METAPHYSICAL ETHICS AS AN UNDERCURRENT

OF GREEN'S POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY

 

Dr. RAM CHANDRA GUPTA

Govt. Arts and Commerce College, Indore

 

To any serious onlooker an assessment of the Victorian age should appear a difficult task because the glow of its surface tends to conceal its undercurrent of troubles. On May 1, 1851, a worried Europe woke up to see the startling of industrial progress of England in the Crystal Palace Exhibition. The grimaces of the ‘hungry forties’ were gone on April 10, 1848, the Chartist Movement was skillfully quietened, and the waves of contemporary European revolt failed to reach the English shore with the result that, amid the flurry of continental chaos, the banner of England stood high, fluttering the message of hope and promise.

 

The Crystal Palace Exhibition of 1851 was a glass-case witness to England’s claim as the ‘workshop of the world.’ By that time the Iron Age in England was rapidly approaching its zenith and, thanks to the effort of George Stephenson of Tyneside, the Railway Age had brought its thrill of motion. In short, in England, social and economic life was changing under the impact of scientific progress. One cannot deny the nest of material prosperity, England secured since the ‘fifties, to the credit of scientific and industrial advancement.’ But it is in this admission of fact that one may sense the real trouble of the Victorian era. Amid the cheers of material progress, it was overlooked that the social belief had been darkened by a mood of doubt and scepticism.

 

In the first half of the 19th century the so-called discord between philosophy and religion, knowledge and faith, had not grown poignant. In fact, in the early Victorian age, popular excitement centered round the controversies between the side-issues of religion, and not between philosophy and religion. The Oxford Movement, which originated from an unmeaning ecclesiastical scare, silently brought a religious revival. In the thirties and forties the Tractarian brochures flooded England, to cause a widespread storm of protest; and ultimately, with the secession of Newman and his associates, it had to breathe its last. But that this movement unknowingly pushed on a religious interest can be guessed from a picture of the time immediately following this movement. The Victorians were then very regular both in private prayer and public worship. The lead in this line was given by the Royal family. Attendance in the church, twice a day, was not an uncommon feature of the family life. A concept of Christian fraternity was widely talked of even among the working classes. But with the gradual seizure of social life by science and industrialism, this religious faith was sadly eclipsed by a cynical sense of doubt, and philosophy, being steadily yoked to materialism, came to be used as an instrument for hurling obloquy against religion. Religion, however, had to await the rudest blow until the discoveries of geology and evolution–appearing in Charles Lyell’s famous book “The Principles of Geology” (1830) and Darwin’s “The Origin of Species” (1859). This conflict between science and religion climaxed in 1860 when, in the classic debate at the Oxford meeting of the British Association, Thomas Huxley euphemistically retorted the sarcasm of Bishop Wilberforce who there expressed most crudely the typical theological allergy to scientific ideas of evolution.

 

Religion was gradually reduced to an emotion, and philosophy to a mechanical formula, and so the chasm between the two grew alarmingly wide. It became a fashion of the time to acclaim man as the “master of things.” But amid the enthusiasm of this glorification of man, it was forgotten that the greatness of man might be assured best by the acceptance of a spiritual principle. The real need of the time was a new kind of philosophy, which could avoid evangelical fads as well as materialistic scepticism, and emphasise the essential greatness of man in the context of a religious temperament. Indeed, the spirit of the age was waiting for a man who could come and say that “philosophy, on its part, is seen to be the effort towards self-recognition of that spiritual life of the world, which fulfils itself in many ways but mostly completely in the Christian religion, and to be thus related to religion as the flower to the leaf.”1

 

It was a sincere desire to heal the spiritual crisis of his age that inspired Thomas Hill Green to start his pen. The philosophy which was roughly sketched by Coleridge, and which occasionally lulled the imagination of J. S. Mill, needed a man who, by his consistent thought, would give it a comprehensive shape. In T. H. Green we exactly find this man. When, in Victorian England, the spiritual view of life sadly sank down amid the torrents of material prosperity, Green, a young student at Oxford, thundered: “In no depth of their debasement have men consented to confine the range of the mind within the limits of the fleshly tabernacle, which is the seat of its imprisonment.” 2

 

It was Green’s conviction that philosophy should build up a theory of the essential greatness of man by emphasising a higher conception of life. Green mellowed the English thought with a religious mood, but at the same time cancelled all worn out theological dogmas. He really came to grips with the problem of his time. So Green ought to be remembered even today because with him started a new season in the climate of philosophic thought in Victorian England.

