Henry Sidgwick- Eye of the Universe

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by Bart Schultz


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  xx

  Abbreviations

  Posthumous Books

  GSM

  Lectures on the Ethics of T. H. Green, H. Spencer, and J. Martineau,

  ed. E. E. Constance Jones, .

  PSR

  Philosophy, Its Scope and Relations: An Introductory Course of Lec-

  tures, ed. James Ward, .

  DEP

  The Development of European Polity, ed. Eleanor Mildred

  Sidgwick, .

  MEA

  Miscellaneous Essays and Addresses, ed. Eleanor Mildred Sidgwick

  and Arthur Sidgwick, .

  LPK

  Lectures on the Philosophy of Kant and Other Philosophical Lectures

  and Essays, ed. James Ward, .

  M

  Henry Sidgwick, A Memoir, ed. Eleanor Mildred Sidgwick and

  Arthur Sidgwick, .

  For a complete bibliography, covering all of Sidgwick’s many essays, ar-

  ticles, and reviews, as well as the archival resources and reviews of his

  major works, see the entry on him by J. B. Schneewind and Bart Schultz

  in The Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature, Vol. , –,

  rd ed., ed. Joanne Shattock (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,

  ). The only complete collection of Sidgwick’s writings is The Complete

  Works and Select Correspondence of Henry Sidgwick, ed. Bart Schultz et al.

  (Charlottesville, VA: InteLex Corporation, ; nd ed. ), an elec-

  tronic database to which frequent reference is made in the text. This

  collection is referred to in the text by the abbreviation CWC; because of

  the electronic format, no page references to it are given, though the origi-

  nal print or archival references are often provided or simply used instead.

  However, much of the material in the database – such as the complete,

  matched Sidgwick–Dakyns correspondence – has been transcribed and

  reproduced for the first time, and the originals are from private collections

  without archival or other reference numbers. Please note that the transla-

  tions of Greek terms and expressions are reserved for the notes, though,

  unless otherwise indicated, these are simply the translations given in the

  work being cited.

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  Overture

  My aim in what I am about to say now is to give such an account of my life – mainly

  my inner intellectual life – as shall render the central and fundamental aims that

  partially at least determined its course when apparently most fitful and erratic,

  as clear and intelligible as I can. That aim is very simply stated. It has been the

  solution, or contribution to the solution, of the deepest problems of human life.

  The peculiarity of my career has been that I have sought light on these problems,

  and that not casually but systematically and laboriously, from very various sources

  and by very diverse methods.

  Henry Sidgwick, “Autobiographical Fragment” dictated from his deathbed

  Stranger lives than Henry Sidgwick’s have resulted from the philosophical

  quest for the ultimate truth about the Universe, but his is nonetheless a

  source of considerable fascination. As a Victorian philosopher, social scien-

  tist, literary critic, educator, reformer, and parapsychologist, an academic

  who spent nearly his entire adult life teaching at and reforming Cambridge

  University, Sidgwick was at the philosophical heart of England when

  England was at the height of its worldly power. He was friendly with

  everyone from William Gladstone to George Eliot, had in one brother-

  in-law a future prime minister and in another a future archbishop of

  Canterbury, and served as a leading figure in that most famous of elite

  secret discussion societies, the Cambridge “Apostles,” which would go on

  to give the world the Bloomsbury circle and the Cambridge spies. And,

  after the publication of his masterpiece, The Methods of Ethics (), he

  was often regarded as the most philosophically sophisticated defender of

  the utilitarianism of John Stuart Mill, who had been perhaps the single

  most influential intellectual figure of the mid-Victorian period.

  Sidgwick represented a form of philosophical life that held on to many

  of the reformist Millian hopes for an open, educating society rich in social

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  experimentation and cultural vanguards, a society that would represent

  a progressively expanding circle of human sympathy and the flourish-

  ing of social intelligence. Like other academic liberals, notably his friend

  T. H. Green, he helped open the way for such developments as the ethical

  culture movement and the settlement movement. In fact, Sidgwick battled

  in a brilliant series of culture wars about the fate of religion, morals, art, and

  education, proving himself a forceful critic of Matthew Arnold’s claims

  about “the best that has been thought and said.” Significant portions of

  the modern university curriculum now being fought over were shaped

  by Sidgwick, the classicist who opposed mandatory Greek and Latin,

  who helped to establish philosophy as an independent professional disci-

  pline, who worried about the scientific illiteracy of the graduates in the

  humanities, and who fought to extend educational opportunities to women

  and the working class. Cambridge University’s Newnham College stands

  today as a vivid reminder of Sidgwick’s life and work, or at least of one of

  the more public parts of it. His influence often worked behind the scenes.

