Everybody happier: we all want that, but at what cost?
The utilitarians Bentham and Mill came up with measuring the moral value of behaviour by its contribution to human happiness. An ambitious idea, but with serious shortcomings.
In addition to virtue ethics and deontology of the previous episodes, utilitarianism is the third classical ethical theory. Utilitarianism is an ethical movement that measures the moral value of an action by the contribution that action makes to the well-being and happiness of all people.
Without Immanuel Kant we probably would not have had deontology. That might also apply to virtue ethics and Aristoteles. This is different with utilitarianism: it was a layered project, mainly by a number of generations of British philosophers. Utilitarianism was initiated by Jeremy Bentham (1748–1832), based in part on the ideas of Epikouros and the Scottish philosopher David Hume. Bentham's godson John Stuart Mill (1806–1873) really gave shape to utilitarianism with his book Utilitarianism (1861). Classic utilitarianism was then given the finishing touch by Henry Sidgwick (1838–1900).
The life of Jeremy Bentham
Jeremy Bentham would be a great protagonist in a novel. As the scion of a London legal dynasty, Jeremy would become Lord Chancellor, his father thought. And he was on the right track. At the age of twelve he became the youngest student ever enrolled at Oxford. But he lost interest during his early career as a lawyer. The law was of no use; he was more interested in improving the law itself. So he set about drafting a new criminal code, a project that grew bigger and bigger, but of which he only completed the introduction. He became distracted by attempts to promote his project in government circles. As a result, he ended up in political circles, where his talent was recognised, but he was considered not flexible enough for a career in politics. In the meantime, his brother had been appointed as an engineer to Prince Potyomkin, who was developing large parts of what is now Ukraine on behalf of the Russian Tsarina Yekaterina. Bentham's ideas may have been too progressive for England, but perhaps the decisive Tsarina would have listened to them. That failed; when Yekaterina came by to inspect the development works, he did not dare to force himself on her. But the trip would give Bentham something else, namely a collaboration with his brother. This Samuel had an innovative idea: the construction of a new type of prison: a panopticon, which resembles the now well-known domed prisons. Jeremy was enthusiastic, and would also try to sell this idea in England for years. In vain; the bigwigs in London were not looking for innovative ideas at all. And Bentham had plenty of innovative ideas: he suggested the construction of a Panama Canal (which was only realised more than a hundred years later), and he foresaw, also a hundred years too early, the introduction of frozen vegetables.
Upon his return to England, the French Revolution broke out in Paris. Bentham saw another opportunity for a breakthrough, and published all kinds of interesting insights in French, which turned out to fall on deaf ears in Paris.
Subsequently, his father died, leaving him with a nice inheritance and a large house in the heart of London. His existence was riddled with unfinished projects, ideas that were too far ahead of his time, and frustration, including in the area of love; despite frantic efforts to find a good match, he remained unmarried all his life. Yet Bentham was certainly not an unrecognised genius. He was known as a phenomenon, also had political influence, and had a small but loyal circle of followers. From his home in Westminster he continued to write and correspond frantically, surrounded by a loyal following of students and followers, including James Mill. The latter, a Scottish economist, is best known as the father of John Stuart Mill. Bentham became his godfather, and John Stuart regularly stayed with his uncle Jeremy in London.
John Stuart was to be educated as a marvel of civilisation and intellect. He was taught Greek at the age of three, and at the age of seven he read Plato's dialogues. Playing with friends was out of the question, to protect him from vulgar influences. There was no free time, let alone holidays. His father and Bentham saw in him the great new utilitarian who would continue the work after their deaths. It is not surprising that John Stuart suffered a nervous breakdown as a twenty-year-old when he realised that his emotions, desires and imagination could not be permanently suppressed. He would have a love-hate relationship with Bentham and his father and their utilitarianism for the rest of his life.
At his death in 1832, Bentham left behind 70,000 written sheets. Scholars are still working to map all of his work; his collected works now number 35 volumes. If you feel like it, you can help decipher his manuscripts yourself via this link. And that's not the only thing he left behind. At the end of his life, Bentham decided to leave a special monument: he had himself taxidermized. You can come and see him at University College London; there his body is on display.
Bentham’s utilitarianism
Virtue ethics and deontology were mainly concerned with personal relationships: how to behave well or virtuously towards our fellow men. Utilitarianism came about differently, namely from Bentham's social annoyance. How is it possible that we have such a backwards policy, with only negative outcomes and which makes no one happy, Bentham wondered.
