An act comprises an event and its immediate mental cause. The event is generally spoken of as the outward act, but this term seems to be too narrow, since the intentional production of a mental fact—for instance, a sensation, or an idea, or an emotion like joy or sorrow or anger—may be properly styled an act. The objection will perhaps be raised that I confound acts with their consequences, and that what I call the “event” is, as Austin maintains, nothing but bodily movements. But Austin himself admits that he must often speak of “acts” when he means “acts and their consequences,” since “most of the names which seem to be names of acts, are names of acts, coupled with certain of their consequences, and it is not in our power to discard these forms of speech.”[4] I regard the so-called consequences of acts, in so far as they are intended, as acts by themselves, or as parts of acts.
[4] Austin, Lectures on Jurisprudence, i. 427, 432 sq.
The very expression “outward act” implies that acts also have an inner aspect. Intention, says Butler, “is part of the action itself.”[5] By intention I understand a volition or determination to realise the idea of a certain event; hence there can be only one intention in one act. Certain writers distinguish between the immediate and the remote intentions of an act. Suppose that a tyrant, when his enemy jumped into the sea to escape him, saved his victim from drowning with a view to inflicting upon him more exquisite tortures. The immediate intention, it is maintained, was to save the enemy from drowning, the remote intention was to inflict upon him tortures.[6] But I should say that, in this case, we have to distinguish between two acts, of which the first was a means of producing the event belonging to the second, and that, when the former was accomplished, the latter was still only in preparation. A distinction has, moreover, been drawn between the direct and the indirect intention of an act:—“If a Nihilist seeks to blow up a train containing an Emperor and others, his direct intention may be simply the destruction of the Emperor, but indirectly also he intends the destruction of the others who are in the train, since he is aware that their destruction will be necessarily included along with that of the Emperor.”[7] In this case we have two intentions, and, so far as I can see, two acts, provided that the nihilist succeeded in carrying out his intentions, namely (1) the blowing up of the train, and (2) the killing of the emperor; the former of these acts does not even necessarily involve the latter. But I fail to see that there is any intention at all to kill other persons. Professor Sidgwick maintains that it would be thought absurd to say that, in such a case, the nihilist “did not intend” to kill them;[8] but the reason for this is simply the vagueness of language, and a confusion between a psychical fact and the moral estimate of that fact. It might be absurd to bring forward the nihilist’s non-intention as an extenuation of his crime; but it would hardly be correct to say that he intended the death of other passengers, besides that of the emperor, when he only intended the destruction of the train, though this intention involved an extreme disregard of the various consequences which were likely to follow. He knowingly exposed the passengers to great danger; but if we speak of an intention on his part to expose them to such a danger, we regard this exposure as an act by itself.
[5] Butler, ‘Dissertation II. Of the Nature of Virtue,’ in Analogy of Religion, &c. p. 336.
[6] Mackenzie, op. cit. p. 60. The example is borrowed from Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism, p. 27 note.
[7] Mackenzie, op. cit. p. 61. Cf. Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, p. 202, n. 1.
[8] Sidgwick, op. cit. p. 202, n. 1. On the subject of “indirect intention,” cf. also Bentham, op. cit. pp. 84, 86.
A moral judgment may refer to a mere intention, independently of its being realised or not. Moreover, the moral judgments which we pass on acts do not really relate to the event, but to the intention. In this point moralists of all schools seem to agree.[9] Even Stuart Mill, who drew so sharp a distinction between the morality of the act and the moral worth of the agent, admits that “the morality of the action depends entirely upon the intention.”[10] The event is of moral importance only in so far as it indicates a decision which is final. From the moral point of view there may be a considerable difference between a resolution to do a certain thing in a distant future and a resolution to do it immediately. However determined a person may be to commit a crime, or to perform a good deed, the idea of the immediacy of the event may, in the last moment, induce him to change his mind. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” External events are generally the direct causes of our moral emotions; indeed, without the doing of harm and the doing of good, the moral consciousness would never have come into existence. Hence the ineradicable tendency to pass moral judgments upon acts, even though they really relate to the final intentions involved in acts. It would be both inconvenient and useless to deviate, in this respect, from the established application of terms. And no misunderstanding can arise from such application if it be borne in mind that by an “act,” as the subject of a moral judgment, is invariably understood the event plus the intention which produced it, and that the very same moral judgment as is passed on acts would also, on due reflection, be recognised as valid with reference to final decisions in cases where accidental circumstances prevented the accomplishment of the act.
[9] Sidgwick, op. cit. p. 201.
[10] Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism, p. 27 note. Cf. James Mill, Fragment on Mackintosh, p. 376.