## 1. Life



John Stuart Mill was born on 20 May 1806 in Pentonville, then a
northern suburb of London, to Harriet Barrow and James Mill. James
Mill, a Scotsman, had been educated at Edinburgh
University--taught by, amongst others, Dugald Stewart--and
had moved to London in 1802, where he was to become a friend and
prominent ally of Jeremy Bentham and the Philosophical Radicals.
John's remarkable education, famously recounted in his
*Autobiography*, was conducted with the intention of equipping
him for leadership of the next generation of radicalism. For this, at
least, it prepared him well. Starting with Greek at age three and
Latin at age eight, Mill had absorbed most of the classical canon by
age twelve--along with algebra, Euclid, and the major Scottish
and English historians. In his early teenage years, he studied
political economy, logic, and calculus, utilising his spare time to
digest treatises on experimental science as an amusement. At age
fifteen--upon returning from a year-long trip to France, a nation
he would eventually call home--he started work on the major
treatises of philosophy, psychology and government. All this was
conducted under the strict daily supervision of his father--with
young John holding primary responsibility for the education of his
siblings (Reeves 2007: 11-27).



The intensity of study and weight of expectation took its toll. Mill
had internalised the radical and utilitarian creed during his
education--a process capped off with a close reading of Bentham
in Dumont's French translation and editorial responsibility for
Bentham's *Rationale of Judicial Evidence*--and had
begun to put it into practise as a youthful propagandist. But he
quickly found that his education had not prepared him for life. Mill
suffered, aged twenty, a "mental crisis".



> 
> 
> [I]t occurred to me to put the question directly to myself:
> "Suppose that all your objects in life were realized; that all
> the changes in institutions and opinions which you are looking forward
> to, could be completely effected at this very instant: would this be a
> great joy and happiness to you?" And an irrepressible
> self-consciousness distinctly answered, "No!" [...] I
> seemed to have nothing left to live for. (*Autobiography*, I:
> 139).
> 
> 
> 



Mill's malaise continued through 1826-7 (Capaldi 2004:
55ff.). Though such episodes were to recur throughout his life, his
initial recovery was found in the poetry of the Romantics. A new side
developed to Mill's character, and he now emphasised the
importance of the culture of the feelings as well as the need for
social reform. Mill particularly valued Wordsworth during this
period--though his new interests quickly led him to the work of
Coleridge, Carlyle, and Goethe. Mill's acquaintance with these
thinkers gave him a lasting openness to Romantic thought--and an
acute awareness that the Enlightenment philosophy with which he had
been brought up only contained "one side of the truth"
(*Autobiography*, I: 169). His primary philosophic goal became,
and would throughout his life remain, to integrate and reconcile these
opposing schools of philosophy. "[W]hoever could master the
premises and combine the methods of both, would possess the entire
English philosophy of their age" (*Coleridge*, X:
121).



This new-found eclecticism also led to productive engagement with,
amongst others, Francois Guizot, Auguste Comte, and Tocqueville. All
would leave a lasting influence on Mill's work, but in this
period, another figure also loomed large: Harriet Taylor (Kinzer 2007:
77-111). Mill met Harriet at a dinner party in 1830, and the two
quickly fell in love. Harriet had, four years' prior, married
John Taylor--an amiable, though intellectually unadventurous,
pharmacist. The three eventually came to an arrangement by which Mill
would be allowed to visit Harriet at the Taylors' country
retreat when her husband was not present, and at their London
residence while he visited his Club. This arrangement persisted for
years, and, by all accounts, Mill and Harriet's relationship was
entirely platonic. John Taylor died in 1849, with Harriet and Mill
marrying in 1851--though not before the perceived scandal had
caused a rift between Mill and many of his friends. Mill felt
first-hand the stifling effect of Victorian judgmentalism and
oppressive norms of propriety--a subject he would later take up
in *On Liberty*.



Mill idolized Harriet, and credited her with virtual co-authorship of
many of his works. Untangling the influence she exerted upon
Mill's thought is complicated, precisely because the two worked
so closely together on what would become many of Mill's central
ideas. She died, however, in 1858, while Mill and she were travelling
through France. Harriet was buried in Avignon, where Mill subsequently
purchased a house close by the cemetery, and lived for the rest of his
life. Mill inscribed on her grave that 



> 
> 
> [s]he was the sole earthly delight of those who had the happiness to
> belong to her. [...] Were there but a few hearts and intellects
> like hers this earth would already become the hoped-for heaven.
> 
> 
> 



Harriet's death, in fact, came only a little over a month after
Mill's retirement from the East India Company, for which he had
worked for almost thirty-five years. Mill had taken a position as a
junior clerk at aged seventeen, working directly under his father, who
had received the post on the basis of his authorship of *A History
of British India*. John rose through the ranks, eventually holding
the position of Chief Examiner of Correspondence--a position
roughly equivalent to Undersecretary of State, involving managing
dispatches for colonial administration (Zastoupil 1994). The job, Mill
noted, provided the stability of income needed for an author without
independent means, and was not so taxing as to prevent him exerting
the majority of his time and mental energy on his philosophical
pursuits. In 1865, he was elected as the Member of Parliament for
Westminster for the Liberal Party. In keeping with his views on
distinction between representation and delegation, Mill declined to
actively canvass for the seat--indeed, he remained, for most of
the campaign, at his home in Avignon. While in the Commons, he
championed what he perceived as unpopular but important causes: the
extension of suffrage to women, Irish reform, and the prosecution of
Governor Eyre for atrocities committed during his administration of
Jamaica. He did not win a second term, being defeated by in 1868
(Kinzer, Robson, and Robson 1992).



Mill, it might be noted, never held a university post--nor did he
even attend university himself--except for the
"honorary" position of Rector of the University of St
Andrews. He was, throughout his life, a religious sceptic, having been
"brought up from the first without any religious belief"
(*Autobiography*, I: 41; see also Matz 2017). He died in
Avignon on 7 May 1873, and was buried next to his wife.


## 2. Mill's Naturalism


### 2.1 Anti *a priorism*



Mill's entire philosophical outlook is informed by a spirit of
naturalism (Skorupski 1989: 5ff.). It is not easy, however, to get a
foothold on this naturalism. Mill's general picture of mind and
world is established by appealing to what we are warranted in
believing about the nature of those objects--and hence relies on
a substantive account of knowledge. His account of knowledge, however,
draws upon his general picture of mind, world, and their
relation--and therefore depends on a theory of what there is.
This circularity will be discussed in
 SS3.7.
 As an entry point into Mill's overall system for the purposes
of exposition, however, we might simply note Mill's commitment
to the claim that human beings are wholly part of nature, keeping in
mind that Mill does not think of this as his unsupported starting
point, but itself a substantive claim.



Mill's belief that the mind is part of nature might usefully be
contrasted with those philosophers who hold that the mind has some
exalted place in the order of things. Relevant contrasts are, for
instance, theists who hold that our minds have been given to us by an
omnipotent and benevolent God for the purpose of comprehension, and
idealists who hold that the mind has a formative role in constructing
the world. For such thinkers, a basic harmony between the architecture
of mind and world might seem to be a given--as such, *if*
our experience could be found to take a certain form, *then* we
could infer facts about how the world must be composed. Mill rejects
this move.



> 
> 
> Such an inference would only be warrantable, if we could know *a
> priori* that we must have been created capable of conceiving
> whatever is capable of existing: that the universe of thought and that
> of reality, the Microcosm and the Macrocosm (as they were once called)
> must have been framed in complete correspondence with one another
> [...] but an assumption more destitute of evidence could scarcely
> be made. (*Examination*, IX: 68)
> 
> 
> 



As logically independent matters of fact, Mill thought there could be
no seamless inference from the composition of our mind to how the rest
of the world is, or must be. Mill holds, therefore, that there can be
no genuine *a priori* knowledge of objective facts.
Mill's view that there are "no truths cognizable by the
mind's inward light, and grounded on intuitive evidence"
(*Coleridge*, X: 125) holds across the board. 



> 
> 
> The doctrine of *a priori* principles is one and the same
> doctrine, whether applied to the on or the
> deon--to the knowledge of truth or that of
> duty. (*Whewell on Moral Philosophy*, X: 171) 
> 
> 
> 



All genuine knowledge, then, whether theoretical or ethical, must be
obtained by observation and experience.


### 2.2 Associationism



We might call this Mill's *anti apriorism* about
knowledge--the view runs deep, giving an anthropological and
empirical character to all of his philosophy. Mill adds to it a
psychological account of the underlying mechanism by which we form
ideas. Here, he follows very much in the tradition of the British
Empiricists--the theory being traced by Mill back to Hobbes,
through Locke and Hartley, and to James Mill's publication of
*The Analysis of the Phenomena of the Human Mind*--in
endorsing what has become known as *associationist psychology*:
"the theory which resolves all the phenomena of the mind into
ideas of sensation connected together by the law of association"
(*Blakey's History of Moral Science*, X: 23).



All of our ideas and beliefs, Mill holds, have their origins in sense
impressions. Ideas or sensations which are either (i)
"similar" or (ii) "frequently experienced (or
thought of) either simultaneously or in immediate succession",
come to be thought of together, and are eventually inseparably bound
together in our mind, forming more complex ideas (*System*,
VIII: 852; see Wilson 1990). The theory aims to derive even our most
abstract ideas from experience--"Place, Extension,
Substance, Cause, and the rest, are conceptions put together out of
ideas of sensation by the known laws of association"
(*Examination*, IX: 9)--and thereby undermine the
intuitionist's claim that such ideas are *a priori*.



Apparently *a priori* beliefs are subject to a similar
undermining analysis. 



> 
> 
> There are innumerable cases of Belief for which no cause can be
> assigned, except that something has created so strong an association
> between two ideas that the person cannot separate them in thought.
> [...] [T]his is one of the component and most fertile sources of
> erroneous thought. (*Notes on the Analysis*, XXXI: 161). 
> 
> 
> 



To give one of Mill's own examples, the apparently intuitive
belief that space is infinite is explained as in fact being wholly the
result of a process of association.



> 
> 
> We have never perceived any object, or any portion of space, which had
> not other space beyond it. And we have been perceiving objects and
> portions of space from the moment of birth. How then could the idea of
> an object, or of a portion of space, escape becoming inseparably
> associated with the idea of additional space beyond? Every instant of
> our lives helps to rivet this association, and we never have had a
> single experience tending to disjoin it. (*Examination*, IX:
> 82)
> 
> 
> 



From this process, we come to form the belief that space is infinite.
But, 



> 
> 
> an association, however close, between two ideas, is not a sufficient
> *ground* of belief; it is not *evidence* that the
> corresponding facts are united in external nature. (*Notes on the
> Analysis*, XXXI: 163) 
> 
> 
> 



Such beliefs must be tested by reasoning about what we *ought*
to believe--a process we shall investigate below, in
 SS3.2.


## 3. Mill's Theoretical Philosophy


### 3.1 Philosophy of Language and Logic



Though Mill holds that basic human thought is possible without
language, "in complicated cases [it] can take place in no other
way" (*System*, VII: 19). As such, a study of human
beings' theoretical engagement with the world demands clarity on
this "fundamental instrument of thought" (*System*,
VIII: 663; see also Losonsky 2006: 119-28). Mill's account
of language turns upon a distinction between the *denotation*
and *connotation* of a word. Words denote the *objects*
which they are true of; they connote specific *attributes* of
those objects. The word "man", for instance,
*denotes*, or is true of, all men--"Peter, Paul,
John, and an indefinite number of other individuals"
(*System*, VII: 31). But it *connotes* the attributes in
virtue of which the word "man" applies to these
individuals--"corporeity, animal life, rationality, and a
certain external form, which for distinction we call the human"
(*System*, VII: 31). Connotation *determines* denotation
in the following sense: to know the connotation of a word is to know
the necessary and sufficient conditions to determine whether a given
object is denoted by that word.