The need for better social policy inspired Bentham and Mill to look for the building blocks, the algebra as it were, of human morality. But that wasn't easy...
The core of utilitarianism is described by Bentham as follows:
It is the greatest happiness of the greatest number that is the measure of right and wrong.
— Jeremy Bentham, Fragment on government (1776)
Makes sense, right? No complicated hassle with the relationship between virtue and happiness, nor that difficult categorical imperative. Utilitarians are concerned with the outcome: do what makes everyone as happy as possible.
The fact that it is about the outcome makes utilitarianism a consequentialist theory. That is to say: the moral quality of an action is judged by its consequences. Lying may not be virtuous, Aristoteles would say, and it may be categorically wrong, if you follow Kant. But a utilitarian only looks at the consequences of the lie: if it makes people happier (on balance, and in the long term), then the lie was a good idea this time.
As an aside: I previously gave the example, after Pierre Abélard, where you give money to a charity that — without you knowing it — supports terrorist groups. Or the other way around: you have bad intentions, but by chance your action actually turns out well. For example, you cause someone to trip out of cruelty, and that happens to be a thief being chased by the police. What counts, the intention or the outcome? Utilitarians agree that what matters is the intended consequences. To err is human, and accidents can happen anytime. Your intention was to support a good cause and to trip someone up. That is what counts morally, the utilitarians also believe.
Pain and pleasure
Okay, we were talking about the building blocks of human morality. Bentham believed that human morality requires one to look for the deepest human motivations, independent of context or will. Man seeks pleasure and tries to avoid pain, that is the foundation, he thought.
Nature has placed mankind under the governance of two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure.
— Jeremy Bentham, An introduction to the principles of morals and legislation (1780)
Bentham did not have that insight of his own. He learned it from the Scottish philosopher David Hume (1711-1776). Hume had wanted to rid studies of human nature of metaphysical speculation. In the spirit of the Enlightenment, Hume believed that one can only build a moral theory based on observations and evidence. Hume has immortalised himself, among other things, by stating that reason in itself can never be the sole motive for behaviour: there is always a natural need or desire underlying it. Kant might not have been happy with that.
Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them.
— David Hume, A treatise of human nature (1739)
Ultimately, all human behaviour can be explained by the interaction of (pleasant or unpleasant) sensory impressions with memories, desires, passions and emotions, Hume argued. Hume, in turn, was inspired by the hedonism of Epikouros.
He who has a clear and certain understanding of these things will direct every preference and aversion toward securing health of body and tranquillity of mind, seeing that this is the sum and end of a happy life. For the end of all our actions is to be free from pain and fear.
By pleasure we mean the absence of pain in the body and of trouble in the soul. It is not an unbroken succession of drinking-bouts and of merrymaking, not sexual love, not the enjoyment of the fish and other delicacies of a luxurious table, which produce a pleasant life; it is sober reasoning, searching out the grounds of every choice and avoidance, and banishing those beliefs through which the greatest disturbances take possession of the soul.
— Epikouros, Letter to Menoikeus (ca. 300 v.Chr.)
Bentham considered pain and pleasure to be the only intrinsic values in the world. From this he derived the utility rule: good is what brings the greatest happiness to the greatest number of people.
Actually, Bentham thought you didn't need to explain that further. Happiness and pleasure, and the avoidance of pain is what people ultimately want, although they often approach it clumsily. Behind Locke's and Kant's principles you can always ask the 'why' question. Why should you keep your hands off other people's things? Why is everyone allowed to follow their moral intuition? But in pursuit of pleasure and avoidance of pain, the why question is nonsensical. Why do you like pineapple? Why don't you want a toothache? There is no sensible answer to that.
But the psychological insights that were developed later showed that humans have a whole list of other drives than just the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain. Kin selection, for example: transferring one's own genes. Should those of the utilitarians be ignored? There is some discussion about that. Orthodox utilitarians reduce everything back to pain and pleasure. If people strive to pass on their genes, it is probably because they think that will make them happier.
Happiness, pleasure, well-being, prosperity, utility or fun
A difficult question regarding utilitarianism is: what is the utilitarian concerned with? Is it about happiness? Welfare? Pleasure? Utility? I personally use the terms interchangeably, because there is no word that exactly describes it.
