Bentham was once thought to be the father of the principle which he called ‘the greatest happiness principle’. Now Hutcheson with his ‘greatest happiness for the greatest numbers’ is the generally accepted source of this test of moral behaviour. It is not in Britain, however, but in Germany that one finds its origin. A quarter of a century before Hutcheson's An Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue (1725), a German philosopher provided a formulation of the principle on which Hutcheson relied.

James Mill's views on peace and war have yet to be examined in detail. Only a few scholars have paid any attention to this aspect of his thought. Edmund Silberner was the first to give any extensive account of Mill's opposition to war and his proposals for universal peace, but chiefly from an economic point of view. He rightly pointed out that Mill's opposition to war was grounded mainly on his belief that war always obstructs the progress of national wealth, and also that Mill regarded the acquisition and possession of colonies as one of the major causes of war. F. H. Kinsley summed up the leading ideas of Mill's article on the ‘Law of Nations’, but only to show how far Bentham influenced Mill's thinking in this specific area.

In 1954 H. L. A. Hart wrote that Austin's work has ‘never, since his death … been ignored’. If it never has been completely ignored, interest in it has periodically waxed and waned. The interest definitely waxed in the 1980s. More books were published about Austin in this period than in any other decade since his death in 1859. Although this literature contains discussions of some of the nineteenth-century responses to his work, they are not the focus of it. Certain of the responses remain completely in the dark, while there is more light to shed on at least some of the others. In short, our knowledge of nineteenth-century interpretations of Austin's legal philosophy is very incomplete.

If harm is restricted to mean perceptible damage suffered by an agent against his wishes, so that his mere dislike with no evidence of injury is excluded, then Mill's liberty principle arguably is ‘one very simple principle’ as he claims. But even so, what of John Gray's charge that the liberty principle relies on a ‘radically defective’ notion of individuality or autonomy that is incompatible with every civil society's cultural and moral traditions? If he is correct about this, then Mill's principle lacks appeal even if it can be stated in a definite and coherent manner.

For both its enthusiastic adherents as well as its more generous opponents, liberalism commands considerable ethical appeal but at a price. And that price is its lack of systematic integrity or coherence. The charm of its ethical appeal stems from the great values which it celebrates. But for many these very values seem fatally incommensurable, seem to be forever colliding with and thwarting one another. As Isaiah Berlin has never tired of reminding us, liberty and equality continue to defy our best efforts to reconcile them, to weave them together in some kind of orderly and compelling way. Liberalism, in other words, is flawed, if not tragically flawed. For those who nevertheless remain charmed by its ethical appeal, the tragedy of the incommensurability of its basic values is disappointing and disturbing.

Act-utilitarianism claims that one is required to do nothing less than what makes (or can reasonably be expected to make) the largest contribution to overall utility. Critics of this moral theory commonly charge that it is unreasonably demanding. Shelly Kagan and David Brink, however, have recently defended act-utilitarianism against this charge. Kagan argues that act-utilitarianism is right, and its critics wrong, about how demanding morality is. In contrast, Brink argues that, once we have the correct objective account of welfare and once we accept that act-utilitarianism is a criterion of moral rightness, not necessarily a good method for everyday moral thought, act-utilitarianism is not as demanding as its critics claim. I shall argue that Brink's arguments for thinking act-utilitarianism is not so demanding fail. I shall then argue against Kagan that, in comparison with act-utilitarianism, rule-utilitarianism is considerably less demanding and more plausible.

Much has been written about the Benthamite theories of education and their debt to monitorialism. Bentham himself, in Chrestomathia, based his blueprint for the schools of the future on the use of monitors, and James Mill, in his various articles on education, envisaged universal schooling within a monitorial framework. In more recent times, scholars, such as Burston, have discussed the influence of the theory of mutual instruction on Utilitarian educational thought. Yet in all this output, little attention has been given to relations between Benthamites and Joseph Lancaster, one of the foremost practical exponents of monitorial teaching in the early nineteenth century nor to the organization in Southwark which perpetuated his methods. When Lancaster himself has been referred to, it has usually been in unfavourable terms. Bentham expressed his contempt for the ‘self-styled Quaker’, who ‘so notoriously and scandalously abused’ his early reputation as a successful schoolmaster. Francis Place, abandoning his early enthusiasm for Lancaster, decided that he was ‘adapted to the teaching in the school and to nothing else’ and became ‘mischievous, ridiculous and childish’ after he was ‘caressed by the great’. Halévy summed him up as ‘a pure madman’.

In early 1864, disappointed by the response to his previous work, the young Manchester academic W. Stanley Jevons announced that he was undertaking a study of the so-called coal question: ‘A good publication on the subject would draw a good deal of attention … it is necessary for the present at any rate to write on popular subjects’. When Jevons's The Coal Question (henceforth CQ) was published in April 1865, however, it received comparatively little attention and sales were slow. Jevons and his publisher, Alexander Macmillan, then began sending complimentary copies to luminaries such as Sir John Herschel and Alfred Tennyson. In February 1866 the marketing campaign produced its first substantial return. Macmillan had sent CQ to William Gladstone who responded with letters to both Macmillan and Jevons, noting that the book had strengthened his ‘conviction’ on the necessity for reducing the National Debt. In April, John Stuart Mill praised CQ in the House of Commons, calling for action on the Debt and, three weeks later, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, Gladstone introduced the budget using half his speech to examine the Debt situation and referring to CQ in support for a proposed measure of Debt reduction. With the extensive publicity given to CQ following Mill's speech and the budget, Jevons had achieved his objective in writing the text which went into a second edition in 1866. On the face of it, CQ's success was due to its effect of introducing a change in budget policy and this is the impression given by some accounts of the episode.