CHAPTER II
OF JUSTICE
Connection of politics and morals. -- Extent and meaning of
justice. -- Subject of justice: mankind. -- Its distribution
measured by the capacity of its subject -- By his usefulness. --
Family affection considered. -- Gratitude considered. --
Objections: from ignorance -- From utility. -- An exception
stated. -- Degrees of justice. -- Application. -- Idea of
political justice.
{80} From what has been said it appears, that the subject of the
present enquiry is strictly speaking a department of the science
of morals. Morality is the source from which its fundamental
axioms must be drawn, and they will be made somewhat clearer in
the present instance, if we assume the term justice as a general
appellation for all moral duty.
That this appellation is sufficiently expressive of the subject
will appear, if we consider for a moment mercy, gratitude,
temperance, or any of those duties which in looser speaking are
contradistinguished from justice. Why should I pardon this
criminal, {81} remunerate this favour, abstain from this
indulgence? If it partake of the nature of morality, it must be
either right or wrong, just or unjust. It must tend to the
benefit of the individual, either without intrenching upon, or
with actual advantage to the mass of individuals. Either way it
benefits the whole, because individuals are part of the whole.
Therefore to do it is just, and to forbear it is unjust. If
justice have any meaning, it is just that I should contribute
every thing in my power to the benefit of the whole.
Considerable light will probably be thrown upon our
investigation, if, quitting for the present the political view,
we examine justice merely as it exists among individuals. Justice
is a rule of conduct originating in the connection of one
percipient being with another. A comprehensive maxim which has
been laid down upon the subject is, 'that we should love our
neighbour as ourselves.' But this maxim, though possessing
considerable merit as a popular principle, is not modelled with
the strictness of philosophical accuracy.
In a loose and general view I and my neighbour
are both of us men; and of consequence entitled to equal
attention. But in reality it is probable that one of us is a
being of more worth and importance than the other. A man is of
more worth than a beast; because, being possessed of higher
faculties, he is capable of a more refined and genuine happiness.
In the same manner {82} the illustrious archbishop of Cambray was
of more worth than his chambermaid, and there are few of us that
would hesitate to pronounce, if his palace were in flames, and
the life of only one of them could be preserved, which of the two
ought to be preferred.
But there is another ground of preference, beside the private
consideration of one of them being farther removed from the state
of a mere animal. We are not connected with one or two percipient
beings, but with a society, a nation, and in some sense with the
whole family of mankind. Of consequence that life ought to be
preferred which will be most conducive to the general good. In
saving the life of Fenelon, suppose at the moment when he was
conceiving the project of his immortal Telemachus, I should be
promoting the benefit of thousands, who have been cured by the
perusal of it of some error, vice and consequent unhappiness.
Nay, my benefit would extend farther than this, for every
individual thus cured has become a better member of society, and
has contributed in his turn to the happiness, the information and
improvement of others.
Supposing I had been myself the chambermaid, I ought to have
chosen to die, rather than that Fenelon should have died. The
life of Fenelon was really preferable to that of the chambermaid.
But understanding is the faculty that perceives the truth of this
and similar propositions; and justice is the principle that {83}
regulates my conduct accordingly. It would have been just in the
chambermaid to have preferred the archbishop to herself. To have
done otherwise would have been a breach of justice.
Supposing the chambermaid had been my wife, my mother or my
benefactor. This would not alter the truth of the proposition.
The life of Fenelon would still be more valuable that that of the
chambermaid; and justice, pure, unadulterated justice, would
still have preferred that which was most valuable. Justice would
have taught me to save the life of Fenelon at the expence of the
other. What magic is there in the pronoun 'my,' to overturn the
decisions of everlasting truth? My wife or my mother may be a
fool or a prostitute, malicious, lying or dishonest. If they be,
of what consequence is it that they are mine?
'But my mother endured for me the pains of child bearing, and
nourished me in the helplessness of infancy.' When she first
subjected herself to the necessity of these cares, she was
probably influenced by no particular motives of benevolence to
her future offspring. Every voluntary benefit however entitles
the bestower to some kindness and retribution. But why so?
Because a voluntary benefit is an evidence of benevolent
intention, that is, of virtue. It is the disposition of the mind,
not the external action, that entitles to respect. But the merit
of this disposition is equal, whether the benefit was conferred
upon me or upon another. I and another man cannot both be right
in preferring {84} our own individual benefactor, for no man can
be at the same time both better and worse than his neighbour. My
benefactor ought to be esteemed, not because he bestowed a
benefit upon me, but because he bestowed it upon a human being.