John Stuart Mill thought primarily of happiness. What did he mean by that? Mill was sensible enough not to mean mere pleasure. Following Epikouros, he meant long-term happiness. Happiness not in the sense of pleasure, or the simplistic question: are you happy? Rather, think of someone who looks back on his life and wonders when he was happy. Epikouros, following Aristoteles, used the concept of eudaimonia, roughly translated as well-being. There is nothing wrong with short-term pleasure, but if it harms you in the long term, it will have a negative effect on your well-being.
Mill was quite outspoken about what he considers happiness: a happy person is someone who focuses on self-development, who works hard to do justice to his talents, someone who wants to develop refined taste and is empathetic. Other utilitarians prefer not to comment on the nature of happiness: the beauty of the system of utilitarianism is that everyone can decide for themselves what happiness consists of. That may be true, but if you have no objective criterion for happiness, how can you determine the moral quality of your behaviour?
And that is also a weak spot in Mill's theory: after all, wasn't he looking for an objective criterion, independent of the 'why' question? If you pursue long-term happiness, you will again make your choice dependent on estimates, experiences and calculations. Suppose you are in an exuberant mood and give the whole place a round of drinks in the pub. The next day you check your bank account and are shocked by your generosity. Should you have estimated in advance the fun your generosity would cause, and the regrets you would have the next day?
We can also try to use a more neutral term, in the form of utility. Utility in an economic sense is more or less equal to economic value, which you could express in money. By talking about utility we can make objective what is morally right, namely behaviour that on balance produces more utility than it costs.
Not everything can be expressed in money is a logical response. But using the turn signal costs the driver nothing, but it provides other road users with greater safety and better traffic flow. That may not have any monetary value, but it is useful. A cynical economist will add that love, conviviality, health and civilisation can also be expressed in money. Another utilitarian will answer that love etcetera may not be expressed in money, but they can be expressed in utility.
Rules of thumb
Before every action, no human being can make an extensive calculation of the positive and negative consequences for himself, for his environment and for the world as a whole. Of course we use rules of thumb for moral actions. And, for example, there is a constant public debate about the positive balance of certain actions, so that citizens are broadly aware of the moral content of certain complex actions.
If we have rules of thumb, we do not have to make complicated calculations every time of the effects on the total utility in society, Hume wrote. These rules of thumb in themselves already contribute to the common interest, because they make life more manageable, even if those rules of thumb do not produce optimal results in all cases.
Public utility requires that property should be regulated by general inflexible rules; and though such rules are adopted as best serve the same end of public utility, it is impossible for them to prevent all particular hardships, or make beneficial consequences result from every individual case. It is sufficient, if the whole plan or scheme be necessary to the support of civil society, and if the balance of good, in the main, do thereby preponderate much above that of evil.
— David Hume, An enquiry concerning the principles of morals (1751)
These rules of thumb quickly take on a life of their own and therefore acquire deontological characteristics. A utilitarian judge does not exactly weigh the happiness balance of every bank robbery. Stealing money and threatening people with a firearm are also generally wrong for utilitarians, because these actions cause more harm than they yield happiness.
Cousin Kant
The relationship with Aristoteles’ virtue ethics is obvious: both strive for eudaimonia for all people. In that sense utilitarianism can be seen as an elaboration of virtue ethics.
And there are also similarities with Kant's deontology. Utilitarians, like Kant, see the need for a clear, generally applicable principle on the basis of which good and bad behaviour can be distinguished. And both Kant and Mill had a strongly tolerant nature, focused on freedom. Do whatever you feel like doing. As long as you don't get in someone else's way: have fun. In essence, Mill even regarded Kant's categorical imperative as an outgrowth of his own utilitarian theory, albeit with subjective elements.
According to Mill, an ethical theory may not arise from human intuition, because it is by definition subjective and open to discussion. On the same grounds, he also rejected Locke's basic rule of natural law that everyone should stay away from other people's life, liberty, health and property. Because why should that be?
The core question of the categorical imperative is: “Would you want the maxim that legitimises your behaviour to apply to you as much as to everyone else?” There is a subjective, intuitive element to this. What one person would like to see as a general rule may be unacceptable to another.
Let us take adultery as an example. You have no objection to it, neither for yourself nor for everyone else. But someone else, perhaps even your romantic partner, may think very differently about this. They think cheating is wrong in principle, both for themselves and for others, so you should not cheat either. How do you figure that out if you don't have an objective criterion?
Mill also felt that Kant left open the possibility of “the adoption by all rational beings of the most outrageously immoral rules of conduct.”
