87 - 88. good, the, 42 - 43. Good Life, the, 170 - 1. government, 206. Hare, R. M., 13 - 15, 17, 51, 53, 63 96 - 98, 100, 168 - 70. Hart, H. L. A., 159 n. Hegelian state, 87 - 88. hierarchy: of principles, 3, 163, 170 - 1. -- of problems, 3 - 4. history, 92 - 94. Hobbes, Thomas, 186 - 90. homosexuality, 142. hortation, 51 - 52, 59 - 61, 63 - 64. -- and moral counsel, 135 - 7, 146, 148. -- and morality, 65. Hume, David, 140. imperative, 9, 14 - 15, 50 - 53, 60, 96. -- hypothetical and categorical, 19 - 20 -- moral, 135 - 6 : see moral counsel. imperativism, 13, 53, 65. impulses, 36 - 38, 46, 122. inclination, 13, 112. inference: imperative, 14 - 15. -- practical, condition of, 95 - 99, 115. -- -- and principles, 169 - 70. -- -- validity of, 100 - 2, 103. -- prudential, 43 - 49. -- -- condition of, 47 - 48. -- scientific, 98 - 99, 103 - 4. injunction, 5, 15, instruction, 52 - 53, 57 - 59, 63 - 64, 136. intention, 16. interests, 20 - 21, 40, 56 - 57, 105, 123, 151, 164, 173 : see wants. judgement: moral, 13 - 14, 20 - 23, 50, 80, 191 - 2. -- 'ought', 12, 24, 168 - 70. -- practical, 2, 5, 9 - 23, 24, 44, 49, 50, 60, 81, 101 - 2, 118, 155 - 6, -- -- and advice, 53, 55, 72. -- -- and decision, 12 - 17. -- -- generals 80, 97 - 98, 155 - 9 : see principles. -- -- and imperatives, 51 - 52. -- -- and instruction, 59. -- prudential 20 - 23, 80. justification: of action, 27, 44. -- of advice, 55 - 56. -- of assent, 63 - 64. -- of command, 62. -- of condition of moral inference, 104 - 10.

-- -- of condition of practical inference, 103 - 4. -- of decision, 9. -- of equalization of benefit, 127. -- of imperatives, 14 - 15, 51 - 52, 60. -- of practical judgements, 2, 144, 182. -- of principles, 167. -- of request, 62 - 63. Kant, Immanuel, 19 - 20, 111 - 18, 193. labour theory of desirability, 128. laws, 139, 172. -- and reasons for acting, 90 - 91. -- scientific, 171. -- -- and rational action, 111 -- 12, 114 - 15, 120. legal argument, 98. liberalism, 205 - 6. Luther, Martin, 122. man, 87, 116 - 17, 206 : see agent, persons. manners, 90 - 91. Marxians, 92. massive retaliation, 108 - 9. maximization of benefit, 126 - 7. meaning, descriptive and emotive, 100 - 1. means: and ends, 25, 44, 155 - 6. -- and instruction, 57 - 58. -- and objective ends, 113 - 14, 118. methodology of practice, 98 - 99. Mill, J. S., 34, 126 n., 140. moral counsel, 136 - 8, 145 - 8. -- appraisal of, 148 - 54. moral point of view, 105 - 10, 171 - 3. -208moral relevance, 152 - 3. moral virtue, 43. morality, 65, 96 - 97, 105, 133 - 4, 154, 174, 202 - 6. -- and autonomy, 112, 115 - 22. -- and duty, 203 - 4. -- and God, 143 - 5. -- and obligation, 191 - 2. -- and principles, 168 - 73. -- and prudence, 20, 104 - 10. motives, 17 - 18, 85, 91 - 92, 115 - 16 : see force, motive. Nowell-Smith, P. H., 15 - 16, 57, 170 - 1, 178, 193. objectives, 4, 32, 42 - 43, 56, 58, 92 - 94, 123 - 4 131, 177. obligation, 174 - 92. -- and authority, 61 - 62. -- and duty, 194 - 6, 201 - 2. -- and morality, 23, 183 - 92. -- and 'ought', 21 - 22, 193 - 4. -- and wants, 90 - 91. obliging factor, 175, 179 - 83, 184 - 6, 187. 'ought', 10 - 12, 18 - 23, 174, 193 - 4, 199. -- and decision, 15 - 17. -- and 'desirable', 45 - 48. persons, 86 - 88, 93 - 94 : see agent, man. persuasion, 59, 62, 65, 137. philosophy: of mind, 18. -- moral, 100, 202, 206. -- role of, 18, 99.

