§ 43.

But now let us return to consider another of Mill’s arguments for his position that ‘happiness is the sole end of human action.’ Mill admits, as I have said, that pleasure is not the only thing we actually desire. ‘The desire of virtue,’ he says, ‘is not as universal, but is as authentic a fact, as the desire of happiness p. 53. ¹⁴.’ And again, ‘Money is, in many cases, desired in and for itself p. 55. ¹⁵.’ These admissions are, of course, in naked and glaring contradiction with his argument that pleasure is the only thing desirable, because it is the only thing desired. How then does Mill even attempt to avoid this contradiction? His chief argument seems to be that ‘virtue,’ ‘money’ and other such objects, when they are thus desired in and for themselves, are desired only as ‘a part of happiness pp. 56-7. ¹⁶.’ Now what does this mean? Happiness, as we saw, has been defined by Mill, as ‘pleasure and the absence of pain.’ Does Mill mean to say that ‘money,’ these actual coins, which he admits to be desired in and for themselves, are a part either of pleasure or of the absence of pain? Will he maintain that those coins themselves are in my mind, and actually a part of my pleasant feelings? If this is to be said, all words are useless: nothing can possibly be distinguished from anything else; if these two things are not distinct, what on earth is? We shall hear next that this table is really and truly the same thing as this room; that a cab-horse is in fact indistinguishable from St Paul’s Cathedral; that this book of Mill’s which I hold in my hand, because it was his pleasure to produce it, is now and at this moment a part of the happiness which he felt many years ago and which has so long ceased to be. Pray consider a moment what this contemptible nonsense really means. ‘Money,’ says Mill, ‘is only desirable as a means to happiness.’ Perhaps so, but what then? ‘Why,’ says Mill, ‘money is undoubtedly desired for its own sake.’ ‘Yes, go on,’ say we. ‘Well,’ says Mill, ‘if money is desired for its own sake, it must be desirable as an end-in-itself: I have said so myself.’ ‘Oh,’ say we, ‘but you have also said just now that it was only desirable as a means.’ ‘I own I did,’ says Mill, ‘but I will try to patch up matters, by saying that what is only a means to an end, is the same thing as a part of that end. I daresay the public won’t notice.’ And the public haven’t noticed. Yet this is certainly what Mill has done. He has broken down the distinction between means and ends, upon the precise observance of which his Hedonism rests. And he has been compelled to do this, because he failed to distinguish ‘end’ in the sense of what is desirable, from ‘end’ in the sense of what is desired: a distinction which, nevertheless, both the present argument and his whole book presupposes. This is a consequence of the naturalistic fallacy.