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Henry Sidgwick- Eye of the Universe

Page 6

by Bart Schultz


  Sidgwick (his brother), and, of course, John Addington Symonds.

  Sidgwick and his friends were not of Mill’s formative period; they were

  admirers not only of Wordsworth’s Romanticism, but also of the pen-

  etrating intellectuality of Arthur Hugh Clough’s “Dipsychus,” the am-

  bivalences of Tennyson’s “In Memoriam,” and the vitality of Whitman’s

  Leaves of Grass – the poetic voices that spoke to the deep homoerotic di-

  visions of the self, and from whom they took their deepest inspiration in

  their struggles to frame a new science of the self. They too were analysts

  of the twin-souled, like James and DuBois.

  Sidgwick’s relationship with Symonds is of special significance.

  Symonds, the son of a physician who positively personified the medicaliza-

  tion of discourse surrounding sexuality, was early on persuaded that his

  homosexuality was an inherent disposition, and in due course he became

  equally convinced that it was not a morbid condition, that the culture of

  ancient Greece had demonstrated that homosexuality could be a healthy

  aspect of high cultural life, and that the poetry of Whitman pointed the way

  to a new synthesis of the best of ancient and modern. It was to be a New Age,

  with Millian sympathy extended to include that very Hellenic Whitmanian

  comradeship. For Sidgwick, Symonds’s Hellenism and Whitmania rep-

  resented further experiments, alternative ways of revitalizing and edifying

  a culture that all good Millians agreed needed revitalizing and edifying.

  And his letters and journal exchanges with this remarkable friend would

  prove to be the most passionate and revealing of all his writings, intensely

  debating the fate of ethics in a godless world and everything else under

  the sun and over the rainbow.

  Sidgwick was, however, a very cautious reformer when it came to such

  explosive issues, and he worked assiduously to keep Symonds from being

  ruined by public scandal. No history of utilitarianism has yet captured this

  side of the story – how Sidgwick’s intuitionism inexorably led on to an

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  epistemology of the closet. A dual-source theory of practical reason, a

  longstanding concern over hypocrisy, and a dipsychical moral psychology

  produced a very sensitive rethinking of the public and the private. An

  esoteric morality? Sidgwick, at least, worked very hard to keep it esoteric,

  effectively constructing the standard biographical treatment of Symonds

  that spun his sexual angst into religious angst. Quite possibly the issue

  of hypocrisy loomed so large for him because he was, in so many ways,

  perpetually caught up in trying to elude certain forms of public reaction.

  Thus, despite a reputation for saintly honesty, won in part by his 

  resignation, Sidgwick was quite given to behind-the-scenes efforts betray-

  ing a highly qualified belief in the value of veracity. And of course, he has

  often been criticized in more abstract philosophical terms for advancing a

  doubly indirect approach to happiness, both individual and social, coun-

  tenancing the possibility of justifying on utilitarian grounds an “esoteric

  morality” in which the true (utilitarian) principles of ethics were known

  to and practiced by an elite group of philosophical sophisticates only. This

  seems in flat contradiction to the Kantian insistence – evident in Rawls’s

  theory of justice – on “publicity” as a basic criterion of moral principles,

  a criterion usually supposed to be much in accord with common sense.

  Such accusations, sometimes provocatively framed in terms of the pos-

  sibility of Sidgwick’s ethics supporting colonial paternalism or “Gov-

  ernment House” utilitarianism, have never been formulated in a clear

  and historically informed way. That is, not only has Sidgwick’s sexual

  politics been glossed over in his critical reception, but remarkably little

  attention has been devoted even to his political theory and practice, which

  is odd indeed, given how often the classical utilitarians are celebrated –

  or derided – for having produced comprehensive works covering poli-

  tics, law, economics, ethics, and so on. In Sidgwick’s case, however, it

  means that his ethics has been treated only in an isolated and abstract way,

  without reference to his economic and political views and entanglements

  (much less his sexual ones). To read his Methods without benefit of these

  contexts is, alas, to dangerously decontextualize his Methods. His ethical

  work appears in a different light when connected with his claims about,

  say, home rule for Ireland or the duty to advance the cause of civilization

  across the globe. As with Mill, many of the most profoundly troubling

  questions arise when one considers Sidgwick’s work outside of the do-

  mestic context. Just how were Millian friendship and sympathy supposed

  to figure in imperial rule?