political thought, 43, 205 - 6. practical syllogism, 26 - 29, 44 - 45. practical wisdom, 43. prediction, 7, 12, 15 - 16, 166. premisses: comparative, 32 - 33, 123. -- of imperative conclusion, 14 - 15. -- practical, 24, 43 - 48 passim, 97. -- -- and advice, 56, 72. -- -- and instruction, 58 - 59. -- -- and moral counsel, 153 - 4. -- with practical farce, 30 - 31, 81, 91. -- of practical syllogism, 27 - 28, 44. prescription, 53, 65, 168. principles, 155 - 73. -- and the condition of practical inference, 97 - 98, 103. -- and morality, 81, 168 - 73. -- and obligation, 180. -- and wants, 90 - 91. problem: mathematical, 6. -- moral, 1, 145, 149, 151 - 2. -- practical, 1 - 8, 17, 81, 157. -- -- and advice, 53 - 54, 56, 70, 73 - 74, 76. -- -- and instruction, 58. -- -- and means and ends, 25, 31 - 32. problem: practical, and moral counsel, 145 - 8. -- procedural, 4. -- prudential, 1, 149, 151. -- theoretical, 1 - 2. promising, 155, 167 - 8, 180, 192, 195. property, 165. prudence, 39, 46 - 47, 134. -- and duty, 203. -- and morality, 20, 104 - 10. -- and obligation, 186 - 91. psychological egoism, 85. psychology, 93. question, practical, 4 - 5, 14. reasons: for acting, 4, 32, 37 - 38, 45 - 49, 90 - 94, 115 - 17, 119, 120 - 1, 144, 157 - 8. and motives, 17 - 18. -- -- and reasons for an event, 12. -- -- and reasons why, 27. -- moral, 172 - 3, 191 - 2. -- prudential, 46 - 47, 106, 187 - 8. -- sufficient, 9, 36, 62. -- -- and obligation, 179 - 82, 185, 189 91. -- -- and principles, 157 - 8, 166 - 7. recommendation, 52 - 55, 66 - 68, 71, 75, 138. prequest, 52 - 53, 62 - 64, 136. requirement, 138 - 40. resolution, of practical problems, 5 - 9. resolve, 14, 171 51. respect, for rational agent, 113 - 147 119 20, 127, 148, 204 - 5. responsibility, 61, 117. right, 164 - 5, 172, 203 - 6. -- of nature, 186 - 8. role, 197 - 21. rules, 90. -- of inference, 95 - 97. -- personal, 160 - 3.

-- of reason, 104 - 6. satisfaction, 32, 43, 105 - 6, 122, 131. -- of one person and of several persons, 123 - 7. scientific argument, 98 - 99, 102, 103. selfishness and self-indifference, 90. 'should', 10 - 12. sincerity: of adviser, 54, 70 - 72, 78. -- of counsellor, 149 - 51. social and political control, 122. social science, 93. socialism, 205 - 6. society, 90, 164 - 5, 197 - 8. Socrates, 17. solipsism, 121. solution, of practical problems, 1, 2, 4 - 8, 53, 58, 123. -209soundness: of advice, 74 - 75. -- of moral counsel, 151. South Africa, racial policies of, 91, 109 - 10. sovereignty, 189. starting-point, practical, 25, 27 - 30, 32, 33. Stevenson, C. L., 100 - 1. substantial argument, v. analytic, 95. suggestion, 54, 57, 60 - 61, 66, 68, 71. temptation, 161 - 2. theft, 141 - 2. time: and extent of concern, 128 - 30. -- and practical problems, 2. -- and wants, 38 - 40. title: of adviser, 68 - 70. -- of counsellor, 149. Toulmin, Stephen, 95, 97. truth: of practical judgements, 10 - 11, 99 - 102. -- of principles, 157 - 9. urging, 52, 59 - 60, 62 : see hortation. utilitarianism, 3, 126 n., 172, 205 - 6. validity of practical inferences: 14 - 15, 45 - 48, 63, 97 - 98, 99 - 102. -- and efficacity of imperatives, 60. wants, 4, 24 - 49 passim, 55 - 56, 81 - 90 passim, 112, 115, 119, 121, 123 - 34 passim, 151, 153, 170. weight: of motives, 17. -- of reasons, 17, 32, 36, 48, 160 - 1 : see concern, measurement of, and premisses, comparative. will, 111 - 12, 114. wishes, 40 - 42. 'worth wanting', 45 - 48. 'wrong', 140 - 2, 193 - 4. -210PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, OXFORD BY VIVIAN RIDLER PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

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