 

But in the field of political philosophy Green was not an innovator as he was in the sphere of metaphysical and ethical enquiry. If in regard to speculative thought he was a path-maker whose theory sought to satisfy the crying spiritual need of his age, in regard to political philosophy he was, indeed, a child of his time. But, for that reason, it will be unfair to argue that his political philosophy was of less significance. Green, as Barker says, “addressed himself to eliciting and explaining the presuppositions implicit in the contemporary life of the English State.3 It is not a fact that had he not constructed his political philosophy collectivism would have failed to invade England. Blot out Green’s name from the pages of the history of political thought and you will find no difficulty in detecting a sequence in the events of state intervention in England. Wherein then lie his importance? His credit, in fact, lies in the fact that he, by his political philosophy, rendered a logical interpretation of the events of his time. In the earlier period the Utilitarians came with their well-knit theory, hammered hard, and ultimately succeed in injecting a spirit of individualism in the arteries of administration. Thus an individualistic attitude of the State developed in the wake of an organised philosophy. But unlike this the collectivistic approach of the State developed, in the later Victorian period, more under the influence of the necessity of facts than of the persistence of a philosophy. Now these growing facts of State interference needed a philosophy to rest on. Green’s task was to provide this philosophy of the Collectivist State. As Laski says: “What the philosophers like T. H. Green….did was to provide the basis for understanding the necessity of the change. They prepared men to receive it…..They established the canon of their age.” 4

 

The political philosophy of the Utilitarians was firmly yoked to their ethical theory and a solicitude to maintain this canonic coherence largely moulded their individualistic creed. It would scarcely be just to say that Green’s political philosophy was not loyal to his metaphysical ethics. In fact, Green’s Principles of Political Obligation is an illustrative appendix of his Prolegomena to Ethics. Yet one should remember that his political philosophy was influenced less by this theoretician’s concern for a coherence between his different shades of thought. More important, in this regard, was Green’s humanitarian outlook. His genuine distress at the sight of the poor, indeed, contributed largely to the development of his collectivism and so it was scarcely a dogma. He was a collectivist not because he was a dogmatic theoretician but because he was a humanitarian and a true Christian who discovered the moral responsibility of the State in arresting the danger of social calamity. “He had the warmest interest in, and the strongest sympathy for, the humbler classes. No man had a truer love for social equality, or a higher sense of the dignity of simple human nature.”5 It is because of this Christian love for the oppressed humanity that he felt no contradiction in being both a collectivist and a liberal. He emphasized State-intervention, but was not impervious to the basic need of the individual’s right of free development. It is these things that should impel one to feel at home with his political ideas.

 

Green entered Oxford in 1855 and was intimately associated with it until the last day of his life. His writings profusely contributed to the prestige of Oxford, because with him, in fact, began its philosophical tradition. Long ago, Bentham, with his hackles up, spoke ill of the life at Oxford. He harshly said that going to the foolish lectures of his tutors, to be taught something of a logical jargon there, he had learnt nothing. How far these remarks were influenced by his personal feelings might be a matter of opinions; but one cannot deny that even in the mid-Victorian era life at Oxford was not at all enviable. “Living in small, semi-monastic communities with a continuous tradition of four or five hundred years behind them, the Fellows of colleges were isolated from the busy, changing world and often, from their heavy drinking and unalterable opinions, were nicknamed the ‘two bottle orthodox’. At a time when railways were changing the face of Britain, the only railroad permitted in Oxford was the ingenious contrivance in New College for circulating the port round the fireplace in the Senior Common Room.”6 If anybody, keeping aside these considerations, wishes to probe deeper, he is likely to be struck by the fact of quiescence in philosophical speculation at that time. In 1858 Green lamented: “I am almost ashamed to belong to a University which is in such a state of darkness.”7 This remark may serve as a pointer to the fact how the field of philosophical thought at Oxford remained absolutely barren. In fact, when persons like Mill, Spencer, Bain, Lewes, Jevons and Sidgwick produced tones of philosophy to stir English mind the speculative spirit at Oxford was in a painful process of atrophy.

           

Oxford was ruffled by the Oxford Movement which actually placed an insurmountable hurdle against the growth of philosophic thought. Drowned, as it was, in theological dogmas, the Tractarian Movement cared little to comprehend the mind of the age. The aptitude for contemplation which is the real Source of philosophy was cowed down amid the excitement of ecclesiastical controversy. So, naturally, philosophy could not have its nourishment. The Oxford Movement ultimately died down but it left back its leaven in the quadrangles of Oxford. The mood of theological discussion of the previous period was transformed into an ecclesiastical party spirit, theological debate was substituted by a crude form of platform intrigue and manoeuvre. The University came under the terrorism of an ecclesiastical Ring. So there was little of the mental freedom necessary for contemplation. Memory work being the most reliable means for winning distinctions, they naturally felt no urge for a philosophical training. The young tutors too, upon whom mainly rested the responsibility of teaching philosophy, were more interested in seeing their students come off with flying colours and so took pains to teach them methodical tactics out of their own experience. The burdensome syllabus of Litterae Humaniores of which philosophical study was an appendage put so heavy a premium upon the students’ industry that they could really find no adequate time for a proper grasp of philosophical knowledge.