Not all words have connotation. Mill notes that words can be
*singular* or *general*. "Cicero" is a
singular name--applying to only one object, namely Cicero.
"Roman" is, by contrast, a general name--applying to
many objects, including Cicero but also Augustus, Nero, and many
others. While "all concrete general names are connotative"
(*System*, VII: 32)--signaling the attributes which
justify our application of the name to individual objects--the
same cannot be said of singular names. To be sure, *some*
singular names are connotative--"the author of *De Re
Publica*" is, as we would say, a definite description, and
picks out one individual by way of signaling its attributes--but
not all are. The name "Cicero" does not connote any
attributes at all--but is a proper name, and serves simply as a
marker for that individual (Schwartz
 2014).[1]



The analysis affords a simple means of determining the meaning of a
vast range of simple propositions--those portions of discourse
"in which one predicate is affirmed or denied of one
subject" by way of a copula such as *is*, or *is
not* (*System*, VII: 81)--and their composition into
more complex linguistic entities (Skorupski 1989: 178-92). The
proposition *S is P* can be understood, in the case that
*P* is a connoting term, as the claim that the object denoted
by *S* has the attribute connoted by *P*. "The
summit of Chimborazo is white" asserts a fact about the
world--that the object denoted by the name "the summit of
Chimborazo" has the attribute connoted by the name
"white" (*System*, VII: 97). The proposition *S
is P*, where *P* is a non-connoting term, can be understood
as the claim that the object denoted by *S* is the same object
as that denoted by *P*. "Tully is Cicero" asserts
merely a fact about those names--that the name
"Tully" is used to refer to the same object as the name
"Cicero".



The difference is key. We learn nothing about *the world* when
we learn that "Tully is Cicero" is true--this
proposition does not convey a fact about *how things are*, but
rather about our own linguistic conventions of naming
(*System*, VII: 110). The proposition is, in Mill's
terminology, *merely verbal*. Such propositions are key to
understanding the uninformative nature of *a priori*
propositions and *a priori* reasoning. Mill, quite rightly,
does not make the claim that *a priori* propositions such as
"every man is a living creature" are, like "Tully is
Cicero", assertions merely about our own conventions of naming.
But he does argue that such propositions share the feature of
conveying no genuine information about the world. For the connotation
of "man"--the attributes it
signals--*includes* the connotation of "living
creature". Someone who already knows the meaning of the term
"man" is not told anything about *how the world is*
when told that "every man is a living creature" (Kroon
2017: 214-6).



Deductive or *a priori* reasoning, Mill thinks, is similarly
empty. Predating the revolution in logic that the late
nineteenth-century ushered in, Mill thinks of deductive reasoning
primarily in terms of the syllogism. Syllogistic reasoning, he argues
can elicit no new truths about how the world is: "nothing ever
was, or can be proved by syllogism which was not known, or assumed to
be known, before" (*System*, VII: 183).




Premise 1: *All men are mortal*,



Premise 2: *Socrates is a man*,



Conclusion: *Socrates is mortal*.




In standard syllogistic inferences, he argues, for arguments to be
valid, the conclusion must already have been asserted in the premises.
By way of example, in the above argument, the conclusion must already
have been asserted in the
 Premise 1--the
 proposition that all men are mortal must be said to *include*
the proposition that Socrates is mortal if the argument is to be valid.
No new knowledge is therefore acquired in reasoning from premises to
conclusion. The claim is perhaps more difficult to support than Mill
appreciates, depending, as it does, upon equating of the meaning of a
universal statement with the meaning of a conjunction of singular
statement (Fumerton 2017: 200). Nevertheless, Mill's argument
that we can learn nothing about the world by reflecting on our
language dovetails neatly with his naturalistic claim that all genuine
cognitive advancement must take place by observation.



The suggestion that deductive reasoning cannot lead us to any new
knowledge prompts two questions. Firstly, if not the advancement of
knowledge, what *is* the function of syllogistic reasoning?
And, secondly, what are we to say about apparently deductive reasoning
which manifestly *does* lead us to new knowledge? To the first
question, Mill answers that syllogistic reasoning allows us
"test" our commitment to general propositions
(*System*, VII: 196). In making arguments such as the one
above, we cannot acquire new knowledge: for no facts beyond those
which are in the premises are present in the conclusion. But the
implications of holding a general premise are more clearly displayed
by the syllogistic reasoning, and this, in certain instances, may
cause us to re-evaluate our commitment to that premise. To the second
question, Mill holds that where we *do* gain genuinely new
knowledge--in cases of mathematics and geometry, for
instance--we must, at some level, be reasoning
*inductively*. Mill, that is to say, attempts to account for
the genuine informativeness of mathematical and geometric reasoning by
denying that they are in any real sense *a priori*. We shall
return to this claim in
 SS3.4.


### 3.2 Foundations of Theoretical Reason



We cannot acquire any genuine knowledge *a priori*, then. Mill
holds that knowledge can be obtained only by empirical observation,
and by reasoning which takes place on the ground of such observations.
This principle stands at the heart of his radical empiricism. Sense
perceptions are the "original data, or ultimate premises of our
knowledge" (*System*, VII: 7)--knowledge of greater
levels of complexity is arrived at solely by inferences from that
original data. And, as we shall see, Mill grants the validity of only
one kind of inference. "Inference, consequently all Proof, and
all discovery of truths not self-evident, consists of inductions, and
the interpretation of inductions" (*System*, VII:
283).



> 
> 
> Induction properly so called [...] may [...] be summarily
> defined as Generalization from Experience. It consists in inferring
> from some individual instances in which a phenomenon is observed to
> occur, that it occurs in all instances of a certain class; namely, in
> all which *resemble* the former, in what are regarded as the
> material circumstances. (*System*, VII: 306)
> 
> 
> 



Mill rightly notes that upon observing that *x*1,
*x*2, *x*3, ...
*x*n are P, human beings are disposed to form the
belief that some relevantly similar *x*n+1 is P.
Upon seeing ten swans, all white, for instance, we tend to believe
that an eleventh unseen swan is also white. But, Mill holds, such
inferences are not something we are merely *disposed* to
believe, but something we have *reason* to
believe--inferences of this general form are *warranted*.
The question arises, of course, how it is that we can be warranted in
believing the results of induction prior to their confirmation or
disconfirmation--how it comes to be that we can be
*justified* in believing an inductively suggested
conclusion.



Mill offers two answers to this question. The first, we might term his
*iterative* validation of induction. We are warranted in
believing enumerative inductions, Mill thinks, because "[t]he
universe, so far as known to us, is so constituted, that whatever is
true in any one case, is true in all cases of a certain
description" (*System*, VII: 306). This uniformity of
nature, however, is something we do not, and could not, know *a
priori*, but only itself as "as an instance of
induction" (*System*, VII: 307). We know, in other words,
*by an act of induction*, that inductive generalizations tend
to be true, and that induction is therefore a good way of reasoning.
Induction is, in this sense, self-supporting.



Of course, this justification is circular, as Mill realizes. If we are
warranted in believing that induction is in general a good way of
reasoning only to the extent that our past inductions are themselves
taken to have been good inferences, then the question remains how
*those* inductions can be warranted forms of inference (cf. 
Fumerton 2009: 167-8). Mill's second answer,
which we might term his *initiating* validation of induction,
addresses this issue. 



> 
> 
> Many of the uniformities existing among phenomena are so constant, and
> so open to observation, as to force themselves upon involuntary
> recognition. (*System*, VII: 318) 
> 
> 
> 



We are, Mill claims, naturally inclined to reason inductively, and
upon critical inspection, acts of induction strike us as
"deserving of reliance" (*System*, VII: 319). We
adopt induction "spontaneously" as a method of
reasoning--and under free consideration, it seems to us
reasonable to do so (*System*, VII: 317).



This initiating validation of the principle of induction is directly
parallel to Mill's argument for the principle of utility
(Macleod 2014). We are naturally inclined to desire pleasure, and such
desires, when we attend to them, strike us as reasonable--as
being desire-*worthy*. Similarly, we are naturally disposed to
believe in inductive generalisations, and such beliefs, when we attend
to them, strike us as reasonable--being belief-*worthy*.
In each case, there is no further initial justification of our natural
reasoning propensities beyond the fact that, upon critical inspection,
they strike us as sound. Indeed, that valid principles of
reason--practical and theoretical--are established by
casting a critical eye upon how we in fact *do* reason should
be of no surprise: such an anthropological approach to the normative
is forced by Mill's naturalism. We cannot know what constitutes
good reasoning *a priori*, and as such "[t]he laws of our
rational faculty, like those of every other natural agency, are only
learnt by seeing the agent at work" (*System*, VII:
833).



The evidence provided by critically examining our natural modes of
reasoning is of course defeasible--as in the case of the
'proof' of the principle of utility, the initiating
validation is not a proof in the traditional deductive sense. But the
justification provided is real nevertheless. And from here, iterative
validation can increase our confidence that we are warranted in
reasoning inductively: further inductions ranging over inductions can
improve our reasoning abilities by establishing in more and more
precise ways the circumstances in which inductive moves are good ones
to make. Indeed, this process of sharpening inductive reasoning by
"ulterior revision of [...] spontaneous
generalizations" (*System*, VII: 319) is, as we shall
see, the very heart of the process of scientific thinking.



As noted above, Mill claims not only that enumerative induction is
*a* valid principle, but that it is the *sole* principle
by which we are justified in inferring unobserved facts about the
world.
 [2]
 In particular, he rejects the independent validity of the
"Hypothetical Method"--what has come to be known as
inference to the best explanation (*System*, VII: 492). We are
not entitled, that is to say, to believe in something
*unobserved* solely on the basis that it explains the
*observed* facts (Skorupski 1989: 197-202; see also
Macleod 2016; Jacobs 1991). A hypothesis 



> 
> 
> is not to be received probably true because it accounts for all the
> known phenomena; since this is a condition sometimes fulfilled
> tolerably well by two conflicting hypotheses. (*System*, VII:
> 500) 
> 
> 
> 



This is not to deny the role of hypothesis in investigation
altogether, however. Mill claims that hypotheses about unobserved
entities made in an effort to explain empirical observations can
provide useful *suggestions*, but that entitlement to believe
can only be provided by reasoning based on the principle of
enumerative induction. 



> 
> 
> [H]ypothesis, by suggesting observations and experiments, puts us on
> the *road* to that independent evidence if it be really
> attainable. (*System*, VII: 496, my emphasis)
> 
> 
> 


### 3.3 Sharpening Reason: Philosophy of Science



All genuine inferential knowledge we have of the world, then, is
justified by the use of simple enumerative induction--this is
"free-standing and the sole load-bearing structure in
Mill's logic" (Godden 2017: 175). The reasoning that
takes place in our scientific engagement with the world, Mill holds,
is simply the application of a particularly refined version of such
enumerative induction. 



> 
> 
> [T]he most scientific proceeding can be no more than an improved form
> of that which was primitively pursued by the human understanding while
> undirected by science. (*System*, VII: 318) 
> 
> 
> 



Improvement to inductive methodology comes by theoretical
reason's reflective self-examination--inductive
consideration of induction itself.



