Principia Ethica 1

Principia Ethica 1

Principia Ethica

 

Author: George Edward Moore

PREFACE.

 

It appears to me that in Ethics, as in all other philosophical studies,

the difficulties and disagreements, of which its history is full, are

mainly due to a very simple cause: namely to the attempt to answer

questions, without first discovering precisely _what_ question it

is which you desire to answer. I do not know how far this source of

error would be done away, if philosophers would _try_ to discover what

question they were asking, before they set about to answer it; for the

work of analysis and distinction is often very difficult: we may often

fail to make the necessary discovery, even though we make a definite

attempt to do so. But I am inclined to think that in many cases a

resolute attempt would be sufficient to ensure success; so that, if

only this attempt were made, many of the most glaring difficulties

and disagreements in philosophy would disappear. At all events,

philosophers seem, in general, not to make the attempt; and, whether in

consequence of this omission or not, they are constantly endeavouring

to prove that ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ will answer questions, to which _neither_

answer is correct, owing to the fact that what they have before their

minds is not one question, but several, to some of which the true

answer is ‘No,’ to others ‘Yes.’

 

I have tried in this book to distinguish clearly two kinds of question,

which moral philosophers have always professed to answer, but which,

as I have tried to shew, they have almost always confused both with one

another and with other questions. These two questions may be expressed,

the first in the form: What kind of things ought to exist for their

own sakes? the second in the form: What kind of actions ought we to

perform? I have tried to shew exactly what it is that we ask about a

thing, when we ask whether it ought to exist for its own sake, is good

in itself or has intrinsic value; and exactly what it is that we ask

about an action, when we ask whether we ought to do it, whether it is a

right action or a duty.

 

But from a clear insight into the nature of these two questions, there

appears to me to follow a second most important result: namely, what

is the nature of the evidence, by which alone any ethical proposition

can be proved or disproved, confirmed or rendered doubtful. Once we

recognise the exact meaning of the two questions, I think it also

becomes plain exactly what kind of reasons are relevant as arguments

for or against any particular answer to them. It becomes plain that,

for answers to the _first_ question, no relevant evidence whatever

can be adduced: from no other truth, except themselves alone, can it

be inferred that they are either true or false. We can guard against

error only by taking care, that, when we try to answer a question of

this kind, we have before our minds that question only, and not some

other or others; but that there is great danger of such errors of

confusion I have tried to shew, and also what are the chief precautions

by the use of which we may guard against them. As for the _second_

question, it becomes equally plain, that any answer to it _is_ capable

of proof or disproof--that, indeed, so many different considerations

are relevant to its truth or falsehood, as to make the attainment of

probability very difficult, and the attainment of certainty impossible.

Nevertheless the _kind_ of evidence, which is both necessary and alone

relevant to such proof and disproof, is capable of exact definition.

Such evidence must contain propositions of two kinds and of two kinds

only: it must consist, in the first place, of truths with regard to

the results of the action in question--of _causal_ truths--but it must

_also_ contain ethical truths of our first or self-evident class. Many

truths of both kinds are necessary to the proof that any action ought

to be done; and any other kind of evidence is wholly irrelevant. It

follows that, if any ethical philosopher offers for propositions of

the first kind any evidence whatever, or if, for propositions of the

second kind, he either fails to adduce both causal and ethical truths,

or adduces truths that are neither, his reasoning has not the least

tendency to establish his conclusions. But not only are his conclusions

totally devoid of weight: we have, moreover, reason to suspect him

of the error of confusion; since the offering of irrelevant evidence

generally indicates that the philosopher who offers it has had before

his mind, not the question which he professes to answer, but some other

entirely different one. Ethical discussion, hitherto, has perhaps

consisted chiefly in reasoning of this totally irrelevant kind.

 

One main object of this book may, then, be expressed by slightly

changing one of Kant’s famous titles. I have endeavoured to write

‘Prolegomena to any future Ethics that can possibly pretend to be

scientific.’ In other words, I have endeavoured to discover what are

the fundamental principles of ethical reasoning; and the establishment

of these principles, rather than of any conclusions which may be

attained by their use, may be regarded as my main object. I have,

however, also attempted, in Chapter VI, to present some conclusions,

with regard to the proper answer of the question ‘What is good in

itself?’ which are very different from any which have commonly been

advocated by philosophers. I have tried to define the classes within

which all great goods and evils fall; and I have maintained that very

many different things are good and evil in themselves, and that

neither class of things possesses any other property which is both

common to all its members and peculiar to them.