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  Overture

  

  Sidgwick was a friend and colleague of such imperialist luminaries as

  Sir John Seeley and Charles Henry Pearson, and it is natural to wonder

  to what extent he shared their influential views of England’s “civilizing”

  imperial mission – and their worries over the “lower” classes and races,

  race “degradation,” and so forth. Sidgwick’s invocations of such things

  as “common sense,” the “consensus of experts,” and the direction of

  “civilised opinion” read quite differently if read as tacit or possible affir-

  mations of racial superiority. Just who, it may well be asked, concretely

  represented the “spirit of justice” and the “consensus of experts”? The

  Millian inheritance, although pre-Darwinian and emphasizing nurture

  over nature, was nonetheless deeply involved in British rule in India.

  Sidgwick’s work was post-Darwinian and the product of an environment

  that was often both more crudely racist and more enamored of empire.

  And these changing historical contexts made themselves felt in Sidgwick’s

  life and work: he took seriously views that he should have dismissed with

  the full force of his skeptical intellect and was guilty of some very serious

  lapses of judgment, amounting to a form of racism.

  Indeed, the great outstanding paradox of Sidgwick’s life and work is how

  he could have been so soberly critical of all the philosophizing that went

  into the ethical and political vision of the gentlemanly imperialists while

  remaining so complacent, even enthusiastic, about England’s civilizing

  mission, its role in educating the world. The Platonic, idealistic, and

  utilitarian ideals afloat in the Victorian world
in general and Oxbridge in

  particular could be all too unreflective.

  That these matters have been treated with a method of avoidance for

  the past century is singularly unfortunate and philosophically distorting,

  of a piece with the distortions resulting from the neglect of Sidgwick’s

  sexual politics, practical ethics, and casuistry. Admittedly, some will find

  this line of interpretation disturbing – the issues of racism and ped-

  erasty are disturbing. If some come away from this book agreeing with

  Moore that Sidgwick was a “wicked edifactious person,” that cannot be

  helped, though Moore and Bloomsbury shared many of Sidgwick’s fail-

  ings. On my Goethean reconstruction of Sidgwick’s quest, Sidgwick ends

  up being a much harder philosopher to come to terms with – better than

  the familiar depictions in some respects, worse in others. Perhaps he

  ends up being a more interesting philosopher simply because he ends up

  being a more complex and conflicted person, his own mix of light and

  shade.

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  So much for thematics and problematics. My general pragmatist orien-

  tation spares me any undue worries about eclecticism, or about the some-

  what unorthodox organization of this book. The treatment is only roughly

  chronological; the chapters often recapitulate earlier material from a new

  angle; and the argument is often indirect and allusive. The following two

  chapters deal with Sidgwick’s early intellectual life, before the publication

  of the Methods, and the formative influences on him; although many of

  the basic facts rehearsed may be familiar, the focus on his Apostolic ideals

  and the context of the Platonic revival is somewhat novel, and opens

  the way to the emphasis in later chapters on the social dimensions of

  Sidgwick’s epistemology. The fourth chapter deliberately changes voice

  and approaches the Methods through the interpretive controversies of

  Sidgwick’s more narrowly philosophical commentators, past and present.

  The purpose of this is twofold: to convey some sense of the most significant

  philosophical readings of the Methods and the content of Sidgwick’s philo-

  sophical ethics in more analytical terms, but also to suggest in a preliminary

  way some of the limitations of analytical efforts to treat Sidgwick’s work so

  innocently, as though it were simply that of a slightly senior contemporary.

  Just how different Sidgwick’s world was becomes increasingly evident in

  the following chapters, which deal with his parapsychology, his views on

  sex and gender, and his elaborate, often offensive positions on economic

  and political issues, including imperialism and race. Again, these dimen-

  sions of Sidgwick’s inquiries do illuminate his philosophical work, and

  the way he interpreted his social epistemology of Apostolic fellowship and

  Millian friendship. The Sidgwickian ascent to abstraction, in the perpet-

  ual hope of winning the prized consensus of experts, may strike some

  as in effect another mask of conquest, papering over legitimate concrete

  conflict with high principle and tacit elitism. At any rate, it is hard to deny

  that the life can in some ways reveal the thought and stimulate rethinking.