> 
> 
> Experience testifies, that among the uniformities which it exhibits or
> seems to exhibit, some are more to be relied on than others [...]
> This mode of correcting one generalization by means of another, a
> narrower generalization by a wider, which common sense suggests and
> adopts in practice, is the real type of scientific Induction.
> (*System*, VII: 319)
> 
> 
> 



The history of science, as Mill sees it, is the history of the growth
of our knowledge *by* inductive reason, but also the growth of
our knowledge *of* inductive reason. As we learn more about the
world, induction becomes more and more established, and with this it
becomes self-critical and systematic.



"[W]e may discover, by mere observation without experiment, a
real uniformity in nature" (*System*, VII: 386). Where
possible, however, engaging in experimental activity is the most
direct way to uncover the causal relations between events, because it
allows us to "meet with some of the antecedents apart from the
rest, and observe what follows from them; or some of the consequents,
and observe by what they are preceded" (*System*, VII:
381). Mill claims that, as science has progressed, four methods have
emerged as successful in isolating causes of observed phenomena
(*System*, VII: 388-406; see Cobb 2017: 240-1). Firstly,
the Method of Agreement: where instances of phenomenon *A* are
always accompanied with phenomenon *a*, even when other
circumstances accompanying *A* are varied, we have reason to
believe that *A* and *a* are causally related. Secondly, the
Method of Difference: where the only distinguishing feature marking
situations in which phenomenon *a* occurs or does not occur is
the presence or absence of phenomenon *A*, there is reason to
think that *A* is an indispensable part of the cause of *a*.
(If we have noted, via the Method of Agreement, that in all instances
of *A*, *a* is present, we can, where possible,
systematically withdraw *A*, to determine whether *A* is a
cause of *a* by the Method of Difference. Mill terms this the
Joint Method of Agreement and Difference.) Thirdly, the Method of
Residues: against the knowledge that *A* is the cause of
*a*, and *B* the cause of *b*, where *ABC*
causes *abc*, and *AB* causes merely *ab*, we can
(by ruling out that *c* is the joint effect of *AB*)
regard *C* as the cause of *c*. Fourthly, the Method of
Concomitant Variations: whenever *a* varies when *A* varies
in some particular manner, *a* may be thought to be causally
connected to *A*.



Such methods must, of course, be applied cautiously--the
existence of background conditions makes it difficult to say with
certainty that any individual phenomenon is in fact the causally
active agent--and results will always be provisional, and open to
further correction (Ducheyne 2008). But by carefully varying
conditions, Mill holds, we can isolate causes and reveal the laws
which govern natural phenomena. We learn first to explain individual
events by showing that they are instances of known causal laws, and
then "in a similar manner, a law or uniformity in nature is said
to be explained, when another law or laws are pointed out, of which
that law itself is but a case" (*System*, VII: 464). By
continued application of the Canons of Induction, the most general
Laws of Nature can be ascertained--this is the ultimate goal of
science. Mill adopts a Humean account of such laws as regularities:
"The expression, Laws of Nature, *means* nothing but the
uniformities which exist among natural phenomena"
(*System*, VII: 318). Nevertheless, he thinks that science
reveals the deep structure of the world--how things genuinely
*are*.



> 
> 
> Kepler did not *put* what he had conceived into the facts, but
> *saw* it in them. A conception implies, and corresponds to,
> something conceived: and though the conception itself is not in the
> facts, but in our mind, yet if it is to convey any knowledge relating
> to them, it must be a conception *of* something which really is
> in the facts, some property which they actually possess, and which
> they would manifest to our senses, if our senses were able to take
> cognizance of it. (*System*, VII: 295; cf. *System*,
> VII: 651)
> 
> 
> 



Mill's insistence that the process of science involves finding
the structure *already present* in nature gives his philosophy
a realist orientation. Perhaps the clearest instance of such realism
in his work, however, is the claim that "Kinds have a real
existence in nature" (*System*, VII: 122). Scientific
analysis of nature, Mill holds, uncovers a "radical distinction
in the things themselves" (*System*, VII: 123). 



> 
> 
> In so far as a natural classification is grounded on real Kinds, its
> groups are certainly not conventional; it is perfectly true that they
> do not depend upon an arbitrary choice of the naturalist.
> (*System*, VIII: 720) 
> 
> 
> 



Such Kinds are marked not by the possession of some metaphysical
essence--but by their marking "an indeterminate multitude
of properties not derivable from one another" (*System*,
VII: 126). Some groups of objects share characteristics because those
characteristics are the very grounds of their being grouped
together--Real kinds share an unknown number of similarities
because they have a shared nature. The notion is closely, though not
unproblematically, related to the modern notion of a Natural Kind
(Magnus 2015).



Because Mill's naturalism commits him to the principle that
"[t]he laws of our rational faculty [...] are only learnt
by seeing the agent at work", the investigation of scientific
methodology pursued in the *System of Logic* takes the form of
a theoretical investigation of lessons learnt from the history of
successful scientific practice. It is perhaps odd, then, that Mill
himself was not a historian of science of any real depth. As a matter
of biographical fact, Mill's knowledge of this topic was derived
principally from secondary sources--William Whewell's
*History of Inductive Science*, John Herschel's
*Discourse on the Study of Natural Philosophy* and August
Comte's *Cours de Positive Philosophie*--and the
sections of the *System* which make significant appeal to the
history of science were significantly indebted to the research
conducted on his behalf by Alexander Bain (*Autobiography*, I:
215-7, 255; Bain 1904: 137, 141). Had Mill been better
acquainted with the history of actual scientific practice, it is
questionable whether he would have insisted that the story of
scientific progress is simply the story of the steady use of
observation and induction--whether the Canons of Induction really
*are* exhaustive of the way in which scientific investigation
has enabled humans to obtain knowledge of the world. A detailed
anthropological study of the history of successful scientific practice
is likely to reveal the irreducible use of imaginative
hypothesis-making--not to mention changing questions and ideals
of the sort later highlighted by Thomas Kuhn (1962). Such was the
basis for a telling historico-normative debate between Whewell and
Mill--the former arguing that scientific reasoning had and should
involve the creative *a priori* development of concepts prior
to the discovery of laws, the latter claiming, as can be seen in the
quote above, that observation and induction alone could track facts
about the world and elicit the concepts used in science (Snyder
2006).


### 3.4 Arithmetic, Geometry and Necessity



Amongst the Laws of Nature learnt by way of inductive reasoning are
the laws of geometry and arithmetic. It is worth emphasizing that in
no case does Mill think that the ultimately inductive nature of the
sciences--whether physical, mathematical, or
social--precludes the deductive *organization* and
*practice* of the science (Ryan 1987: 3-20). Manifestly,
we do work through many inferences in deductive terms--and this
is nowhere clearer than in the case of mathematics. Mill's claim
is simply that any premise or non-verbal inference can only be as
strong as the inductive justification that supports it.



Arithmetic, Mill holds, is at base non-verbal. That two plus one is
equal to three is not 



> 
> 
> a definition of the word three; a statement that mankind have agreed
> to use the name three as a sign exactly equivalent to two and one; to
> call by the former name whatever is called by the other more clumsy
> name. (*System*, VII: 253) 
> 
> 
> 



In contrast to many in the empiricist tradition--including his
father--Mill holds that mathematical propositions assert genuine
facts. "[T]here is in every step of arithmetical or
algebraically calculation a real induction, a real inference of facts
from facts" (*System*, VII: 254). That we perform
operations in a deductive manner in the following case:



\[
\begin{align}
 2 \times (2+1) & = 2 \times 3\\
 & = 6\\
\end{align}
\]


should not obscure that the validity of each move is established by
induction. We establish that two plus one is equal to three by
generalization from specific instances: that two pebbles and one
pebble together make three pebbles, that two horses and one horse
together make three horses, and so on. So too other such arithmetic
laws. Of course, as is the case with our discovery of physical laws,
the laws which we learn first are, as the "Science of
Number" grows more sophisticated, subsumed as instances of more
fundamental laws--and can eventually be shown to follow from the
axioms of mathematics (*System*, VII: 253, 608ff.).



Geometrical propositions, too, are inferred from premises which
themselves have real content. Such premises--that, for instance,
we can draw a straight line connecting any two single points--are
not mere verbal propositions. Indeed, Mill claims, such premises are
not strictly even true of the real space we encounter in experience:
neither perfectly single points, nor perfectly straight lines exist in
nature. These are rather idealizations of that space--but
idealizations which are based on principles that could only be known
by inductive generalization of our observations. The same holds for
the results of geometric reasoning (*System*, VII:
 224ff.).[3]



Mill's account of mathematics is brief, and raises many issues.
Amongst the most pressing questions pertain to the status of the
objects which mathematicians talk about. The Platonist can
characterize the claims of mathematics as claims about abstract
objects--but, as a naturalist, no such option is open to Mill.
"All numbers must be numbers of something: there are no such
things as numbers in the abstract" (*System*, VII: 254).
Similarly, there are no real objects corresponding to the definitions
of geometry (*System*, VII: 225). Mill, rather, claims that
numbers are properties of aggregates and as such denote aggregates
with those properties, and takes geometrical objects to be limit cases
of real world objects (*System*, VII: 610-1,
226-9). More, however, needs to be said about the referents of
the entities appealed to in the higher regions of
mathematics--higher order sets, imaginary numbers, the
transfinites--as well as how to construe 'limit
cases' naturalistically (Shapiro 2000: 91-102,
226-56; Kitcher 1998). One can, perhaps, take mathematical
objects to be fictions (Balaguer 2014)--but specifying how such
fictions can be subject to constrained standards of truth and falsity
remains difficult.



That Mill holds that even *mathematics* is founded upon
inductive reasoning is perhaps most interesting because it
demonstrates the radical and thoroughgoing nature of his empiricism.
Indeed, Mill saw this aspect of his work in just this
way--combatting the *a priori* and intuitionist school by
"driv[ing] it from its stronghold"
(*Autobiography*, I: 233). Mill's denial of the *a
priori* status of mathematical propositions, of course, challenges
the commonplace idea that, when true, such propositions are true
*necessarily*. Indeed, the rejection of the possibility of
*a priori* knowledge as such challenges the notion that there
are *any* necessary truths. Mill does not shy away from this
implication. Truths can be better or worse established--central
or peripheral to our understanding of the world--and we can
therefore be more or less willing to abandon them. But Mill shows
little interest in principled or absolute modal distinctions between
necessary and contingent truths. Rather, Mill argues, some
propositions seem to us necessary because of processes of
psychological association make them so ingrained that their denial
seems to us inconceivable.


### 3.5 The Mind in the World: Psychology, Ethology, and Freedom



As was noted above
 (SS2.1),
 Mill's naturalism involves the claim that human beings and
their minds are wholly a part of nature. As such, they are subject to
causal laws in just the same manner as the rest of natural
world--empirical study of the mind, Mill holds, reveals that it
is governed by the laws of associationistic psychology. Mill's
associationism differs in key respects from that of his
predecessors--he shows more concern to do justice to the
spontaneity of mind (*Bain's Psychology*, XI: 335), the
world-directed nature of representational thought (*Notes on the
Analysis*, XXXI: 413), and the fact that some complex ideas cannot
be accounted for in terms of the mechanical combination of simple
ideas present in sense experience (*System*, VIII:
852-6). Such modifications of his associationistic inheritance
were, in part, a reaction to points made by the Germano-Coleridgean
school. His account, nevertheless, remains firmly within the tradition
of British empiricism--and he never wavers from a commitment to
the claim that our mental life is governed by causal laws operating in
a deterministic fashion. Indeed, Mill holds out hope that our
understanding of such laws will improve--and even shows interest
in the promise of understanding the "material conditions"
of thought in the brain and nervous system (*Bain's
Psychology*, XI: 348).



