In the second chapter of Utilitarianism, John Stuart Mill fails to defend his moral system against the suspicion that it is too cold and calculating. According to Mill, those who make this criticism charge utilitarians with being too impersonal in their moral evaluations, and too exacting in their principles. Holding this objection myself, I must clarify that the words “cold and calculating'' do not refer to a lack of sympathy in utilitarian applications. They rather explain a kind of diffused, managerial calculus where a colorful moral compass should be. Consequentialism does not rob its advocates of their sympathy; instead, it muddies the concept of intrinsic human value, and robs individuals of unified moral feeling altogether.

Mill begins his defense against the “cold and calculating” objection by stating that it cannot be applied to utilitarianism’s treatment of action. He assumes that his system is offensive to critics only because it measures right and wrong against an objective principle, rather than a set of personal qualities. In light of his response, it seems necessary to say that I do not reject theories of universal justice when I criticize utilitarianism. Actions must be weighed against objective standards: an action is not inherently “right” if it is done by a benevolent man, or “wrong” if it is done by an abhorrent one. This is not a point of contention – to frame it as such would misrepresent the objection.

The “cold and calculating” criticism deals with the problem of moral action quite directly when it indicts utilitarianism for ignoring the “qualities from which [...] actions emanate.” In other words, the fundamental flaw in utilitarianism lies not in its tendency to judge actions objectively, but in its inability to measure anything except for action. This is a serious issue for any theory of virtue, since moral standards necessarily apply to human agents, not to isolated events. For example, if a tornado inflicts an immense amount of pain on a community, it would not be called an immoral tornado. It would be absurd to pass moral judgments on events that bear no relation to a human will. Thus, to isolate an action from its human component is, by definition, to strip it of its moral qualities.

Utilitarianism unfortunately violates actions in this way. According to Mill, “he who saves a fellow creature from drowning does what is morally right, whether his motive be duty or the hope of being paid for his trouble.” In other words, under utilitarianism, moral events must be judged as if they happened upon the world spontaneously. Thus, to deem an action “morally right” under this line of thought is no different than to call a natural disaster “morally wrong.” To give a practical example of this absurdity: if a man commits murder without meaning to, it seems intuitively true that his action is not morally equivalent to a premeditated murder. Utilitarianism does not make room for these simple considerations, so it renders itself incapable of identifying moral action altogether.

Far from Mill’s accusation that the “cold and calculating” objection comes from a distaste for universal moral standards, it rather comes from an avid defense of them. Fundamentally, to exclude the human agent from any moral maxim is to make that maxim incompatible with morality. If Mill were to give the fairer version of the claim that his philosophy is cold and calculating, he would say not that it charges utilitarians with being hollow, but that it charges utilitarianism itself with being so.

Whether or not their interpersonal conduct differs outwardly, utilitarians fundamentally operate with a moral compass that does not measure who they are, or how they treat others. In other words, strict utilitarians are not robbed of feeling, but of moral feeling. Moral value, in this system, is not granted to those with true inner virtue or beauty of character, but rather to those who are maximally effective in their utility (or whose behavior is the most productive). The vast and colorful human conscience is reduced to a calculus. Morality should not focus on calculating positive outcomes; it should cultivate human beings. What could be more cold and calculating than to ascribe virtue not to human agents, but to the circumstances their actions yield? In a system of this nature, it is hard to imagine that inner goodness will not be reduced to a mere accessory, and that respect for intrinsic human value will not be chilled or hollowed.