Utilitarianism is the most dominant and the easiest to understand of the major consequentialist theories. At its most basic level, utilitarianism states that if one can increase the overall happiness of the world, or that of an individual, or just make the world a better place, then one should. In fact, one has a moral obligation to do so. The pursuit of happiness is the thing that separates utilitarianism, as set forth by British philosopher Jeremy Bentham (1748–1832), from other forms of consequentialism.
This makes utilitarianism a relatively sunny and easy-to-get-behind ethical theory. After all, everybody wants happiness or enlightenment or peace. But it’s actually a quite complicated theory to apply to daily life. Because outcomes or consequences are based on happiness, utilitarians are tasked with making predictions, judgments, or claims about what they think makes any one consequence good or bad. Even though the end goal is maximum happiness, acting in a utilitarian way requires impartiality. You’re after overall, “universal” happiness, not necessarily the thing that feels the best or nicest in that moment for you or the other person you’re interacting with.
Jeremy Bentham was the first Western philosopher to write extensively about utilitarianism. In his 1789 book An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, Bentham explained that the way to judge consequences on that sliding but definitive scale of “good” and “bad” is the amount of happiness, pleasure, or benefit they’ll lead to for one person, and then weigh those consequences against the amount of pain, suffering, and struggle it might cause another. Unfortunately, life is rarely so black and white. In any number of examples, one person might get great benefit at a great cost to another. But, Bentham argues, one can try to work out and reason through this problem by way of qualitative values. If the hurt person gets more pain than the pleasure the pleased person got, then it’s not a morally good decision. If the winner got more pleasure out of the action and the loser just got a little inconvenienced or miffed, then it is a moral decision, because there was an overall benefit, all things considered. This is where impartiality comes into play—difficult as it may be, one must decide with utility in mind, and kind of ignore the individual feelings of the people whom the decision would affect.
“The said truth is that it is the greatest happiness of the greatest number that is the measure of right and wrong.” —Jeremy Bentham
Bentham defined the goods of happiness and pleasure, and the absence of pain and suffering, as his core thesis: He called it the principle of utility. Utility is about purpose and use, and there is usually little emotional meaning attached to the word utility. It just means “the thing that works best is the best thing.” Bentham, however, called “pleasure” utility because he put it in such high esteem. At its essence, utilitarianism is a theory in which good or moral consequences, and thus moral actions, are defined in terms of an end result that leads to as much good as possible and as little bad as possible . . . or at least more good than bad. The goal: shoot for 51 percent or higher on the “good” side of an issue.
It’s in analyzing and weighing consequences that Bentham made his most lasting contribution to moral philosophy. For example, the different consequences from an action can, and most often will be, notably different from each other. It’s hard to argue that a good intention matters the most in a moral decision when the theoretical good of that intention leads to a quantifiably bad or misery-causing outcome. And so, to fine-tune his argument that consequences can and should be measured as scientifically and logically as possible, he developed a moral algorithm called Utility Calculus, or Hedonism Calculus. (While it’s not the same theory as Voltaire’s notion of pleasure-seeking-is-the-one-true-way hedonism, Bentham does advocate the pursuit and maximization of pleasure, which is the entire point of hedonism, and so the name does seem appropriate.) With his system, Bentham quantifies the moral aspects of actions in this way: The greater the good of an action, the more “hedons” or “positive utility units” it’s worth.
• Intensity. What is the intensity or level or pleasure and/or pain that the action leads to?
• Duration. What is the duration of that pleasure or pain the action creates?
• Certainty. Is there a notable amount of certainty or uncertainty of pleasure or pain resulting from the action?
• Propinquity. How soon after the action does the pleasure or pain kick in? Is it near or far? For example, the benefits of eating healthy take a while for the benefit to kick in, in the form of a lower cholesterol level over time. But eating a cheeseburger? The pleasure is immediate.
• Fecundity. How likely is the action to be followed by even more pleasure (if it’s a pleasurable act) or pain (if it’s not so pleasurable)?
• Purity. How pure or impure is the pleasure or pain after an action? As an opposite of the previous metric, this asks how likely the feeling after an action is to be followed by the exact opposite.
• Extent. What is the extent of the effect of the action?
Can you imagine going through this process multiple times a day to make a decision to see if it’s moral or not? Using Bentham’s system of determination requires slow, deliberate action. Ethics isn’t easy! But Bentham didn’t really mean for it to be used for every decision to be made, but only for troubling decisions and for big political or public policy decisions.