The character of the mind of an individual, Mill holds, is a function
entirely of the experiences that individual has undergone. In this
sense, Mill holds firm to the eighteenth-century empiricists'
doctrine of the *tabula rasa*. In Mill's hands, however,
it becomes transformed into a characteristically nineteenth-century
claim that human nature itself is malleable (Mandelbaum 1971: 141ff.).
Specific experiences, to be sure, write their lessons on our
minds--but background conditions, which differ from culture to
culture, play an equally important role. Such acculturation affects
the characters, desires, and dispositions of human beings, which vary
radically depending on the setting of human beings--a point noted
by many of Mill's romantic contemporaries, and one which
influenced the direction of his utilitarianism. Human nature exhibits
"astonishingly pliability" (*Civilization*, XVIII:
145). 



> 
> 
> [I]f there are some tendencies of human nature [...] which are
> the same in all ages and countries, these never form the whole of the
> tendencies. (*Spirit of the Age*, XXII: 256-7) 
> 
> 
> 



But it also affects our beliefs and our modes of perceiving the world.
As Mill notes,



> 
> 
> A great part of what seems observation is really inference [...]
> For in almost every act of our perceiving faculties, observation and
> inferences are intimately blended. What we are said to observe is
> usually a compound result, of which one-tenth may be observation, and
> the remaining nine-tenths inference. (*System*, VIII:
> 641-2)
> 
> 
> 



What are properly inferences from our observations come by processes
of association to seem as observations themselves. I observe,
properly, only a certain sensory manifold, and infer that this is my
brother--but, with repetition, the inference becomes merged by
association with the observation, and I take the inferred content to
be part of the observation itself. Processes of association, that is
to say, renders our observations deeply theory laden. And the theories
with which they are laden, of course, will vary with social
setting.



The systematic science treating the topic of how upbringing and
environment affect the formation of individuals, Mill terms
"ethology" (*System*, VIII: 861). Such a science,
which would utilize the principles of psychology to allow us to
determine the conditions most conducive or damaging to the production
of characters we think desirable, "is still to be created"
(*System*, VIII: 872-3). Nevertheless, much of
Mill's work can be seen as an attempt to start such a research
programme, charting the effects of social conditions on the creation
of character--his own character in the *Autobiography*,
that of women in the *Subjection*, and those of democratic
societies in *On Liberty* (Ball 2010).



Individuals' characters are the result of causal
processes--and such characters determine their actions. 



> 
> 
> No one who believed that he knew thoroughly the circumstances of any
> case, and the characters of the different persons concerned, would
> hesitate to foretell how all of them would act. (*System*,
> VIII: 837) 
> 
> 
> 



Given that *individuals* are subject to such laws, there is
little reason to think that the societies *composed* of
individuals will not be subject to natural laws (*System*,
VIII: 879). And, indeed, Mill thinks it possible to specify laws by
which societies evolve from the state of barbarism to
civilization--"laws which regulate the succession between
one state of society and another" (*System*, VIII:
912)--and chart, scientifically, the process of history (Levin
2004; see also Macleod 2017). "The order of human
progress" is guided with "a sort of necessity established
[...] by the general laws of human nature"
(*System*, VIII: 938).



Understanding the human world scientifically--understanding it as
*part* of the natural world--of course puts pressure on
the notion that human beings are in any real sense free. Mill is clear
that human actions could be "unerringly inferred" if their
antecedents were known, but nevertheless maintains that this
deterministic stance does not "conflict in the smallest degree
with what is called our feeling of freedom" (*System*,
VIII: 837). Our actions are causally determined, but nevertheless,
Mill maintains, we are free (Ryan 1987: 103-131). Mill adopts a
compatibilist account of human freedom. Although it is true that our
character and desires, in combination with a set of circumstances,
causally necessitates some particular action, it is *not* true
that if that person had some *alternative* character and set of
desires that that same cause would necessitate that same action. Had
that person had different desires, or a different character, he might
well have acted differently. This, Mill concedes, would be of little
consolation if our character and desires are beyond the control of an
individual to influence. But, he points out, we *can* influence
our character and desires. We can place ourselves in circumstances
that modify our character, and we can practice better habits. 



> 
> 
> [I]f we examine closely, we shall find that this feeling, of our being
> able to modify our own character *if we wish*, is itself the
> feeling of moral freedom which we are conscious of. (*System*,
> VIII: 841)
> 
> 
> 


### 3.6 The World in the Mind: the Relativity of Knowledge and Mill's Idealism



As we have seen, Mill holds that "a great part of what seems
observation is really inference" (*System*, VIII: 641).
The raw content of experience is itself extremely narrow--indeed,
Mill holds, we directly perceive only our own internal impressions.
"From my senses, I have only the sensations"
(*System*, VIII: 643). The claim is a strong one--that
what is directly present to the mind are not external objects, but
only "a set of appearances" (*System*, VIII: 783).
We have unmediated access only to the impression that are generated in
us--we are directly aware only of our own mental content.



We know of objects in the world only to the extent that they affect us
and give rise to conscious impressions--and such impressions will
only ever be presented by way of the mediating sense faculties. Mill
claims that we cannot know anything of objects in themselves, but only
as they appear to us, and terms this position the "Relativity of
Human Knowledge" (*Examination*, IX: 4). 



> 
> 
> [A]ll the attributes which we ascribe to objects, consist in their
> having the power of exciting one or another variety of sensation in
> our mind [...] our knowledge of objects [...] consist[s] of
> nothing but the sensations which they excite. (*Examination*,
> IX: 6) 
> 
> 
> 



Our theoretical engagement with the world is always mediated by our
conditioning faculties--and as such our representations of the
world are always representations of what the world is like for beings
such as ourselves.



Mill calls this insight "one of great weight and significance,
which impresses a character on the whole mode of philosophical
thinking of whoever receives it" (*Examination*, IX: 11).
The doctrine ultimately pushes Mill towards Idealism. One might hold
that, though we are only familiar in *experience* with mental
impressions, we can nevertheless infer the existence of non-mental
objects lying *behind* such mental objects. But such an
inference could not be supported within experience by enumerative
induction--no non-mental objects are ever observed behind mental
objects--but only by a hypothesis to some unobserved entity. As
was noted above, however, Mill rejects the method of hypothesis as an
autonomous form of reasoning--no such inference to unobserved
non-mental objects could for him be valid. Mill is forced towards the
conclusion that we can have no warrant for believing in non-mental
entities.



All that can be established inductively is that a certain class of
objects of sensation are stable--that they can be returned to,
after durations in which they go unperceived. Such, Mill thinks, is
the true content of our notion of the external world.



> 
> 
> Matter, then, may be defined, a Permanent Possibility of Sensation. If
> I am asked, whether I believe in matter, I ask whether the questioner
> accepts this definition of it. If he does, I believe in matter: and so
> do all Berkeleians. In any other sense than this, I do not.
> (*Examination*, IX: 183)
> 
> 
> 



The idea of an external world is not present in the *content*
of experience. Rather, our idea of externality is derived from the
recognition that certain sensations can be revisited: that 



> 
> 
> though I have ceased to see it [...] I believe that when I again
> place myself in the circumstances in which I had those sensations
> [...] I shall again have them; and further, that there is no
> intervening moment at which this would not have been the case.
> (*Examination*, IX: 179) 
> 
> 
> 



Our idea of matter is exhausted by the idea of 



> 
> 
> something which exists when we are not thinking of it; which existed
> before we had ever thought and would exist if we were annihilated.
> (*Examination*, IX: 178-9) 
> 
> 
> 



But matter, so conceived, is not "intrinsically distinct"
from sensation itself (*Examination*, IX: 182). Whether this
stance is entirely coherent, we shall consider below, in
 section 3.7.



Mill's claim about the relativity of knowledge extends to our
knowledge of mind itself. 



> 
> 
> [O]ur knowledge of mind, like that of matter, is entirely relative
> [...] We have no conception of Mind itself, as distinguished from
> its conscious manifestations. (*Examination*, IX: 188-9)
> 
> 
> 
> 



We know our own self, Mill claims, only as it phenomenally appears to
us--and we know of other selves only by inference from our own
case. Mill rejects the "common theory of Mind, as a so-called
substance" (*Examination*, IX: 206). But he also resists
the total reduction of mind to the existence of sensations--or
even to the existence of *possible* sensations--on the
grounds that there remains a unity to apperception. As he points out,
a reduction of self to sensations cannot be wholly satisfactory,
because a sense of the self enters into many sensations as a
constituent part. When I recall a memory, for instance, the sensation
is of a memory which has as part of its content that it is *my*
memory. 



> 
> 
> If, therefore, we speak of the Mind as a series of feelings, we are
> obliged to complete the statement by calling it a series of feelings
> which is aware of itself as past and future; and we are reduced to the
> alternative of believing that the Mind, or Ego, is something different
> from any series of feelings, or possibilities of them, or of accepting
> the paradox, that something which *ex hypothesi* is but a
> series of feelings, can be aware of itself as a series.
> (*Examination*, 194)
> 
> 
> 



On the surface, Mill's motivations towards idealism is
epistemic--that we can never experience unmediated non-mental
objects, and so cannot be warranted in *believing* in their
existence. But the argument goes deeper, suggesting that we cannot
even imagine what it would be to believe in the existence of
non-mental objects. "[E]ven an imaginary object is but a
conception, such as we are able to form, of something which would
affect our senses" (*Examination*, IX: 6). Indeed, Mill
at times suggests a semantic version of the argument, which would
establish that the very meaning of our words--determined, as they
are, by experience--obstructs us from *referring* to
anything beyond experience.



> 
> 
> It would, no doubt, be absurd to assume that our words exhaust the
> possibilities of Being. There may be innumerable modes of it which are
> inaccessible to our faculties, and which consequently we are unable to
> name. But we ought not to speak of these modes of Being by any of the
> names we possess. These are all inapplicable, because they all stand
> for known modes of Being. (*Examination*, IX: 11)
> 
> 
> 



Its bears emphasis that Mill's argument about the limits of
human cognition does not depend on our current state of scientific
knowledge--or indeed upon the particular sense faculties we
possess. Even if we had extra sense faculties or could come to
perceive in new ways, he notes, all knowledge that would still be
"merely phaenomenal" (*Examination*, IX: 8).
Cognition, in *any* sentient creature must be mediated by some
method of cognising--and if even if we came to possess new ways
of cognizing the world, "[w]e should not, any more than at
present, know things as they are in themselves"
(*Examination*, IX: 8, my emphasis). Indeed, to say even that
"the Creator" knows things as they are in themselves is to
commit a confusion.


### 3.7 Mill's Theoretical Philosophy: Self-Supporting or Self-Undermining?



Mill's theoretical philosophy is, in an important sense,
circular and self-supporting (Skorupski 1989: 125, 149). As noted,
Mill views enumerative induction--the sole method of warranted
theoretical reasoning--as self-validating and self-improving. We
spontaneously take certain initial inductive moves to be justified.
Induction's self-examination then leads to an increasing
confidence that induction *is* a warranted way of reasoning
about the world, and to a general sharpening of that method of
reasoning. Induction could have been self-undermining--its
success as a form of reasoning about the world, established on its own
terms, is not trivial.