 

In order to express the fact that ethical propositions of my _first_

class are incapable of proof or disproof, I have sometimes followed

Sidgwick’s usage in calling them ‘Intuitions.’ But I beg it may be

noticed that I am not an ‘Intuitionist,’ in the ordinary sense of

the term. Sidgwick himself seems never to have been clearly aware

of the immense importance of the difference which distinguishes his

Intuitionism from the common doctrine, which has generally been called

by that name. The Intuitionist proper is distinguished by maintaining

that propositions of my _second_ class--propositions which assert that

a certain action is _right_ or a _duty_--are incapable of proof or

disproof by any enquiry into the results of such actions. I, on the

contrary, am no less anxious to maintain that propositions of _this_

kind are _not_ ‘Intuitions,’ than to maintain that propositions of my

_first_ class _are_ Intuitions.

 

Again, I would wish it observed that, when I call such propositions

‘Intuitions,’ I mean _merely_ to assert that they are incapable of

proof; I imply nothing whatever as to the manner or origin of our

cognition of them. Still less do I imply (as most Intuitionists have

done) that any proposition whatever is true, _because_ we cognise it in

a particular way or by the exercise of any particular faculty: I hold,

on the contrary, that in every way in which it is possible to cognise a

true proposition, it is also possible to cognise a false one.

 

When this book had been already completed, I found, in Brentano’s

‘Origin of the Knowledge of Right and Wrong[1],’ opinions far more

closely resembling my own, than those of any other ethical writer with

whom I am acquainted. Brentano appears to agree with me completely

(1) in regarding all ethical propositions as defined by the fact that

they predicate a single unique objective concept; (2) in dividing such

propositions sharply into the same two kinds; (3) in holding that the

first kind are incapable of proof; and (4) with regard to the kind of

evidence which is necessary and relevant to the proof of the second

kind. But he regards the fundamental ethical concept as being, not

the simple one which I denote by ‘good,’ but the complex one which I

have taken to define ‘beautiful’; and he does not recognise, but even

denies by implication, the principle which I have called _the principle

of organic unities_. In consequence of these two differences, his

conclusions as to what things are good in themselves, also differ very

materially from mine. He agrees, however, that there are many different

goods, and that the love of good and beautiful objects constitutes an

important class among them.

 

[1] ‘The Origin of the Knowledge of Right and Wrong.’ By Franz

Brentano. English Translation by Cecil Hague. Constable, 1902.--I

have written a review of this book, which will, I hope, appear

in the _International Journal of Ethics_ for October, 1903. I

may refer to this review for a fuller account of my reasons for

disagreeing with Brentano.

 

I wish to refer to one oversight, of which I became aware only when

it was too late to correct it, and which may, I am afraid, cause

unnecessary trouble to some readers. I have omitted to discuss directly

the mutual relations of the several different notions, which are

all expressed by the word ‘end.’ The consequences of this omission

may perhaps be partially avoided by a reference to my article on

‘Teleology’ in Baldwin’s _Dictionary of Philosophy and Psychology_.

 

If I were to rewrite my work now, I should make a very different, and

I believe that I could make a much better book. But it may be doubted

whether, in attempting to satisfy myself, I might not merely render

more obscure the ideas which I am most anxious to convey, without a

corresponding gain in completeness and accuracy. However that may be,

my belief that to publish the book as it stands was probably the best

thing I could do, does not prevent me from being painfully aware that

it is full of defects.

 

TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

_August_, 1903.

 

 

[This book is now reprinted without any alteration whatever, except

that a few misprints and grammatical mistakes have been corrected. It

is reprinted, because I am still in agreement with its main tendency

and conclusions; and it is reprinted without alteration, because I

found that, if I were to begin correcting what in it seemed to me to

need correction, I could not stop short of rewriting the whole book.