If the specialists were polled to choose the greatest name among living philosophers, there would be no room for doubt about the result. Some, naturally, would cast their votes with indifference, but the majority would choose the name of Bertrand Russell. As a philosopher he has received, in the field of recognition, every honor and distinction, including the Order of Merit and the Nobel Prize (as he reminds us in his new book, "Human Society in Ethics and Politics") — notwithstanding the exclusion of his book from the schools of New York, which refused to teach it on the plea that it was unsuitable.
This book has a special usefulness, since it is the first popular statement of his latest views on ethics. Nearly half a century ago, when Russell was under the influence of his Cambridge colleague G. E. Moore, he wrote an essay on ethics in which he set out his position as follows: what makes an act right or wrong, apart from any personal consideration, is its consequences — the final consequences, which are in themselves good or bad. As for what is good or bad, no one can explain it; these are simply the names of qualities we know quite well, and we see plainly that they attach to certain things and not to others. Yet these qualities are themselves so simple that they need no analysis or definition.
In ethics, as in most fields of knowledge, Russell's mind has advanced a great deal in the course of the last half century. He still believes that what makes
an act right is the goodness of its consequences, and hence that the key idea of ethics is not the idea of "right" but of "good." But there has been a change of very great importance. Fifty years ago Russell believed that when we call something "good," our conception of it wavers between error and truth. Now he believes that we are
not describing that thing at all, but expressing our admiration of it, giving voice to our longing for it and our contentment with it. And admiration itself is neither wrong nor right.
Furthermore, the appeal to reason, at whose side Russell stands as advocate and persuader, is an appeal very limited in its scope. Reason serves to settle disputes about means, not about ends. For example, if two men agree that a cultivated mind is worthy of every human being, they can then inquire rationally into the most useful and effective ways of cultivation for
reaching that end, and one of them may convince the other by decisive proof. But if they differ over the end itself, there is no valid argument or decisive proof that either can establish, for they are not disputing over a contradictory claim — indeed neither of them is advancing any claim at all; they simply yearn for different things, nothing more.
Add to this that nothing is truly objective, in the sense presumed for objective goodness, except the desires that are shared among different people. If that is so, are moral rules still possible? Yes — though in a very restricted sense. Since most of us, fortunately, desire the same kind of things, there are general opinions that can be laid down and adopted as the best means of attaining them.
Russell exerts himself greatly to find a place for duty in his system, and he proposes that we "ought" to do the act which leads, through its consequences, to the greatest and widest satisfaction of human desires. It is clear that he himself — as a citizen who wishes everyone well, and as the spiritual son of John Stuart Mill — adopts this as an exact law of duty for himself.
But why ought any other man to act as he does? Grant that such conduct is right for him alone, because he is satisfied as to its consequences. But what if he is not satisfied as to them, as is the case with many people? Is it not his duty to consider the interests of others?
Russell heartily detests this assertion. In every chapter he handles it and points toward it, but only to evade declaring it with boldness and daring. And yet, according to his own logical premises, we see there is no escaping this conclusion. For my part I am convinced