More broadly, however, Mill's theoretical view of mind and world
is *as a whole* circular and self-supporting. Mill's
naturalistic picture of the relation between mind and world--of
the mind as itself part of the natural order and incapable of
knowledge *a priori*--must itself be treated as a
substantive discovery. As such, it could only be arrived at by
inductive reasoning. Inductive investigation allows us to better
understand that the mind is itself governed by natural laws--and
to better understand the processes of sense perception that allow us
to be causally receptive to the world. Elements of Mill's
associationist psychology are apt to strike us as outdated--but
that does not alter the basic point that the naturalistic study of
mind has been enormously successful in affording a better
understanding of how we process the world we occupy. Such discoveries
clarify and strengthen our sense of why *a priori* knowledge is
impossible in the first place, and why empirical investigation is
necessary for any genuine knowledge.



The view that Mill sketches is rich in potential--and it has
sufficient breadth to promise a successful means of theoretically
orienting ourselves in the world. The issue, of course, is, whether
naturalism is the only *possible* view. Granting that
Mill's theoretical philosophy is impressive on the grounds of
offering a systematic and coherent way of thinking about the world and
the history of our theoretical engagement with it, the question
remains whether that coherence and systematicity is any guarantee of
*truth*. The question must remain whether there are equally
good non-naturalistic ways of thinking about the world and our place
within it. Because naturalism is a substantive doctrine, that is a
possibility to which Mill must remain open.



A more pressing question still is whether Mill's picture truly
*is* coherent. As discussed above, Mill's naturalistic
approach drives him, *via* his inductivism and endorsement of
the Relativity of Knowledge, towards idealism. Ultimately, he holds,
the only things that we can be warranted in believing are permanent
possibilities of sensation. But such objects are not--at least
not *obviously*--natural entities. Mill is never entirely
clear about the status of the permanent possibilities of sensation. To
the extent that they are ideal objects, we might doubt their status as
natural entities; the further reified such entities are in relation to
*actual* sensations, the less plausible it is to characterise
the inference from sensation to the possibility of sensation as an
inductive one. Whether Mill's naturalism is compatible with his
idealism is very much an open question.



The worry enters from multiple directions. Perhaps most obviously, it
calls into question the down-to-earth realism that Mill endorses
within the philosophy of science. Mill's claim that that the
process of science involves finding the structure *already
present* in nature seems at least in tension with the claim that
all knowledge is phenomenal and relativized. More subtly, Mill's
basic conception of the relation of mind and world also seems
challenged. Mill claims that *a priori* knowledge is impossible
because we cannot know 



> 
> 
> that the universe of thought and that of reality, the Microcosm and
> the Macrocosm (as they were once called) must have been framed in in
> complete correspondence with one another. (*Examination*, IX:
> 68) 
> 
> 
> 



But if the world is fundamentally *ideal*--if, as Mill
seems to claim, our world *is* the world as conditioned by our
mediating senses, because we can know and represent it in no other
way--we might wonder *why* a basic harmony between the
architecture of mind and world should not be taken as given, and *a
priori* knowledge not be possible. Indeed, Mill's claim that
cognition *must* be mediated by some method of
cognising--that *any* creature must perceive in this
way--itself seems suspiciously unrevisable and *a
priori*.



These problems emerge because the priority between mind and world in
Mill's work is unclear: the mind is seen as both the condition
for the representation of the only world we ever encounter, and as a
natural object within the world. The former is brought to the
foreground only in Mill's most philosophical moments--the
latter is present throughout Mill's characterisation of
scientific and ordinary thinking. One option to resolve this tension,
of course, is to follow Kant in distinguishing transcendental and
empirical levels of reflection--another is to follow the
post-Kantian idealists in attempting to unite and overcome such
oppositions wherever they occur. Mill, however, never worked through
the internal pressures of his own position with sufficient rigour to
feel the push within naturalism towards these
 positions.[4]


## 4. Mill's Practical Philosophy


### 4.1 The Foundations of Practical Reason: The 'Proof'



Whereas theoretical reasoning concerns what there is reason to
*believe*, practical reasoning concerns how there is reason to
*act*. Just as Mill thinks that there is one fundamental
principle of theoretical reason--the principle of enumerative
induction--so too he thinks that there is one fundamental
principle of practical reason. 



> 
> 
> There are not only first principles of Knowledge, but first principles
> of Conduct. There must be some standard by which to determine the
> goodness or badness, absolute and comparative, of ends or objects of
> desire. And whatever that standard is, there can be but one. (Mill,
> *System*, VIII: 951)
> 
> 
> 



That principle, of course, is the principle of utility. 



> 
> 
> [T]he general principle to which all rules of practice ought to
> conform, and the test by which they should be tried, is that of
> conduciveness to the happiness of mankind [...] the promotion of
> happiness is the ultimate principle of Teleology. (*System*,
> VIII: 951) 
> 
> 
> 



The claim that "happiness is the sole end of human action, and
the promotion of it the test by which to judge of all human
conduct" stands at the center of Mill's practical
philosophy, determining how individuals should act, individually and
collectively (*Utilitarianism*, X: 237).



The principle of utility is examined in detail in
*Utilitarianism*, during which it is both clarified and
defended. At the center of the work stands Mill's
'proof' of the principle of utility. The argument takes
place by way of three subclaims. Mill argues for:




*desirability*: that happiness is desirable as an end,



*exhaustiveness*: that nothing but happiness is desirable as an
end, and



*impartiality*: that each person's happiness is equally
desirable.




Mill takes the first subclaim--*desirability*--to be
reasonably uncontentious. Happiness, most will admit, is at least
*one* of the things which is desirable (Donner 1991: 31). His
argument for the claim, however, has become infamous.



> 
> 
> The only proof capable of being given that an object is visible, is
> that people actually see it. The only proof that a sound is audible,
> is that people hear it: and so of the other sources of our experience.
> In like manner, I apprehend, the sole evidence it is possible to
> produce that anything is desirable, is that people do actually desire
> it. (*Utilitarianism*, X: 234)
> 
> 
> 



Mill adds to this the observation that "each person, so far as
he believes it to be attainable, desires his own happiness"
(*Utilitarianism*, X: 234). As such, happiness is shown to be
desirable as an end.



G.E. Moore famously attacks this argument, suggesting that "the
fallacy in this step is so obvious, that is quite wonderful how Mill
failed to see it" (Moore 1993: 118). 'Desired' does
not bear the same relation to 'desirable' as
'heard' does to 'audible'--for
desirability is the property of being *deserving* or
*worthy* of being desired, whereas audibility is property of
being *capable* of being heard. Mill's choice of framing
the argument in this way is, admittedly, unfortunate, but the basic
thrust of the argument is nevertheless strong, if understood in terms
of its own aims.



The argument for the desirability of happiness is, like the rest of
Mill's philosophy, naturalistic in orientation. As was observed
above
 (section 2.1),
 Mill's naturalism leads him to the claim that we cannot have
any knowledge by intuition. His claim that the "sole
evidence" it is possible to produce for normative claims about
desirability are empirical observations about what people "do
actually desire" must be seen in the context of this basic
commitment--our knowledge of the desirable cannot be anchored by
direct *a priori* insight into the nature of the good, and as
such can only come by way of critical examination of what human beings
*do* actually take as good.



"[P]ractised self-consciousness and self-observation, assisted
by observation of others" reveals that human beings do, as a
matter of fact, desire happiness (*Utilitarianism*, X: 237). We
do so, Mill claims, by virtue of our nature--and that propensity
strikes us as reasonable upon inspection. That human beings
universally do desire happiness, and take it to be reasonable to do so
under free consideration, is evidence that happiness is desirable.
Such evidence, of course, is defeasible--but real nonetheless.
And in the absence of reasons to doubt our universal tendency to
desire happiness, we are warranted in taking happiness to be
desirable. The argument for the desirability of happiness is, in this
sense, parallel to Mill's initiating validation of the principle
of enumerative induction (see
 SS3.2).



Human beings, of course, desire many things besides
happiness--Mill acknowledges this fact as "palpable"
(*Utilitarianism*, X: 234). Insofar as *what we desire*
is taken as evidence of *what is desirable*, this might seem
incompatible with Mill's second subclaim--that happiness is
*exhaustive* of the desirable. Mill's strategy for
establishing that happiness is the *only* desirable thing is to
show that although there are other things which are desired by human
beings, such things are desired only because of the relation they bear
to happiness. Many things, of course, are desired merely as means to
happiness. Upon inspection, such things do not strike us as
*ultimately* desirable, but merely as useful mechanisms for
bringing about that which *is* ultimately desirable. Mill
recognises, however, that not *all desiderata* besides
happiness are desired merely as means. Some people, for instance,
"desire virtue for its own sake"--as a matter of
"psychological fact", they desire it
"disinterestedly, for itself" (*Utilitarianism*, X:
237, 235). This does not threaten the claim that happiness is the only
thing ultimately desirable, Mill argues, because for such individuals,
virtue is desirable because it forms a *part* of their
happiness.



> 
> 
> Virtue, according to the utilitarian doctrine, is not naturally and
> originally part of the end, but it is capable of becoming so
> [...] There was no original desire of it, or motive to it, save
> its conduciveness to pleasure, and especially to protection from pain.
> But through the association thus formed, it may be felt a good in
> itself, and desired as such with as great intensity as any other good.
> (*Utilitarianism* X: 235-6)
> 
> 
> 



Objects which are desired initially merely as a means to happiness,
can become so central to a person's conception of what it means
to be happy as to be seen as a *part* of their happiness. At
this point, they may be desired in themselves--and quite apart
from their results. We shall discuss this claim further below
 (section 4.2).
 But as part of Mill's general strategy for showing that nothing
beyond happiness is desirable, the import of the claim is clear. It
allows Mill to argue that nothing *apart* from happiness is
ultimately desired. "Whatever is desired otherwise than as a
means [...] to happiness, is desired as itself a part of
happiness", and as such "there is in reality nothing
desired except happiness" (*Utilitarianism*, X: 237).



Mill's argument for *impartiality*--that that each
person's happiness is equally desirable--passes quickly,
and many have found it problematic. Mill claims that "each
person's happiness is a good to that person, and the general
happiness, therefore, a good to the aggregate of all persons"
(*Utilitarianism*, X: 234). The argument is, in one sense,
merely a reflection of Mill's individualism (cf.
*System*, VIII: 879). The underlying thought is that the good
of a group of people *can be no other* than the sum of the good
of its members. But the argument goes deeper than this plausible
claim, relying on stronger premises. The supposition that "equal
amounts of happiness are equally desirable, whether felt by the same
or by different persons" (*Utilitarianism*, X: 258n) is
in fact contentious. One might well argue, for instance, that to add
to the happiness of the already content or the undeserving is
*not* to add to the general good at the same level as adding to
the happiness of the discontent or deserving: that the value of
happiness is in part determined by where it occurs. Mill does not,
however, consider these objections.



By showing that happiness is desirable, that nothing other than
happiness is desirable, and that every person's happiness is
equally desirable, Mill holds that "the principle of utility is
proved" (*Utilitarianism*, X: 239). It is not, of course,
a proof in the traditional sense of being a *logical deduction*
of the principle of utility. Indeed, Mill acknowledges that in a
strict sense, "ultimate ends are not amenable to direct
proof" (*Utilitarianism*, X: 207; cf. X: 234). Being
based on critical examination of how we *do* reason, claims
about how we *ought* to reason--whether practically or
theoretically--must remain provisional, and open to ongoing
correction by further observations of our reasoning practices.
Nevertheless, Mill holds, the 'proof' presents
"[c]onsiderations [...] capable of determining the
intellect" (*Utilitarianism*, X: 208). As such, the
principle of utility--"the doctrine that all things are
good or evil, by virtue solely of the pleasure or the pain which they
produce"--is shown to have "rational grounds"
(*The Protagoras*, XI: 61; *Utilitarianism*, X:
208).