 

When all these factors welded to cramp the philosophical initiative in Oxford, a man appeared to usher in a new wave: he was Benjamin Jowett. Jowett translated three volumes of Plato in which his introduction and appendices contained more of philosophy than of mere commentary. So with him set in a true climate of philosophy in Oxford. But Jowett might never claim to have constructed an independent and positive philosophy. It was T. H. Green who came forward to complete the half-done task of his master. In his lectures he was more than a routine teacher. Every class-lecture was carefully weaved in philosophical niceties. Moreover, by his Prolegomena to Ethics and Principles of Political Obligation he built up a positive philosophy which marked the beginning of a forceful philosophical movement ever remembered by posterity as the Oxford Idealism.

 

Green’s political philosophy cannot be correctly comprehended unless we go up the rungs of his metaphysics and ethics and it is herein that one may watch the important characteristic of Green’s approach. The empiricist philosophers, no doubt, took pains to write on political principles. But while grappling with problems of politics they acted more as politicians than as philosophers. Generally in their writings we do not find any attempt to treat politics as an integral part of a complete philosophical system. Locke exerted no effort to erect a bridge between his theory of knowledge and his theory of Government. Hume was too busy with his metaphysical heresy to give any primary attention to political questions. It will be wrong, however, to argue that in Mill too we find no desire to set a connecting thread between politics and philosophy. His psychical atomism, by implication at least, has got a clear correspondence with his doctrine of individualism. But in his political treatises Mill was more interested to combat the practical questions of politics. It is difficult to discover in life writings any attempt to develop a comprehensive philosophy of the State.

 

Judged in this perspective, Green was the first man in the nineteenth century to construct a comprehensive philosophy of the State. There is a direct affinity between his metaphysics and politics, between which his ethics serves as a necessary interlude. It is this perfect harmony between speculative thought and practical problems that has conferred upon Green a unique position in the history of English political thought. “He went straight”, as David Ritchie relates, “from the declaration of the polls, when he was elected a town councilor, to lecture on The Critique of Pure Reason. 8 This indicates the man who used his metaphysics as a necessary contrivance to come up to the field of political theory: the man who was both a philosopher and a practical reformer, both an idealist in philosophy and a liberal in politics.

 

Green’s Philosophy of the State, the subject of our main concern, was thus built up on a very sound and reasonable footing. For all his belief, like Hegel’s, that the State was the embodiment of the Divine Spirit, he never considered the State an end in itself. It was a means to an end, and that end was the full moral development of the individuals who compose it. His ethics made him to believe passionately with Kant that every man has a worth and dignity which forbids his exploitation for any purposes whatever. “The life of the nation”, he insisted, “has no real existence except as the life of the individuals composing it.” “To speak of any progress or improvement or development of a nation or society or mankind except as relative to some greater worth of persons,” he wrote, “is to use words without meaning.” It is in this context that he regarded the functions of the state as being negative. According to him, the State cannot teach morality to men. Nor can it make men moral, since morality consists in “the disinterested performance of self-imposed duties.” It has to remove obstacles which prevent men becoming moral.

 

It is true, of course, that in order to remove obstacles the State must interfere to such an extent that what appears negativee in form soon seems most positive in content. “To any Athenian slave, who might be used to gratify a master’s lust,” he wrote, “it would have been a mockery to speak of the State as a realisation of freedom; and perhaps it would not be much less to speak of it as such to an untaught and under-fed denizen of a London yard, with gin-shops, on the right hand and on the left.” It was for the State to see that the mental and physical mal-nutrition, together with the gin-shops, were removed. “To uphold the sanctity of contract,” he said, “is doubtless a prime business of Government, but it is no less its business to provide against contracts being made which, from the helplessness of one of the parties to them, instead of being a security for freedom, become an instrument of disguised oppression.” In acknowledging that as its business, the State was assuming no inconsiderable powers of intervention. Green’s indignation at the moral degradation which for so long society had so easily accepted shines through his words: “We content ourselves with enacting that no man shall be used by other men as a means against his will, but we leave it to be pretty much a matter of chance whether or not he shall be qualified to fulfil any social function, to contribute anything to the common good, and to do so freely.” Indeed, he would gladly have echoed Carlyle’s “that no one should die ignorant who has the capacity for learning; that I call a tragedy, though it should happen, as by some computations it does, a thousand times a minute.” If the State was to intervene to prevent that tragedy, to ensure that everyone should be qualified to contribute something to the common good; its intervention was likely to be steady, constant, and far-reaching, and its purpose would clearly be positive.