His desert will be in exact proportion to the degree, in which
that human being was worthy of the distinction conferred. Thus
every view of the subject brings us back to the consideration of
my neighbour's moral worth and his importance to the general
weal, as the only standard to determine the treatment to which he
is entitled. Gratitude therefore, a principle which has so often
been the theme of the moralist and the poet, is no part either of
justice or virtue. By gratitude I understand a sentiment, which
would lead me to prefer one man to another, from some other
consideration than that of his superior usefulness or worth: that
is, which would make something true to me (for example this
preferableness), which cannot be true to another man, and is not
true in itself1.
It may be objected, 'that my relation, my companion, or my
benefactor will of course in many instances obtain an uncommon
portion of my regard: for, not being universally capable of
discriminating the comparative worth of different men, I shall
inevitably judge most favourably of him, of whose virtues I have
received the most unquestionable proofs; and thus shall be
compelled {85} to prefer the man of moral worth whom I know, to
another who may possess unknown to me, an essential
superiority.'
This compulsion however is founded only in the present
imperfection of human nature. It may serve as an apology for my
error, but can never turn error into truth. It will always remain
contrary to the strict and inflexible decisions of justice. The
difficulty of conceiving this is owing merely to our confounding
the disposition from which an action is chosen, with the action
itself. The disposition, that would prefer virtue to vice and a
greater degree of virtue to less, is undoubtedly a subject of
approbation; the erroneous exercise of this disposition by which
a wrong object is selected, if unavoidable, is to be deplored,
but can by no colouring and under no denomination be converted
into right2.
It may in the second place be objected, 'that a mutual commerce
of benefits tends to increase the mass of benevolent action, and
that to increase the mass of benevolent action is to contribute
to the general good.' Indeed! is general good promoted by
falshood, by treating a man of one degree of worth, as if he had
ten times that worth? or as if he were in any degree different
from what he really is? Would not the most beneficial
consequences result from a different plan; from my {86}
constantly and carefully enquiring into the deserts of all those
with whom I am connected, and from their being sure, after a
certain allowance for the fallibility of human judgment, of being
treated by me exactly as they deserved? Who can tell what would
be the effects of such a plan of conduct universally adopted?
There seems to be more truth in the argument, derived chiefly
from the unequal distribution of property, in favour of my
providing in ordinary cases for my wife and children, my brothers
and relations, before I provide for strangers. As long as
providing for individuals belongs to individuals, it seems as if
there must be a certain distribution of the class needing
superintendence and supply among the class affording it, that
each man may have his claim and resource. But this argument, if
admitted at all, is to be admitted with great caution. It belongs
only to ordinary cases; and cases of a higher order or a more
urgent necessity will perpetually occur, in competition with
which these will be altogether impotent. We must be severely
scrupulous in measuring out the quantity of supply; and, with
respect to money in particular, must remember how little is yet
understood of the true mode of employing it for the public
benefit.
Having considered the persons with whom justice is conversant,
let us next enquire into the degree in which we are obliged to
consult the good of others. And here I say, that it is just {87}
that I should do all the good in my power. Does any person in
distress apply to me for relief? It is my duty to grant it, and I
commit a breach of duty in refusing. If this principle be not of
universal application, it is because, in conferring a benefit
upon an individual, I may in some instances inflict an injury of
superior magnitude upon myself or society. Now the same justice,
that binds me to any individual of my fellow men, binds me to the
whole. If, while I confer a benefit upon one man, it appear, in
striking an equitable balance, that I am injuring the whole, my
action ceases to be right and becomes absolutely wrong. But how
much am I bound to do for the general weal, that is, for the
benefit of the individuals of whom the whole is composed? Every
thing in my power. What to the neglect of the means of my
existence? No; for I am myself a part of the whole. Beside, it
will rarely happen but that the project of doing for others every
thing in my power, will demand for its execution the preservation
of my own existence; or in other words, it will rarely happen but
that I can do more good in twenty years than in one. If the
extraordinary case should occur in which I can promote the
general good by my death, more than by my life, justice requires
that I should be content to die. In all other cases, it is just
that I should be careful to maintain my body and my mind in the
utmost vigour, and in the best condition for service3.
{88} I will suppose for example that it is right for one man to
possess a greater portion of property than another, either as the
fruit of his industry, or the inheritance of his ancestors.