Distributional issues
The relationship to distributional issues in utilitarianism is interesting. In principle, utilitarianism has a levelling effect. You have a sandwich left to give away and you can choose between a millionaire and a beggar. The benefit a beggar gets from a sandwich is immeasurably greater than that of the millionaire. Without a doubt the utilitarian gives the bread to the beggar. Utilitarians will award scarce goods to those who derive the most utility from them, which is generally the poorest.
Utilitarianism sounds attractive. Who doesn't want happiness, for themselves and for as many others as possible? And it also leads to a fair distribution: the poor are helped first.
But suppose we have a million to divide, and two people: Jane Average and Jane Million. Jane Average has managed her modest life very well. Of course she wants that million, but it wouldn't change her life enormously. But that millionaire is obsessed with material goods: she is going to buy a beautiful yacht with it, which she will enjoy immensely. In that case, the utilitarian gives the million to the millionaire. Is that fair?
Egoism
Suppose you win a big prize in the lottery. You're on cloud nine, you're so happy. You don't think anyone in the world could use that money better than you. Then the incredible happens: the following month you win the big prize again! Fantastic of course, but you won't be as happy as the first time. While the first time you can argue that no one is as happy with that prize as you are, after the second time you will have to admit that you can make others happier if you give away that money. And especially to people you don't know, whose lives would improve spectacularly with a fraction of the amount you won. How far does your utilitarian moral obligation go now? If you're honest, you might have to admit that "the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people" is achieved when you give away almost all your money to anonymous, poor slobs. But do you also have that moral obligation? And — even if you honestly answer that question in the affirmative — are you going to do it? Can you expect the unthinkable from people?
After all, man is a homo economicus, also according to the utilitarians: he mainly seeks his own happiness and avoids his own pain. If acting justly hurts your own wallet, how much altruism can you expect from the individual?
It is not only selfishness that can get in the way of utilitarian ideals. There's something else. Suppose your daughter's school organises a trip to Rome. There is a mandatory personal contribution of 200 quid per child. If you do not pay, your child will not be allowed to join. The trip has an educational purpose, but it is of course also a great adventure for her. You have the money. If you don't pay, she will never forgive you. But you are a strict utilitarian, and you know: with those 200 quid I can help people who are in deep trouble. They would benefit much more from this than your daughter, who lacks nothing. Not only does utilitarianism ignore our ingrained selfishness. It also neglects that we care more for relatives and people around us than for an anonymous wretch on the other side of the world. Ignoring that would be against human nature.
The ethical individual or ethical policy?
I already said that Bentham’s utilitarianism was born mainly from annoyance at bad policy. So far it has been about the morality of individuals. Might it be different with policy issues? It seems that the utilitarian theory was mainly concerned with this: what is the starting point of good policy? And then the utilitarian principle sounds logical: governments should strive for the greatest happiness of the greatest number of people.
But I just wrote that selfishness can get in the way of utilitarian morality. You're probably not going to sell your car and give the proceeds to the food bank. So what makes the morality of governments different from that of individuals? And can we make that distinction? After all, governments are also governed by more or less selfish individuals, and — if all goes well — carry out the will of the people. That people is also a collection of individuals, all with their own interests. If they all think selfishly, why would they want to collectively distribute happiness to those who need it most at the expense of their own happiness? You can only do this if you can demonstrate that it will also benefit them. Or by force, of course. But who is happy with coercion?
Paternalism
Suppose you have friends over for dinner. You love vegetables, and they are healthy too, and you know that your friends don't get enough vitamins and fibres because they don’t like vegetables. Is it morally right then to serve them kale? What is the deciding factor in that case? Your own objective view that vegetables are good for them? Or are you not allowed to impose your own judgement, no matter how well-founded, on your guests who see nothing wrong with their fast food diet?
It is a fundamental weakness in utilitarian theory. If the choice is left entirely to ourself, there is a good chance of selfish behaviour, short-term interests, behaviour that bothers others, or stupid mistakes. All of which can have a negative effect on net happiness. But if others interfere, we have other risks: choices are made for us that do not really make us happy, and we lose autonomy, which negatively affects our happiness.
Interestingly, Mill turned against paternalism in his book On liberty (1859). Mill believed that society should restrict the freedom of the individual as little as possible. According to his harm principle, coercion may only be used against an individual, against his will, to prevent harm to others. Why? Because coercion affects the common good; people aren’t happy with coercion.