 

The negative role which Green assigns to the State as the remover of obstacles is nevertheless significant. What is most important in life is a subject which, according to Green, falls within the province of the individual. And such a theory defines and limits State actions more than they could ever be defined and limited by the Utilitarians. The State can do everything which will help, but it must do nothing which will hinder the free development of moral personality. The real function of Government being to maintain conditions of life in which morality shall be possible, and morality consisting in the disinterested performance of self-imposed duties, paternal Government “does its best to make it possible by narrowing the room for the self-imposition of duties and for the play of disinterested motives.” Green, in fact, was never tired of insisting that institutions exist for men, and not men for institutions. They are important for the effect they have on their members.

 

Green did not idealize the State as Plato, Hegel and the subsequent English idealists, Bradley and Bosanquet, did but, on the contrary, he tried to establish the importance of individual men and women, and it is hardly surprising to find that, in spite of the aura of mysticism which surrounds his conception of society, the State, according to him, is not something more than the sum of the wills of its citizens. He did not find in it, as Rousseau did, Un moi commun, a common me.

 

He believed in the existence of the General Will. It was his belief that General Will is the real basis of the State. Legal sovereignty, he fully agreed with John Austin, must reside in the supreme authority within the State, in that body which recognises no power above itself. But behind this legal sovereign is the General Will, and this General Will is what really determines the habitual obedience of a people. Men habitually obey only those institutions which, perhaps unconsciously, they feel, represent the General Will. It is quite clear that for him General Will meant the will for the State, not the will of the State. His General Will, it is almost obvious, is certainly not that in whose name so many crimes have been committed, which has proved such an excellent stick, not only with which to beat minorities, as Dean Inge saw, but with which to bludgeon whole communities into obedience, that it has become the almost accredited villain of modern political thought.

 

Although Green held that Will, not Force, was the true basis of the State, he was fully conscious that there were States in which Force was predominant. For such States he had no liking as they could not fulfil their ideal function. Hence while Green rejected Rousseau’s view that the General Will was entirely in abeyance in all existing states, he also rejected Hegel’s view that the laws in all existing states were synonymous with the General Will. The State, therefore, as it exists, is not necessarily a complete embodiment of the Divine Spirit more than the individual. Thus Green, unlike Hegel, tried to safeguard the individual against the monistic State. He also differed from Hegel in his conception of freedom. For Hegel, freedom is the voluntary identification of the self with the laws of the state. But according to Green, Freedom is the right of a man to make the best of himself. This may mean voluntary identification of the self with the laws of the state. If the state is a good state, if it is adequately fulfilling its function, it will mean this. But it might not mean this. It might even mean that the individual, albeit in fear and trembling, will be compelled to go up against the state–a possibility which Hegel could never admit but which Green readily admitted.

 

Green thus not only tried to limit the authority of the state by the demands of the individual, but he was also willing to admit the possibility of the state’s supersession by other and perhaps higher forms of society. “It is easy,” he wrote, “to conceive a better  system than that of the great States of modern Europe with their national jealousies, rival armies, and hostile tariffs.” And while acknowledging how far mankind is from realising “the dream of an international court with authority resting on the consent of individual states,” he believed, “that there is nothing in the intrinsic nature of a system of independent states incompatible with it, but that on the contrary every advance in the organisation of mankind in states in the sense explained is a step towards it.”

 

“This as well as his admission that good government need not always be popular government, and that a dictatorship also might act according to the General Will, create some doubts about his individualism. Though his preference for popular control and participation in government is admitted, it has nevertheless been claimed that the seeds of authoritarianism are to be detected in Green’s writings. But in the light of his loud proclamation that the best government can only be self-government, the doubts about individualism are removed. Un-Hegelian in his refusal to consider the state an end in itself, as something other and greater than thee sum of the individuals who are its citizens, as necessarily a complete embodiment of the Spirit, more than the individual, un-Hegelian in his insistence that the individual may have the duty to act against the state, that the state must preserve the rights of the lesser communities within it and respect the rights of the greater community of which it is itself part, Green is no less un-Hegelian in this, that for the passive voluntary identification of the self with an authoritarian state which Hegel demands, he substitutes an active participation in a democratic state which his individualism requires. Green, to quote Wayper, “the individualist who judges State, Society, and General Will, by their worth for the development of individual morality and individual character; who so notably and so nobly dedicated himself to social and political service in the City of Oxford would not have been true to himself had he done less–and would certainly have made much less of an appeal than he did to Englishmen.” 9