Justice obliges him to regard this property as a trust, and calls
upon him maturely to consider in what manner it may best be
employed for the increase of liberty, knowledge and virtue. He
has no right to dispose of a shilling of it at the will of his
caprice. So far from being entitled to well earned applause for
having employed some scanty pittance in the service of
philanthropy, he is in the eye of justice a delinquent if he
withhold any portion from that service. Nothing can be more
incontrovertible. Could that portion have been better or more
worthily employed? That it could is implied in the very terms of
the proposition. Then it was just it should have been so
employed. -- In the same manner as my property, I hold my person
as a trust in behalf of mankind. I am bound to employ my talents,
my understanding, my strength and my time for the production of
the greatest quantity of general good. Such are the declarations
of justice, so great is the extent of my duty.
But justice is reciprocal. If it be just that I should confer a
benefit, it is just that another man should receive it, and, if
I withhold from him that to which he is entitled, he must justly
complain. My neighbour is in want of ten pounds that I can
spare. There is no law of political institution that has been
made to reach this case, and to transfer this property from me
to him. {89} But in the eye of simple justice, unless it can be
shewn that the money can be more beneficently employed, his
claim is as complete, as if he had my bond in his possession, or
had supplied me with goods to the amount4.
To this it has sometimes been answered, 'that there is more than
one person, that stands in need of the money I have to spare, and
of consequence I must be at liberty to bestow it as I please.' I
answer, if only one person offer himself to my knowledge or
search, to me there is but one. Those others that I cannot find
belong to other rich men to assist (rich men, I say, for every
man is rich, who has more money than his just occasions demand),
and not to me. If more than one person offer, I am obliged to
balance their fitness, and conduct myself accordingly. It is
scarcely possible to happen that two men shall be of exactly
equal fitness, or that I shall be equally certain of the fitness
of the one as of the other.
It is therefore impossible for me to confer upon any man a
favour, I can only do him a right. What deviates from the law of
justice, even I will suppose in the too much done in favour of
some individual or some part of the general whole, is so much
subtracted from the general stock, is so much of absolute
injustice. {90}
The inference most clearly afforded by the preceding reasonings,
is the competence of justice as a principle of deduction in all
cases of moral enquiry. The reasonings themselves are rather of
the nature of illustration and example, and any error that may be
imputed to them in particulars, will not invalidate the general
conclusion, the propriety of applying moral justice as a
criterion in the investigation of political truth.
Society is nothing more than an aggregation of individuals. Its
claims and its duties must be the aggregate of their claims and
duties, the one no more precarious and arbitrary than the other.
What has the society a right to require from me? The question is
already answered: every thing that it is my duty to do. Any thing
more? Certainly not. Can they change eternal truth, or subvert
the nature of men and their actions? Can they make it my duty to
commit intemperance, to maltreat or assassinate my neighbour? --
Again, What is it that the society is bound to do for its
members? Every thing that can contribute to their welfare. But
the nature of their welfare is defined by the nature of the mind.
That will most contribute to it, which enlarges the
understanding, supplies incitements to virtue, fills us with a
generous consciousness of our independence, and carefully removes
whatever can impede our exertions.
Should it be affirmed, 'that it is not in the power of any
political system to secure to us these advantages,' the
conclusion I {91} am drawing will still be incontrovertible. It
is bound to contribute every thing it is able to these purposes,
and no man was ever yet found hardy enough to affirm that it
could do nothing. Suppose its influence in the utmost degree
limited, there must be one method approaching nearer than any
other to the desired object, and that method ought to be
universally adopted. There is one thing that political
institutions can assuredly do, they can avoid positively
counteracting the true interests of their subjects. But all
capricious rules and arbitrary distinctions do positively
counteract them. There is scarcely any modification of society
but has in it some degree of moral tendency. So far as it
produces neither mischief nor benefit, it is good for nothing. So
far as it tends to the improvement of the community, it ought to
be universally adopted.
Notes
1. This argument respecting gratitude is stated
with great clearness in an Essay on the Nature of True Virtue,
by the Rev. Jonathan Edwards. 12mo. Dilly.
2. See this subject more copiously treated in the
following chapter.
3. Vide Appendix to this chapter. No. 1.
4. A spirited outline of these principles is
sketched in Swift's Sermon on Mutual Subjection.
APPENDIX I
OF SUICIDE
Motives of suicide: 1. Escape from pain. -- 2. Benevolence. --
Martyrdom considered.
{92} This reasoning will explain to us the long disputed case of
suicide. 'Have I a right under any circumstances to destroy
myself in order to escape from pain or disgrace?' Probably not.
It is perhaps impossible to imagine a situation, that shall
exclude the possibility of future life, vigour, and usefulness.
The motive assigned for escape is eminently trivial, to avoid
pain, which is a small inconvenience; or disgrace, which is an
imaginary evil. The example of fortitude in enduring them, if
there were no other consideration, would probably afford a better
motive for continuing to live.