There is no such thing as a government without coercion. There is no opt-out: like it or not, there is no escaping taxation, traffic rules and criminal law. And governments should focus on the greatest happiness of the greatest number of people. It seems that Mill meant that the government may strive for this, but may not use coercion unless people cause harm to others. Criminal law is therefore legitimised insofar as it combats harm to others. But what about traffic rules? The Road Traffic Act states that traffic from the left has priority. That is a useful rule, because if everyone applies the same rules, it prevents accidents, arguments and congestion. But does that rule prevent harm to others? Indirectly, perhaps. Then the seat belt. It is mandatory, but if you don't wear it, you are only endangering yourself; there is no harm to others. Mill would be against the mandatory use of seat belts, because that is coercion and you only harm yourself if you do not use them. Even though it is in the public interest if everyone uses a seat belt. However, Mill thought persuasion was justified in such cases. So he would have been fine with information campaigns and signs along the highway, but not with penalties.
The last word has not yet been said about the harm principle, because it directly affects paternalism, one of the main motives for intolerance. I will therefore devote a whole series to paternalism later.
Forced redistribution is another issue. It is established that redistribution contributes to net happiness. The billionaire is probably sad that she has to pay millions in taxes. But if this helps thousands of people to meet a minimum subsistence level, the measure will on balance contribute to more happy people. But it is coercion; the billionaire doesn't do it voluntarily. So it is justified from a utilitarian point of view, but Mill would disapprove of it, because no harm is involved.
Sacrifices
And this is only about fairly trivial matters such as money. But suppose you are surviving in the wilderness with a group of friends, and you are attacked by a hungry predator. The situation threatens to become untenable, the defence will not hold out for much longer. The only way to escape the animal is for someone to sacrifice themself. The animal eats one, satisfies its hunger, and pays no attention to the others, who can escape. Whatever selection method is used, drawing lots, or the slowest, or the least happy person in the group: the choice inevitably falls on you. Are you then morally obliged to sacrifice yourself?
It can go even further. Suppose there is a deadly epidemic raging. Science is facing a breakthrough. A vaccine can be developed, but at the cost of the carriers of one particular gene. Their bodies have to be 'harvested'; they will be very ill for the rest of their lives. There is no other way. Can this group be expected to sacrifice themselves to end the epidemic?
Or what about the gladiator fights in classical Rome. Tens of thousands of spectators flocked to the amphitheater to see a gladiator torn to pieces by wild animals. A utilitarian would feel terribly sorry for the gladiator, but the fun of numerous spectators might outweigh that.
This dilemma can also arise socially. Suppose that the energy supply requires the construction of enormous reservoirs. Unfortunately, there are several colourful villages in the area where the dam is to be built. A utilitarian will generally find that the picturesque village should make way. There is a gloomy apartment available elsewhere for the villagers.
The utilitarian theory is not fit for these types of situations. If, on balance, it contributes sufficiently to the happiness of the largest possible group of people, no sacrifice goes too far.
Is everybody happier a good idea?
Utilitarianism is like a British racing car: an ambitious idea, but there is always something rattling under the bonnet. Paternalism, coercion, egoism and redistribution, among other things, are intrinsic problems in utilitarianism, as is the fact that there are no moral limitations ingrained in utilitarianism: if it pays, the utilitarian will be about corpses.
Even today, utilitarianism has many adherents, among both liberals and totalitarians. Utilitarianism has something technocratic about it; it often appeals to engineers and economists. If you analyse the policies of the Chinese state party, you will see that there are many similarities. To solve inherent problems, all kinds of movements within utilitarianism have gradually emerged. But none of them have discovered the philosopher's stone yet. 'Everybody happier' turns out not to be as simple as it sounds.
For further reading
— Epikouros, Letter to Menoikeus (ca. 300 v.Chr.)
— David Hume, A treatise on human nature (1739)
— David Hume, An enquiry concerning the principles of morals (1751)
— Jeremy Bentham, An introduction to the principles of morals and legislation (1780)
— John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism (1861)
— Henry Sidgwick, The methods of ethics (1874)
— Ross Harrison, Bentham (1983)
— Geoffrey Scarre, Utilitarianism (1996)
— Philip Lucas, Anne Sheeran, Asperger’s Syndrome and the eccentricity and genius of Jeremy Bentham, Journal of Bentham Studies (2006)
— William Morris, Charlotte Brown, David Hume, Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (2023)
An overview of all articles about morality and toleration can be found here; this was the seventh episode. We will conclude this series in the next episode.