 

“If it be individualism to see in every political movement the fate of human beings and in every controversy over institutions the weal or woe of fellow citizens, then there are few more declared individualists in political philosophy than T. H. Green,” writes Maccunn.10 Green refuses to accept the Mechanistic Theory of the state, because he is convinced that will, not force, is the true basis of the state. He accepts the Organic Theory of the state only with many qualifications. He regards the state as natural since man is necessarily a social animal. He regards freedom not as the absence of restraint but as a process of self-development by freely obeying laws and customs which are seen to embody a rational scheme of justice within the community. He believes the state to be essentially good, because it is indispensable to guide and enable men to understand their own moral obligations and to call out the best in them. He teaches men to see that faith in their own moral development and faith in their fellow men matters far more to them than any particular interest they may have. And in his distinction between outward acts and inward will, between what is better done even from the wrong motive and what is only valuable because of its motive, he gives men a far sounder criterion whereby to judge state action than did Mill with his doctrine of self-and-other-regarding actions. In doing so, he gives the individual a far more effective protection against the undue exercise of the state’s power than anything with which utilitarianism could provide him. Correcting and supplementing both utilitarianism and idealism, Green gives men a common sense criterion, which they can apply to states. Every state, he shows them, can be judged by its practical and ideal contents here and now. It will be a good state if it contains the largest possible number of happy, moral human beings.

 

Mill’s philosophy was dominant in England when the Oxford philosopher began his work; and though Green consistently avoided polemics; an undercurrent of opposition to Mill runs through his writings. He respected and admired the man; but in the Introduction to Hume and in the Prolegomena to Ethics, as well as in the lectures on Mill’s logic, his dissent from the philosophy is made manifest. He points out the inadequacy of Mill’s conception of cause; in the Introduction to Hume he makes a some-what contemptuous reference to the “juggle, which the modern popular logic performs with the word ‘phenomenon’;” 11 and from the ethical theory of utilitarianism his dissent is absolute and unqualified. It is true, he generously recognises the practical value of utilitarianism. This is the theory, he says, which has given the conscientious citizen in modern Europe “a vantage ground for judging of the competing claims on his obedience, and enabled him to substitute a critical and intelligent for a blind and unquestioning. conformity;” 12 and he pronounces that “there is no doubt that the theory of an ideal good, consisting in the greatest happiness of the greatest number, as the end by reference to which the claim of all laws and powers and rules of action on our obedience is to be tested, has tended to improve human conduct and character.” 13 But nevertheless he utterly rejects the idea of pleasure being the one true end of moral action, and instead places the summum bonum for man in “some perfection of human life, some realisation of human capacities.” 14, The improvement in conduct and character is sufficient in itself, whether it be accompanied with pleasure or not. Both in his metaphysics and in his politics Green was irreconcilably at variance with the Utilitarians. His function was to substitute for their empiricism an idealistic interpretation both of the universe and of human life.

 

To conclude, Green, with his practical knowledge of the problems of the state and his faith in political liberalism, tried to make individualism moral and social, and idealism civilized and safe. If he paved the way for speculative thinking in the field of metaphysics, he attempted to liberalise the politics and safeguard the dignity of the self-conscious individual against the restraining character of the state. In fact, his unshakable faith in man as a self-conscious and self-moralising entity has a sound metaphysical basis.

 

1 T. H. Green: Works Vol. 3. p. 121.

2  T. H. Green, “College Essay on Loyalty”: Extracted from Nettleship’s Memoir. p. 20.

3 Ernest Barker, Political Thought in England. p. 22.

4 H. J. Laski, The Leaders of Collectivist Thought, Ideas and Beliefs of the Victorians. p. 420.

5 James Bryce, Contemporary Review, May, 1882.

6 D. Lindsay and E. S. Washington, A Portrait of Britain. chap. 9.

7 R. L. Nettleship. Memoir. p. 23.

8 D. G. Ritchie, The Principles of State Interference. Chap. 3, Section 1

9 C. L. Wayper, Political Thought. Chap. III.

10 Maccunn, Six Radical Thinkers.

11 Hume’s Works, p. 202.

12 Prolegomena, 361.

13 Ibid 363.

14 Ibid 390

 

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