  Yet Sidgwick always remained rather distanced, even alienated, from a

  good many of his cultural contexts; his life, like Mill’s, was punctuated by

  mental and moral crises. An exceptionally self-critical, reflective voice, his

  brilliance shone through more in his perpetual doubt about the proposed

  solutions to “the deepest problems of human life” than in the defense of

  one. One formative event, personally and philosophically, was his agonized

  decision in  to resign his position at Cambridge because he could no

  longer in good conscience subscribe to the Thirty-Nine Articles of the

  Church of England, as legally required. This drama would replay itself

  over and again in his life, his detailed casuistical reflections on it extending

  from his early publications and to his last, since even after subscription

  was no longer required he would question whether someone as skeptical

  as himself ought to be teaching ethics. Ironically, given how recent critics

  of
utilitarianism have urged that it cannot effectively handle the matter

  of integrity, Sidgwick’s life and work were entangled from beginning to

  end with precisely this issue, which was of a piece with his struggle with

  hypocrisy, both his own and that of the larger culture.

  Sidgwick thus represented the classic mid-Victorian, post-Darwinian

  struggle between the “emancipated head and the traditional heart.” How-

  ever, to paint his deepest concerns in such broad strokes is scarcely to do

  justice to the richer, more intriguing, and more troubling elements of his

  legacy. Unlike Nietzsche, who died at nearly the same historical moment,

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  Overture

  

  Sidgwick was an eminently sane person much loved for his sympathetic

  and beneficent character, with a certain genius for intimate friendship and

  conversation, albeit of a seriously philosophical sort. But like Nietzsche,

  and unlike Bentham or Mill, he regarded the “death of God” as of mon-

  umental significance for Western civilization, a potential cataclysm. This

  was where the deepest problems were to be found, the ones most demand-

  ing of serious reflection and self-scrutiny, of all the rigors of the Socratic

  quest. Sidgwick’s various inquiries and reformist efforts were infused with

  a sense of urgency and anxiety that finds no clear parallel in the earlier

  utilitarians, energetic reformers though they were; this urgency and anx-

  iety had everything to do with the fate of civilization in a post-Christian

  era and with the need for a new cultural synthesis.

  My aim in this book is to convey some sense of just what Sidgwick’s

  self-assessment actually involved, and of how his “inner intellectual life”

  ultimately evolved, how he became what he was. But the Sidgwick who

  emerges in the following pages is quite different from the one featured

  in most twentieth-century readings of him, framed when his legacy was

  often rather cloudy.

  As a once-popular line of interpretation had it, the utilitarian tradition

  of promoting the greatest happiness for the greatest number began, in its

  modern, secular form, with Jeremy Bentham’s fanatical legal and political

  reformism, culminating in Britain’s Reform Act of , which movement

  was then philosophically and politically developed and qualified mainly

  by the younger Mill, with whom it crested. Sidgwick is then cast as a kind

  of bookish, academicized remnant of this legacy, holding out against the

  wave of philosophical idealism that swept such figures as Green and F. H.

  Bradley into the forefront of British philosophy, until with the new century

  G. E. Moore and Bertrand Russell shifted the current, and contemporary

  analytical philosophy was launched. “The last surviving representative of

  the Utilitarians” is how Russell depicted and dispatched his teacher, “Old

  Sidg.”

  Indeed, during the twentieth century, Sidgwick was all too often viewed

  as merely an “eminent Victorian,” an erudite but dull read, what with all

  that tedious Victorian earnestness. By the time Russell, Moore, Lytton

  Strachey, J. M. Keynes, and Ludwig Wittgenstein were designing the

  Cambridge scene, in the early decades of the twentieth century, Sidgwick

  was deemed the dead hand of a pre-philosophical, hypocritical, sexually

  warped era. It was a lonely C. D. Broad, a later successor to Sidgwick’s

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  chair at Cambridge, who would write that “Sidgwick’s Methods of Ethics

  seems to me to be on the whole the best treatise on moral theory that has

  ever been written, and to be one of the English philosophical classics.”