### 4.2 Mill's Conception of Happiness



We have seen, then, that Mill holds that "happiness is the sole
end of human action, and the promotion of it the test by which to
judge of all human conduct" (*Utilitarianism*, X: 237).
The content of this claim, however, clearly depends to a great extent
upon what is *meant* by happiness. Mill gives what seems to be
a clear and unambiguous statement of his meaning. "By happiness
is intended pleasure, and the absence of pain; by unhappiness, pain,
and the privation of pleasure" (*Utilitarianism*, X:
210). That statement has seemed to many to commit Mill, at a basic
level, to *hedonism* as an account of happiness and a theory of
value--that it is pleasurable *sensations* that are the
ultimately valuable thing.



Mill departs from the Benthamite account, however, which holds that if
two experiences contain equal quantities of pleasure, then they are
thereby equally valuable. In contrast, Mill argues that 



> 
> 
> [i]t would be absurd that while, in estimating all other things,
> quality is considered as well as quantity, the estimation of pleasures
> should be supposed to depend on quantity alone.
> (*Utilitarianism*, X: 211) 
> 
> 
> 



Some pleasures are, by their nature, of a higher quality than
others--and as such are to be valued more.



> 
> 
> If I am asked, what I mean by difference of quality in pleasures, or
> what makes one pleasure more valuable than another, merely as a
> pleasure, except its being greater in amount, there is but one
> possible answer. Of two pleasures, if there be one to which all or
> almost all who have experience of both give a decided preference
> [...] that is the more desirable pleasure.
> (*Utilitarianism*, X: 211)
> 
> 
> 



The claim is one purely relating to value ordering--that there
can exist experiences *h* and *l*, such that *h*
is more valuable than *l*, despite *l* containing an
equal or greater quantity of pleasure than *h*. Some
commentators (Riley 2002) have
claimed that Mill holds that *any* quantity of a higher
pleasure is more valuable than *any* quantity of a lower
pleasure on the basis of the following passage:



> 
> 
> If one of the two [pleasures] is, by those who are competently
> acquainted with both, placed so far above the other that they prefer
> it [...] and would not resign it for any quantity of the other
> pleasure which their nature is capable of, we are justified in
> ascribing to the preferred enjoyment a superiority in quality.
> (*Utilitarianism*, X: 211)
> 
> 
> 



The claim that it would be rational to sacrifice *any* amount
of a lower pleasure for a minuscule amount of a higher pleasure,
though, seems too implausible to attribute to Mill--and in the
passage cited, he only registers a *sufficient* condition for
considering one pleasure of a higher quality to another, and not a
*necessary* condition (Saunders 2011; Miller 2010: 58). In
fact, Mill gives very little indication as to how to weigh quality
against quantity of pleasure--he simply does not speak to the
specifics of how varying quantities of pleasures at varying qualities
are to be reconciled against one another.



The question remains as to which *sorts* of pleasures are of
higher quality than others. Mill holds that pleasures "of the
intellect, of the feelings and imagination, and of the moral
sentiments" are amongst the higher pleasures
(*Utilitarianism*, X: 211). But Mill's doctrine need not
be read as restrictively intellectualist. As well as pleasures of the
mind, he holds that pleasures gained in *activity* are of a
higher quality than those gained *passively* (*Liberty*,
XVIII: 262; cf. *Utilitarianism*, X: 215). Ultimately, however,
the quality of any given pleasure must itself be a substantive
question, to be addressed by ongoing experimentation and comparison of
the preferences of competent judges--those who have experienced,
and appreciated, the sorts of pleasure being compared.



The lurking suspicion for many has been that in distinguishing
*qualities* of pleasure, Mill departs from hedonism. If Mill
claims that a *small amount* of pleasure can be more valuable
than a *high amount*, anti-hedonist interpreters suggests, it
must be on the grounds of valuing something apart from the
*pleasurable experience* itself--for if Mill valued solely
the *pleasurable experience*, then he would always value more
pleasurable experience over less. Mill must, that is to say, consider
high quality pleasures more valuable not on account of their
pleasantness, but on some other grounds--i.e., their source. But
this would be to abandon hedonism. The anti-hedonist interpretation
might be further supported by appealing to Mill's talk of
'parts of happiness'. As was noted above, when defending
the claim that happiness is the sole end of action, Mill acknowledges
that "[t]he ingredients of happiness are very various, and each
of them is desirable in itself" (*Utilitarianism*, X:
235). While talk of (for instance) virtue as a *part* of
happiness is certainly intelligible, it is perhaps less obvious that
it is compatible with his hedonism.



Those who doubt whether Mill remains a hedonist have in general
claimed that Mill moves towards a *eudaimonistic* or
*perfectionist* account of happiness (Brink 2013: 46ff.;
Nussbaum 2004; Clark 2010). By 'happiness', they claim,
Mill does not mean certain *experiences* or
*sensations*, but rather the flourishing that is achieved in
the realization of a character ideal. There are occasions when Mill
makes claims which lend themselves to such an interpretation. When, in
*On Liberty*, Mill emphasizes the value of autonomy and
originality--when he claims that "[i]t really is of
importance, not only what men do, but also what manner of men they are
that do it" (*Liberty*, XVIII: 263)--his focus does
seem to be on the value of *being a certain way*, rather than
the value of *experiences*.



It is certainly true that, in attempting to combine the best of
eighteenth-century empiricism and nineteenth-century romanticism, Mill
gravitated towards *character* as the locus of practical
theorizing (Devigne 2006). This, by necessity, involved a change of
emphasis in his philosophy. The question, however, is whether
Mill's focus on character is simply an instance of his attempt
to elicit "dynamical conclusions" from "mechanical
premises" (*Letter to Thomas Carlyle*, XII:
181)--whether, in other words, his attempt is to rest a
character-focused ethic upon hedonistic foundations. The claim that
some qualities of pleasure are more valuable than others need not
violate the core claim of hedonism: that pleasurable experiences are
the ultimately valuable things. It is perfectly open to the hedonist
to claim that different pleasurable experiences are, on the grounds of
their phenomenology, of different value. Mill's associationism
provides the resources to claim that pleasures are themselves complex
and evolving emotions, reflective of, and often entangled with, the
characters that give rise to them. This too may offer some explanation
of what Mill means by claiming that, for instance, virtue can become
*part* of our happiness. Given Mill's profession that




> 
> 
> all desirable things [...] are desirable either for the pleasure
> inherent in themselves, or as means to the promotion of pleasure and
> the prevention of pain, 
> 
> 
> 



then, there seems little reason to doubt his commitment to hedonism
(*Utilitarianism*, X: 210).


### 4.3 Morality



It is important to note that the claims made so far concern
Mill's axiology (Fletcher 2008). They concern, that is to say,
what states of affairs are *valuable*--which outcomes are
*good*. Such axiological claims are, in themselves, silent on
the question of our moral obligations. Mill is not a maximizing
utilitarian about the moral. Although, admittedly, he often makes
statements which seem to imply that he is committed to this
position--most famously, towards the beginning of
*Utilitarianism*, that "actions are right in proportion
as they tend to promote happiness, wrong as they tend to produce the
reverse of happiness" (*Utilitarianism*, X:
210)--such statements should be understood as simplifying devices
for the purposes of initial exposition. Other, more careful,
statements clearly show that this is not his considered position.



The maximizing utilitarian believes that we are morally obliged to
bring about the *most happiness* we can--that insofar as
we fall short of this mark, we violate our moral obligations. Yet Mill
clearly believes that we are not obliged to do *all that we
can* upon pain of moral censure.



> 
> 
> It is not good that persons should be bound, by other people's
> opinion, to do everything that they would deserve praise for doing.
> There is a standard of altruism to which all should be required to
> come up, and a degree beyond it which is not obligatory, but
> meritorious. (*Auguste Comte and Positivism*, X: 337)
> 
> 
> 



Mill, that is to say, believes in the existence of a class of
supererogatory acts (Donner 2009: 140-3). While it might be
extremely *praiseworthy* to do the most good that we
can--and while there might be *reason* to do the most good
that we can--failure to do so is not the standard that marks the
distinction between acting morally and immorally. Rather, Mill claims,
the notion of moral wrong is connected to that of
*punishment*.



> 
> 
> I think there is no doubt that this distinction lies at the bottom of
> the notions of right and wrong; that we call any conduct wrong, or
> employ, instead, some other term of dislike or disparagement,
> according as we think that the person ought, or ought not, to be
> punished for it. (*Utilitarianism*, X: 246)
> 
> 
> 



Mill's notion of 'punishment', however, is a broad
one.



> 
> 
> We do not call anything wrong, unless we mean to imply that a person
> ought to be punished in some way or other for doing it; if not by law,
> by the opinion of his fellow creatures; if not by opinion, by the
> reproaches of his own conscience. [...] [If] it is not a case of
> moral obligation; we do not blame them, that is, we do not think that
> they are proper objects of punishment. (*Utilitarianism*, X:
> 246)
> 
> 
> 



An act is morally wrong, then, if it is *blameworthy*, i.e., if
it would be *proper to blame* an agent for performing that act.
The question, of course, is what grounds such norms of blame.
Interpreters have in general taken Mill to believe that whether we
ought to blame an individual for any given act--and whether,
therefore that act is morally wrong--is determined by
considerations of utilitarian efficiency. An act is wrong, therefore,
if it would be productive to overall utility to blame an individual
for performing that act--or, under a rule-focused interpretation,
if it would be productive to overall utility for there to exist a rule
to the effect that individuals performing actions of that sort were
subject to
 blame.[5]



The efficiency of such norms of blame will be dependent, in part, on
the culture in which they are to operate--on the dispositions of
individuals to react to blame and the promise of blame, and on the
possibility of inculcating these dispositions in a given
group--and, for this reason, the domain of moral duty will vary
with time and place (*Auguste Comte*, X: 338; Miller 2010: 99).
A significant remaining question is whether there is a constraint
placed on morality by the logic of that emotion: whether, in other
words, there are certain actions which, because of the nature of the
emotion of blame, cannot be regarded as morally wrong (Jacobson
2008).



Mill's stance on the place of morality in practical reasoning
overall--how our moral obligations are related to what we ought
to do, all things considered--is complex. Mill writes that 



> 
> 
> the *moral* view of actions and characters [...] is
> unquestionably the first and most important mode of looking at them.
> (*Bentham*, X: 112) 
> 
> 
> 



But, at the same time, he is critical of those
"morality-intoxicated" philosophers who take morality to
crowd out the sphere of practical reason entirely--who treat the
moral dimension of questions about how we should act "as if it
were the sole one" (*Auguste Comte*, X: 336;
*Bentham*, X: 112). "Practical Reason"--or, as
Mill also terms it, "the Art of Life"--has as its
proper object, bringing into existence the greatest possible
 happiness.[6]
 It is divided into three domains: "Morality, Prudence or
Policy, and Aesthetics; the Right, the Expedient, and the Beautiful or
Noble" (*System*, VIII: 949; cf. *Bentham*, X:
112). An action is prudent simply to the extent that it maximizes a
person's individual utility, which can of course be in part a
function of others' utility; an action is beautiful to the
extent that it is admirable, and excites aesthetic pleasure in its
contemplation (cf. Loizides 2013: 133-40).