  Ironically, in the end, it may well seem that I have agreed with Sidgwick’s

  self-assessment concerning the symmetry and continuity of his life – at

  least his inner life – even if much of my gloss of it may appear highly

  destructive. But as Sidgwick once said, “I think my present formule de la

  vie is from Walt Whitman. ‘I have urged you forward, and still urge you,

  without the slightest idea of our destination.’” (M ).

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  First Words

  But in the English universities no thought can find place, except that which

  can reconcile itself with orthodoxy. They are ecclesiastical institutions; and it is

  the essence of all churches to vow adherence to a set of opinions made up and

  prescribed, it matters little whether three or thirteen centuries ago. Men will some

  day open their eyes, and perceive how fatal a thing it is that the instruction of those who are intended to be the guides and governors of mankind should be confided

  to a collection of persons thus pledged. If the opinions they are pledged to were

  every one as true as any fact in physical science, and had been adopted, not as they

  almost always are, on trust and authority, but as the result of the most diligent and impartial examination of which the mind of the recipient was capable; even then,

  the engagement under penalties always to adhere to the opinions once assented

  to, would debilitate and lame the mind, and unfit it for progress, still more for

  assisting the progress of others. The person who has to think more of what an

  opinion leads to, than of what is the evidence of it, cannot be a philosopher, or a

  teacher of philosophers.

  John Stuart Mill, “Whewell on Moral Philosophy”

  I. Sidgwick and the Talking Cure

  When Henry Sidgwick died of cancer, on August , , he was even

  less at home in the world than Bentham or Mill had been when they passed

  on. He was buried in the quiet family corner of the village churchyard at

  Terling Place, the spacious Essex estate of the Rayleighs, to whom he was

  related by marriage. Although he had prepared a brief, minimally religious

  statement to be read at his funeral, he was given the Church of England

  ceremony, and thus in death maintained something of the tolerant facade to

  which he had become accustomed in life. His brother-in-law, the famous

  Tory politician Arthur Balfour, wrote of him to Lady Elcho: “He was

  ardently desirous of finishing some literary and philosophic designs, so

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  far only sketched in outline: and I am sorry that it was otherwise ordained –

  not merely because it was a disappointment to him but because, though I

  never was a disciple of his, I do believe that he had something valuable to

  say which he has left unsaid.” By contrast, Mill’s dying words were “You

  know that I have done my work.”

  There is more than a little irony in the idea that Sidgwick died leaving

  much unsaid, for he was by all accounts a most expressive man, albeit one

  whose books did not do him justice. The Methods of Ethics, first published

  in , may well be his great philosophical masterpiece, but those who

  knew him best were unanimous in thinking that it was his talk, and the p
ro-

  foundly sympathetic character that the talk expressed, that made Sidgwick

  what he was. The Millian struggle to come to terms with imagination and

  intimacy, friendship and fellow feeling, had found a new champion, a

  philosopher of interiority for whom intimate talk, and its role in inquiry

  into personal and philosophical truth, would become a guiding concern.

  The pursuit of truth involved the pursuit of unity, and the pursuit of

  unity involved intimate talk, even poetic talk. As Frank Podmore, one of

  Sidgwick’s younger colleagues in parapsychological research, flatly put it:

  “No one who knew Sidgwick only from his most important philosophical

  works could form any fair idea of the man. . . . His talk was always alive

  with sympathy and humour.”

  That Sidgwick was devoted to talk may not seem terribly surprising,

  given that he spent his entire adult life in the academic setting of Cambridge

  University – from  as Knightbridge Professor of Moral Philosophy –

  and was every bit as much the philosopher-educator as Plato, Rousseau,

  or Dewey. But like such illustrious counterparts, he was also highly crit-

  ical of the educational system as he found it. He agreed with Mill that

  Oxbridge was more church than university, often a fount of the “higher

  ignorance.” The talk at which he excelled was neither Victorian sermoniz-

  ing, nor political oratory, nor donnish lecturing, which last he deemed a

  relic from the pre-Gutenberg era. His conversation was not in the mode of

  Carlyle’s peremptory holding forth, or, except reluctantly, along the lines

  of the German professorial model. His was very much the “new school”

  of professional academics, whose reforms virtually created modern

  Cambridge and changed the face of higher education in general. He stood

  for modern languages, modern literature, modern biblical criticism, mod-

  ern science, and the attitudes toward intellectual freedom that such in-

  quiries manifested – which may be part of the reason why his views are

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  First Words

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  proving uncannily relevant to current debates over multiculturalism, post-

 

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