  For the most part, the aesthetic vanguards of Bloomsbury, along with the

  logical positivists and empiricists and those under the spell of the mag-

  netic Wittgenstein or of ordinary language philosophy, found Sidgwick’s

  substantive ethical theorizing a quaint relic of Cambridge’s dim past, bet-

  ter forgotten. And the (long) enduring elements of the earlier, idealistic

  school were not exactly given to recalling the importance of Sidgwick,

  even when they criticized what they saw as the simplistic formalism of the

  new analytical movement. F. H. Bradley went from being a youthful critic

  of Sidgwick to being an older critic of Russell and Moore.

  Ironically, it was the remarkably pervasive Bloomsbury mentality that,

  as much as anything, clouded the reception of Sidgwick during the first

  half of the twentieth century. “He never did anything but wonder whether

  Christianity was true and prove it wasn’t and hope that it was” – this was

  the famous pronouncement of J. M. Keynes, after reading Henry Sidgwick,

  A Memoir (), assembled by Eleanor Sidgwick and Arthur Sidgwick.

  The Bloomsbury letters, especially those between Keynes and Strachey,

  are littered with disparaging remarks about Sidgwick, his life, his times,

  and his philosophy. Strachey called it “an appalling time to have lived”

  and “the Glass Case Age”:

  Themselves as well as their ornaments, were left under glass cases. Their refusal to

  face any fundamental question fairly – either about people or God – looks at first

  sight like cowardice; but I believe it was simply the result of an innate incapacity

  for penetration – for getting either out of themselves or into anything or anybody

  else. They were enclosed in glass. How intolerable! Have you noticed, too, that

  they were nearly all physically impotent? – Sidgwick himself, Matthew Arnold,

  Jowett, Leighton, Ruskin, Watts. It’s damned difficult to copulate through a glass

  case.

  Strachey had in fact seriously considered using Sidgwick as one of the

  featured figures in his wickedly sarcastic Eminent Victorians (), but

  he contented himself with pronouncing him a “shocking wobbler,” and a

  dishonest one at that, someone whose lamentations over his lost faith were

  suspiciously prolonged. Moreover, the leading Bloomsberries, mostly bred

  by the Apostles, were none too pleased with the light shed on them by the

  Memoir, which told of Sidgwick’s involvement with the group.

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  Overture

  

  Even those who lamented the ascendance of Bloomsbury tended, in

  the very act, to concede its importance. F. R. Leavis, the famous literary

  critic who directed much of his criticism at both Bloomsbury and the

  cult of Wittgenstein, expostulated, “Can we imagine Sidgwic
k or Leslie

  Stephen or Maitland being influenced by, or interested in, the equivalent

  of Lytton Strachey? By what steps, and by the operation of what causes,

  did so great a change come over Cambridge in so comparatively short

  a time?” That the change was great was something that few cared to

  deny, whatever their stance on its quality. But in any event, the younger

  generations of Apostles were scarcely prone to casting nostalgic backward

  glances, even at one of their “Popes” who had profoundly shaped their own

  order.

  Given the social and intellectual positioning of the Bloomsbury group, it

  is perhaps not surprising that their judgments on cultural matters carried

  such punch, though in the case of Sidgwick, the disparagement was ex-

  acerbated by the constant flow of invidious comparisons to Moore, whose

  Principia Ethica () was virtually an object of worship. Strachey effused

  to Moore:

  I think your book has not only wrecked and shattered all writers on Ethics from

  Aristotle and Christ to Herbert Spencer and Mr Bradley, it has not only laid the

  true foundations of Ethics, it has not only left all modern philosophy bafouee – these seem to me small achievements compared to the establishment of that Method

  which shines like a sword between the lines. It is the scientific method deliberately applied, for the first time, to Reasoning. Is that true? You perhaps shake your

  head, but henceforward who will be able to tell lies one thousand times as easily

  as before? The truth, there can be no doubt, is really now upon the march. I date

  from Oct.  the beginning of the Age of Reason.

  Echoes of this can still be found in some philosophers of a metaethi-

  cal bent. An influential recent work, “Toward Fin de siècle Ethics: Some

  Trends,” coauthored by Stephen Darwall, Allan Gibbard, and Peter

  Railton,” takes Moore’s Principia as setting the agenda for twentieth-

  century ethical philosophizing: “However readily we now reject as anti-

  quated his views in semantics and epistemology, it seems impossible to

  deny that Moore was on to something.”

  But of course, despite his own Bloomsbury-style rhetoric, most of what

  Moore was “on to” was already there in Sidgwick, his teacher in the s,

  whose Methods is the most heavily cited work in the Principia. Moore

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