Moral rules play a role in guiding and evaluating action, to be sure,
but so do rules of aesthetics and prudence: these too promote the
general happiness, and as such provide reasons for action. There can,
of course, be clashes between such rules of morality, prudence, and
aesthetics--and, indeed, clashes of rules *within* those
domains. In such cases, Mill writes, it is "requisite that first
principles should be appealed to" (*Utilitarianism*, X:
226; cf. *System*, VIII: 951). Mill also allows that appeal be
made directly to the principle of utility on occasions when an agent
knows that *following* rules--moral, prudential, or
aesthetic--would generate significantly less overall happiness
than *violating* those rules (Utilitarianism, X: 223;
*Taylor's Statesman* XIX: 638-40). But Mill is
unclear as to how often such clashes and exceptions license direct
appeal to the principle of utility. To the extent that one ought
*often* to ignore the rules of morality, prudence, and
aesthetics, and act simply on the basis of which action is most
choice-worthy according to the theory of practical reason overall,
Mill is, in the end, pulled towards something which comes to resemble
an act-utilitarianism position (Turner 2015).


### 4.4 Equality, the Sexes, and the Nineteenth Century



The nineteenth century was a period coming to terms with the rise of
democracy, and this is reflected in the concerns of its social
philosophy. Mill's writings in this area are no exception. His
engagement with the question of how society and its institutions ought
to be organized is of course guided by an abstract commitment to
general happiness as the measure of the success of all human
practice--but it is also deeply attentive to the concrete
possibilities and dangers of the newly emerging democratic era, and
how they relate to this overarching goal (Skorupski 2006).



Influenced by Tocqueville, Mill held that the great trend of his own
period was a falling away of aristocratic *mores* and a growth
of
 equality.[7]
 Mill's distinctively English take on modern Europe's
"irresistible tendency to equality of conditions"
characterised the spread of equality as a manifestation of "the
growth of the middle class" (*De Tocqueville on Democracy in
America [II]*, XVIII: 150, 196). Although modern Europe had not
annihilated the class distinctions of earlier periods, in Mill's
view, such differences were becoming less and less influential on
social norms. Wealth, education, status, and therefore power, he held,
were amassing with a socially and politically dominant middle class,
whose shared commercial traits and interests dictated equality as the
emerging rule.



Mill believes that this trend presents a chance for the improvement of
society--in this sense, he stands as the heir to Bentham and
James Mill in trying to drive forward the agenda of modernisation.
But, like many of his nineteenth-century contemporaries--in
particular, conservative social critics such as Coleridge and
Carlyle--he also sees that the newly emerging order carries with
it newly emerging dangers. His aim was therefore to ameliorate the
negative effects of the rise of equality, while capitalising on the
opportunity it presented for reform.



The most pressing need for reform in this situation, Mill thought, was
the removal of structures of discrimination and oppression against
women. Mill held, on the grounds of associationist psychology, that
human character is wholly a product of upbringing. As such, he was
suspicious of the then common claim that women had a different nature
from men--and that the sexes were therefore naturally suited for
different roles within the family and society more broadly.



> 
> 
> [N]o one can safely pronounce that if women's nature were left
> to choose its direction as freely as men's, and if no artificial
> bent were attempted to be given to it except that required by the
> conditions of human society, and given to both sexes alike, there
> would be any material difference, or perhaps any difference at all, in
> the character and capacities that would unfold themselves.
> (*Subjection*, XXI: 305)
> 
> 
> 



To the extent that the sexes in general exhibit different character
traits, these traits are the product of upbringing *into*
stereotypes, rather the justification *for* such stereotypes.
So too for differences that are claimed to exist naturally between the
races, and to justify the authority of one set of individuals over
another (*The Negro Question*, XII: 93). With the growth of
equality that came with a dominant middle class, Mill held, these
forms of oppression stood out all the more clearly, and the time was
therefore ripe to dismantle such practices of discrimination.



Such practices were, Mill held, objectionable on the grounds of
"social expediency"--that they were detrimental to
overall utility (*Subjection*, XXI: 64; cf. *Admission of
Women to Franchise*, XXVIII: 152). The denial of the vote harmed
the disenfranchised on two grounds. Firstly, their
interests--interests which might diverge in significant ways from
other groups (*Autobiography*, I: 107)--went unrepresented
in Parliament, and were therefore liable to frustration. Secondly, to
deny individuals access to political participation was to deny them
access to an important aspect of the good and happy life.



> 
> 
> [A]n equal right to be heard--to have a share in influencing the
> affairs of the country--to be consulted, to be spoken to, and to
> have agreements and considerations turning upon politics addressed to
> one--tended to elevate and educate the self-respect of the man
> [...] To give people an interest in politics and in the
> management of their own affairs was the grand cultivator of mankind
> [...] That was one of the reasons why he wanted women to have
> votes; they needed cultivation as well as men. (*Westminster
> Election 1865 [4]*, XXVIII: 39; see also *Considerations*,
> XIX: 469)
> 
> 
> 



For these reasons, Mill fought against political discrimination
throughout his life, both as a philosopher and a Member of Parliament
(Kinzer, Robson and Robson 1992; Varouxakis 2013). We shall return to
the complexities of Mill's views on political democracy below
 (section 4.7),
 but in the context of discussion of equality, we should note that
Mill was just as critical of social forms of discrimination as of the
denial of the vote to women. Barriers to education and the
professions, he held, were as much in need of reform as barriers to
representation (*Subjection*, XXI: 300). But his most vehement
criticisms were made of the institution of marriage, as practiced in
his own time.



Marriage--which in this period deprived the wife of property and
legal personhood, and forced total obedience to a husband--was,
Mill held, akin to slavery (*Subjection*, XXI: 271). Often, he
observed, it involved physical violence. But even where this was not
the case, the preparation for and participation in such unequal
partnerships caused women to develop constrained, artificial, and
submissive personalities. And not only was it degrading for women to
be held in such a position of slavery--exercising such domination
was debasing to men, corrupting their personalities, too
(*Subjection*, XXI: 321). The prevalence of such a vicious
power-relationship in a central area of human life cried out for
renovation. The only circumstances in which marriage could be a
positive institution, adding to human happiness, was one in which men
and women were treated with total equality (Miller 2017).


### 4.5 *On Liberty* and Freedom of Speech



The transformation of society from aristocratic to increasingly
democratic forms of organization brought with it opportunities, then.
But it also presented dangers. It meant rule by a social mass which
was more powerful, uniform, and omnipresent than the sovereigns of
previous eras. The dominance of the majority, Mill held, presented new
threats of tyranny over the individual--freedom was no less at
risk from a newly empowered many, than from an absolute monarch. The
restrictions over freedom that concerned Mill included, to be sure,
legislatively enacted restrictions of liberty--but they also took
in broader "compulsion and control, whether the means used be
physical force in the form of legal penalties, or the moral coercion
of public opinion" (*Liberty*, XVIII: 223). Informal
mechanisms of social pressure and expectation could, in mass
democratic societies, be all-controlling. Mill worried that the
exercise of such powers would lead to stifling conformism in thought,
character and action.



It was in this context that *On Liberty* was written (Scarre
2007: 1-9). The aim of the argument is announced in the first
chapter:



> 
> 
> The object of this Essay is to assert one very simple principle
> [...] That principle is, that the sole end for which mankind are
> warranted, individually or collectively, in interfering with the
> liberty of action of any of their number, is self-protection.
> (*Liberty*, XVIII: 223)
> 
> 
> 



As with all of Mill's practical philosophy, the argument for
this claim is utilitarian. 



> 
> 
> It is proper to state that I forego any advantage which could be
> derived to my argument from the idea of abstract right, as a thing
> independent of utility. (*Liberty*, XVIII: 224) 
> 
> 
> 



It could not be known *a priori* that we should organize
society along liberal principles. Indeed, Mill held conditions of
freedom are only desirable in civilized societies--"[u]ntil
then, there is nothing for them but implicit obedience to an Akbar or
a Charlemagne, if they are so fortunate as to find one"
(*Liberty*, XVIII: 224). Mill's case for liberty, in this
sense, is based on observation about the conditions under which human
beings flourish and are happy.



Mill's claim that *On Liberty* presents "one very
simple principle"--is "a kind of philosophic
text-book of a single truth"--perhaps belies the fact that
there are many distinct arguments and conclusions drawn throughout the
text (*Liberty*, XVIII: 223; *Autobiography*, I: 259).
Mill employs different strategies to argue for freedom of thought and
discussion, freedom of character, and freedom of action--and
although of course such arguments overlap, they must be carefully
unpicked if we are to appreciate their strengths and weaknesses. In
this section, we will consider the argument for freedom of speech,
turning, in the next section, to his case for freedom of character and
action more broadly.



Mill's argument for the freedom of thought and discussion is
given in chapter 2 of *On Liberty*, and in it he aims to show
that there should be no attempt "to control the expression of
opinion" (*Liberty*, XVIII: 229; see Riley 2015: 74ff.).
The chapter takes the form of a proof from the exhaustion of cases.
Mill claims that, for any opinion *P* which is a candidate for
suppression, *P* must be either: (i) true, (ii) false, or (iii)
partially true. Whichever is the case, he argues, *P*'s
assertion will be useful for discovering and maintaining the
truth--and as such should be welcome. 



True beliefs are in general suppressed because, though they are true,
they are *thought* to be false. To assume that because one
thinks a view is false, it should be suppressed, Mill argues, is to
assume infallibility for one's beliefs. Human beings, though,
are not creatures capable of infallible knowledge. Mill's
empiricism leads him to believe that we do not have direct *a
priori* insight into the truth, and that all of our beliefs must
remain open to revision in light of further observation. As such,
discussion must remain open--even on issues which we think
securely established. It might be argued, he observes, that certain
true beliefs should be suppressed because, although true, they are
thought to be *harmful*. But to argue that we should suppress a
view because it is harmful would either be to assume infallibility on
its status *as* harmful, or to allow debate on that
question--which in turn must involve debate on the substantive
issue itself. Opinions belonging to case (i) therefore ought to not to
be suppressed.



Even when a belief *is* false, Mill holds, its assertion may
still be conducive to securing the truth--and as such, opinions
belonging to case (ii) should not be suppressed. The assertion of
false opinions leads to debate--which in turn leads to greater
understanding. Without active defence of a truth, we risk losing sense
of its real meaning, with genuine knowledge becoming reduced to
"phrases retained by rote" (*Liberty*, XVIII: 249).
It is therefore just as important to hear counterarguments to the
truth as its re-articulation.



> 
> 
> However unwillingly a person who has a strong opinion may admit the
> possibility that his opinion may be false, he ought to be moved by the
> consideration that however true it may be, if it is not fully,
> frequently, and fearlessly discussed, it will be held as a dead dogma,
> not a living truth. (*Liberty*, XVIII: 243)
> 
> 
> 



Mill holds that 



> 
> 
> there is a commoner case than either of these; when the conflicting
> doctrines, instead of being one true and the other false, share the
> truth between them. (*Liberty*, XVIII: 252) 
> 
> 
> 



Such situations make up case (iii). In complicated
matters--especially in matter of politics of morality--the
truth is "many-sided" (*Letter to Thomas Carlyle*
XII: 181). Most well-thought-out views--whether conservative or
liberal--on such matters contain *part* of the truth.
Individuals are rarely in the position to see the "whole
truth" for themselves, and the only way for it to emerge is by
therefore by "the reconciling and combining of opposites"
(*Liberty*, XVIII: 258, 254).