'Is there then no case in which suicide is a virtue?' What shall
we think of the reasoning of Lycurgus, who, when he determined
upon a voluntary death, remarked, 'that all the faculties a
rational being possessed were capable of a moral use, and that,
after having spent his life in the service of his country, a man
ought, if possible, to render his death a source of additional
benefit?' This was the motive of the suicide of Codrus, Leonidas
and Decius. If the same motive prevailed in the much admired {93}
suicide of Cato, if he were instigated by reasons purely
benevolent, it is impossible not to applaud his intention, even
if he were mistaken in the application.
The difficulty is to decide in any instance whether the recourse
to a voluntary death can overbalance the usefulness I may exert
in twenty or thirty years of additional life. But surely it would
be precipitate to decide that there is no such instance. There is
a proverb which affirms, 'that the blood of the martyrs is the
seed of the church.' It is commonly supposed that Junius Brutus
did right in putting his sons to death in the first year of the
Roman republic, and that this action contributed more than any
other cause, to generate that energy and virtue for which his
country was afterwards so eminently distinguished. The death of
Cato produced an effect somewhat similar to this. It was dwelt on
with admiration by all the lovers of virtue under the subsequent
tyrants of Rome. It seemed to be the lamp from which they caught
the sacred flame. Who can tell how much it has contributed to
revive that flame in after ages, when it seemed to have been so
long extinct?
Let it be observed that all martyrs [martyres] are suicides by the
very signification of the term. They die for a testimony
[martyrion]; that is, they have a motive for dying. But motives
respect only our own voluntary acts, not the violence put upon us by
another.
APPENDIX II
OF DUELLING
Motives of duelling: 1. Revenge. -- 2. Reputation for courage. --
Fallacy of this motive. -- Objection answered. -- lllustration.
{94} It may be proper in this place to bestow a moment's
consideration upon the trite, but very important case of
duelling. A very short reflection will suffice to set it in its
true light.
This detestable practice was originally invented by barbarians
for the gratification of revenge. It was probably at that time
thought a very happy project for reconciling the odiousness of
malignity with the gallantry of courage.
But in this light it is now generally given up. Men of the best
understanding who lend it their sanction, are unwillingly induced
to do so, and engage in single combat merely that their
reputation may sustain no slander.
Which of these rvo actions is the truest test of courage: the
engaging in a practice which our judgment disapproves, because we
cannot submit to the consequences of following that judgment; or
the doing what we believe to be right, and chearfully {95}
encountering all the consequences that may be annexed to the
practice of virtue? With what patience can a man of virtue think
of cutting off the life of a fellow mortal, or of putting an
abrupt close to all the generous projects he may himself conceive
for the benefit of others, merely hecause he has not firmness
enough to awe impertinence and falshood into silence?
'But the refusing a duel is an ambiguous action. Cowards may
pretend principle to shelter themselves from a danger they dare
not meet.'
This is partly true and partly false. There are few actions
indeed that are not ambiguous, or that with the same general
outline may not proceed from different motives. But the manner of
doing them will sufficiently shew the principle from which they
spring.
He, that would break through an universally received custom
because he believes it to be wrong, must no doubt arm himself
with fortitude. The point in which we chiefly fail, is in not
accurately understanding our intentions, and taking care
beforehand to free ourselves from any alloy of weakness and
error. He, who comes forward with no other idea in his mind but
that of rectitude, and who expresses, with the simplicity and
firmness which full conviction never fails to inspire, the views
with which he is impressed, is in no danger of being mistaken for
a {96} coward. If he hesitates, it is because he has not an idea
perfectly clear of the sentiment he intends to convey. If he be
in any degree embarrassed, it is because he has not a feeling
sufficiently generous and intrepid of the guilt of the action in
which he is pressed to engage.
If there be any meaning in courage, its first ingredient must be
the daring to speak the truth at all times, to all persons, and
in every possible situation. What is it but the want of courage
that should prevent me from saying, 'Sir, I ought to refuse your
challenge. What I ought to do, that I dare do. Have I injured
you? I will readily and without compulsion repair my injustice to
the uttermost mite. Have you misconstrued me? State to me the
particulars, and doubt not that what is true I will make appear
to be true. Thus far I will go. But, though I should be branded
for a coward by all mankind, I will not repair to a scene of
deliberate murder. I will not do an act that I know to be
flatitious. I will exercise my judgement upon every proposition
that comes before me; the dictates of that judgement I will
speak; and upon them I will form my conduct.' He that holds this
language with a countenance in unison with his words, will never
be suspected of acting from the impulse of fear.