Mill takes the three cases to be exhaustive: whatever an
opinion's status in terms of truth, then, its suppression would
be epistemically damaging (Skorupski 1989: 377-83). The
argument's focus on *truth*, of course, limits the scope
of the argument. Though there may be arguments establishing that forms
of communication which do not have truth as their goal--poetry,
art, music--should be free from interference, these are not to be
found in chapter 2, but later in *On Liberty*.


### 4.6 *On Liberty* and Freedom of Character and Action



Mill's argument for freedom of
character--"Individuality" (*Liberty*, XVIII:
260)--is given in chapter 3 of *On Liberty*, and is
two-pronged. On the one hand, he argues that it is best *for
individuals* that they are given freedom and space to develop
their own character. On the other, he argues that it best *for
society*, too. Mill's argument for the former is Romantic in
tone, maintaining that, because different individuals have different
natures, they must be given space to discover and develop their own
personalities and ways of living.



> 
> 
> Human nature is not a machine to be built after a model, and set to do
> exactly the work prescribed for it, but a tree, which requires to grow
> and develope itself on all sides, according to the tendency of the
> inward forces which make it a living thing. (*Liberty*, XVIII:
> 263)
> 
> 
> 



The basic diversity of human beings means it is not productive for
there to exist an expectation that all individuals will live in a
similar manner. In this sense, the argument is a pragmatic one: that
one mode of life is unlikely to fit all individual tastes. But Mill
also suggests that it is a central feature of the good life that it be
a life *chosen for oneself*. 



> 
> 
> It is possible that he might be guided in some good path [...]
> But what will be his comparative worth as a human being? It really is
> of importance, not only what men do, but also what manner of men they
> are that do it. (*Liberty*, XVIII: 263) 
> 
> 
> 



Along with other thinkers of the period--Arnold, Nietzsche, and
Schiller are all useful points of comparison--Mill believes that
the great danger of mass-society is self-repression and conformism,
leading to the sapping of human energy and creativity. Victorian
society was, he claimed, governed by an ethos of propriety based on
"Christian self-denial"; Mill, in contrast, encourages the
"Greek ideal of self-development" (*Liberty*,
XVIII: 266). It is individuals that are well-rounded, authentic and
spontaneous, he believes, that are most truly happy.



It is also important for society more broadly that individuals be free
to develop their own ways of living. It is beneficial to have a rich
variety of "experiments of living" (*Liberty*,
XVIII: 260) on display in any given society, to allow individuals to
be inspired by a wide range of possible forms of life. And the variety
that exists within such a context, Mill thinks, key to maintaining
social progress. A "diversity of character and culture"
provides the engine of productive tension that drives a nation
forward. Without it, Mill fears "Chinese stationariness"
(*Liberty*, XVIII: 188; *De Tocqueville on Democracy in
America [II]*, XVIII: 189).



> 
> 
> The despotism of custom is everywhere the standing hindrance to human
> advancement, being in unceasing antagonism to that disposition to aim
> at something better than customary, which is called, according to
> circumstances, the spirit of liberty, or that of progress or
> improvement. (*Liberty*, XVIII: 272)
> 
> 
> 



In chapters 4 and 5 of *On Liberty*, Mill's attention
turns from a general defence of the salutary effects of freedom to an
an exploration of which actions *in particular* should or
should not be subject to interference. The scope of legitimate
coercion is guided by the 'harm principle': 



> 
> 
> the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any
> member of a civilised community, against his will, is to prevent harm
> to others. (*Liberty*, XVIII: 223; cf. *Liberty*, XVIII:
> 292) 
> 
> 
> 



An individual's action can be legitimately encroached upon if
and only if that action might harm another individual. Of course, it
may not be *prudent* to intervene in all cases in which it be
*legitimate* to do so. In this sense, the principle merely
states the conditions under which interference is
permissible--not the conditions under which it is desirable.



Mill rules out intervention in that "part of a person's
life which concerns only himself" primarily because
individuals--once they have reached "the maturity of their
faculties"--are far more competent with respect to their
own good than others (*Liberty*, XVIII: 280, 224; see Turner
2013).



> 
> 
> [W]ith respect to his own feelings and circumstances, the most
> ordinary man or woman has means of knowledge immeasurably surpassing
> those that can be possessed by any one else. The interference of
> society to overrule his judgment and purposes in what only regards
> himself, must be grounded on general presumptions; which may be
> altogether wrong, and even if right, are as likely as not to be
> misapplied to individual cases. (*Liberty*, XVIII: 277)
> 
> 
> 



As such, there should exist a general presumption against
paternalistic attempts to interfere with an individual's
self-regarding conduct for their own good.



Mill readily admits that no conduct is self-regarding in the sense
that it affects only the agent themselves. "No person is an
entirely isolated being" (*Liberty*, XVIII: 280). But it
is only when an individual "violate[s] a distinct and assignable
obligation to any other person or persons, the case is taken out of
the self-regarding class" (*Liberty*, XVIII: 281). In the
sense Mill intends, then, we harm an individual only when we violate
an obligation to that individual. The damage done by the bad example
set to others by a drunkard provides no legitimate reason for
interference with his conduct; if his drunkenness causes him to
violate the obligation to support his family, then that action
constitutes a harm and is subject to interference.



Mill's concern, throughout *On Liberty*, is to preserve
the individual's freedom not only in the face of the threat of
legislative or state coercion, but from the threat of more insidious
forms of social coercion. In mass society, curtain-twitching
judgmentalism and whispered smear-campaigns can be more dangerously
controlling than formal acts of tyranny, "penetrating much more
deeply into the details of life, and enslaving the soul itself"
(*Liberty*, XVIII: 220). And yet, of course, Mill holds that
individuals are themselves free to form unfavorable opinions about the
character of others. We are free to remonstrate with an individual, to
avoid him, and to encourage others to avoid him--that is
*our* right. But not to "parade the avoidance"
(*Liberty*, XVIII: 278). The dividing line between the
legitimate and illegitimate use of our freedom, however, is surely
difficult to draw.


### 4.7 Authority and Democracy



As we have seen, Mill believes that we can have no genuine knowledge
*a priori*. One important result of this general claim, Mill
holds, is that knowledge--on political and ethical matters, as
well as within the physical sciences--is more difficult to
acquire than those who appeal directly to intuition or common sense
might wish. An individual's need for knowledge far outstrips the
possibility of individual observation--as such, the vast majority
of our knowledge must be acquired on the basis of testimony.



> 
> 
> I yield to no one in the degree of intelligence of which I believe
> [the people] to be capable. But I do not believe that, along with this
> intelligence, they will ever have sufficient opportunities of study
> and experience, to become themselves familiarly conversant with all
> the inquiries which lead to the truths by which it is good that they
> should regulate their conduct, and to receive into their own minds the
> whole of the evidence from which those truths have been collected, and
> which is necessary for their establishment. [...] As long as the
> day consists but of twenty-four hours, and the age of man extends but
> to threescore and ten [...] the great majority of mankind will
> need the far greater part of their time and exertions for procuring
> their daily bread. (*Spirit of the Age*, XXII: 241)
> 
> 
> 



In previous ages, the existence of a leisured and spiritual class
meant that it was relatively easy to establish *who* possessed
the intellectual authority to function as leaders in thought and
action (*Spirit of the Age*, XXII: 304-5). But the
eighteenth-century Enlightenment philosophers had discredited these
trusted forms of authority, making it increasingly difficult to
distinguish "well-grounded opinion" from
"charlatanerie" (*Civilization*, XVIII: 132,
 135).[8]
 The rise of the numerical majority in the modern-era meant that the
individual was liable to become "so lost in the crowd, that
though he depends more and more upon opinion, he is apt to depend less
and less upon well-grounded opinion" (*Civilization*,
XVIII: 132; cf. *Liberty*, VIII: 268).



Ultimately, Mill remains optimistic about the prospects of the modern
individual to successfully autonomously navigate that crowd and
identify voices worthy of respect.



> 
> 
> No government by a democracy or a numerous aristocracy [...] ever
> did or could rise above mediocrity, except in so far as the sovereign
> Many have let themselves be guided (which in their best times they
> always have done) by the counsels and influence of a more highly
> gifted and instructed One or Few. [...] The honour and glory of
> the average man is that he is capable of following that initiative;
> that he can respond internally to wise and noble things, and be led to
> them with his eyes open. (*Liberty*, XVIII: 269)
> 
> 
> 



He is conscious, however, that effort is required to preserve and
cultivate the individual's ability to recognize and respond to
such voices. Formal education, of course, must play a significant role
in maintaining an "an enlightened public" who know enough
"to be able to discern who are those that know them
better" (*Inaugural Address*, XXI: 223; see Findlay
2017). But Mill also looks to the institution of democracy
itself to help solidify the influence of elites.



Mill held, as was noted above
 (section 4.4),
 that the democratic expansion of the franchise was inevitable, and to
be welcomed. Possessing the vote ensured that an individual's
interests would be represented--and, equally importantly, it had
an elevating and educative effect on the public. Active participation
in collective decision making was, Mill held, part of the good and
happy life (Urbinati 2002). He was in favor, therefore, of extending
the vote to all those who were not reliant on public support and
possessed a basic competency in reading, writing, and arithmetic.
"But though every one ought to have a voice--that every one
should have an equal voice is a totally different proposition"
(*Considerations*, XIX: 473). In an ideal system of democracy,
Mill held, those whose opinions are "entitled to a greater
amount of consideration" would be given more consideration, with
level of education determining the number of votes a person could cast
(*Considerations*, XIX: 474; see Miller 2015).



A system of plural voting would not only counteract the tendency of
democracy to descend into rule by the mob, but would embody and signal
the general principle that some opinions are more worthy of attention
than others.



> 
> 
> It is not useful, but hurtful, that the constitution of the country
> should declare ignorance to be entitled to as much political power as
> knowledge. The national institutions should place all things that they
> are concerned with, before the mind of the citizen in the light in
> which it is for his good that he should regard them: and as it is for
> his good that he should think that every one is entitled to some
> influence, but the better and wiser to more than others.
> (*Considerations*, XIX: 478)
> 
> 
> 



Mill's concern to ensure that the recognition of genuine
*expertise* is not lost in the age of democracy also underlies
his support for Thomas Hare's system of Proportional
Representation. Instead of limiting the choice to local candidates,
Mill hoped to allow voters to join together and elect the most
distinguished candidates from throughout the nation, resulting in the
"very *elite* of the country" being elected
to, and exercising an influence within and beyond, Parliament
(*Considerations*, XIX: 456). The desire for expertise also
guides Mill's belief that a Second Chamber would, at best, be a
Senate composed of those who had previously held high political
offices or employments, and had thereby established their quality as
"natural leaders" (*Considerations*, XIX: 516).



Mill's attempt to secure conditions in which genuine authorities
can be identified and heard amongst the clamor of democratic society
is not, of course, an attempt to *stifle* other voices. Neither
is it an attempt to impose the will of experts on an unwilling
majority. At all points, Mill remains committed to the freedom of
individuals to hold and express their own opinions, and to the
sovereignty of the majority will on public matters. His sensitivity
towards the very real dangers of populism in modern societies is, that
is to say, never allowed to overshadow his basic commitment to liberal
democracy as the political system most suited to the cultivation of a
free, active, and happy citizenry.