The ethics of Hercules

by Robert Chenault Givler

FOOTNOTES:

[18] As follows:

1. Crooked, twisted, or wry. (Obsolete)

2. Disordered, not properly adjusted, as in the expression: “I’ve
heerd my aunt say as she found out summat was wrong wi’
Nancy as soon as the milk turned bingy.”

3. Incorrect, or uncorrected; that is, not according to requirement,
intention, purpose, or desire, as wrong ideas, wrong
courses, the wrong font of type, etc.

4. Esthetically undesirable or unsuitable, as,—“You
have put the wrong side of the cloth outermost.”

5. Erroneous or mistaken belief or assertion.

6. “In the wrong box” (slang), in an awkward situation, mistaken.

7. Perverse, wilfully mistaken or erroneous. (Cf. “evil.”)

8. Unjust action; violation of obligation or propriety; a tort.

9. Harm or “evil” inflicted; damage or detriment suffered; an
injury, mischief, or hurt; pain imparted or received.

10. To be “in the wrong”; to be mistaken, to act or think incorrectly
or unjustly.

11. “To have wrong”; to be mistaken; to act erroneously or unjustly.

12. “To have wrong”; to suffer injury; e. g., “Cæsar has had
great wrong.”

13. “To put in the wrong”; to represent erroneously.

14. “To go wrong”; not to run smoothly, as of machinery.

15. “To go wrong”; to go astray from the intended direction.

16. “To go wrong”; to do “evil.”

17. To “wrong”; to treat unfairly, unjustly, or harmfully; to
oppress, offend, or injure.

18. “To wrong”; in an old nautical sense, to take the wind from
the sails of a ship which is sailing in line with another to
windward.

CHAPTER VII
“VIRTUE” AND “VICE” AS FUNCTIONS OF THE ORGANISM

“In nearly all these philosophic discussions of ethics one has somehow the haunting sense of a wrongness of direction. Virtue is somehow imposed from above, it is descending upon us. And the unfortunate part of this is that it has to descend very low indeed before it reaches us; and when there, it has lost the buoyancy wherewith to lift us up.”

Edwin Holt, “The Freudian Wish.”

In the foregoing analysis of the five most frequently used ethical concepts we have had to feel our way rather carefully, inasmuch as a completely new path was being cut through the tangle of human experience; henceforth, however, our task will be somewhat easier, since we shall now be able to apply the truth we have already discovered in the remainder of our investigations. Directly, then, we shall proceed to ask what another pair of ethical antonyms, namely, virtue and vice, signify in terms of our physiological functions.

It will be recalled that our first five ethical concepts were rather largely employed to point out objects and relationships in the external environment. It is common to speak of good and bad automobile tires, of the right golf club to use near a bunker, of the wrong side of a sheet of drawing paper, and of the evil that men do which lives after them. When, however, we take up the study, first of “virtue” and “vice,” and later on, that of “conscience,” “duty,” and “freedom,” we are no longer to be primarily concerned with things outside of the organism, but rather with processes going on within it. Significantly enough, this deepening of our absorption into the field of ethics involves a further penetration into the realm of physiology. Thus in a curious and unforeseen way our fundamental thesis with regard to the close relationship between physiology and ethics obtains additional support. Consequently, we are not to turn suddenly from objective to subjective ethics, as has usually been the case when the five concepts we are forthwith to analyse have been discussed; on the contrary, just as we began by defining ethical values in terms of human activities, so shall we continue until we have made an end. And although it is commonly asserted that the deepest meanings are inner meanings, yet in a universe that has neither an inside, nor an outside, nor an edge, such a figure of speech simply betokens an introversive tendency on the part of him who uses it.

Herewith, also, the need to combat another equally stultifying tendency is manifest. I refer to the proclivity of all second-rate minds to reify abstract terms. “Virtue” and “vice” have been so reified, as have likewise “conscience,” “duty,” and “freedom” to such an extent as to make it almost impossible to get a fair hearing for any one who wishes to discover the sources from which these concepts have been derived. It is admitted, of course, that the evolution of man has been greatly hastened by his ability to make and use abstract terms; but when a man uses an abstract term without knowing or caring from what sources it has been derived, he is manifesting little more than a desire to escape from reality.[19] Indeed, it might be said that unless the use of abstractions assists us in dealing more effectively with concrete persons and things, it is time to regret that language has been universally acquired.

The terms “virtue” and “vice,” therefore, instead of being treated as abstract entities which existed even prior to man’s advent on the planet, and which will survive his leave-taking of it, will be here regarded simply as words by which a man describes the behavior of himself and of his fellows. And, as was the case five times previously, our definitions of these particular concepts will be the result of a search for the greatest common divisors of all the particular virtues and vices respectively.

Strangely enough, however, no complete catalogue of either the virtues or the vices exists. Moreover, every list which the different philosophies and religions furnish reflects a different bias or determining tendency. One need only to scan the Platonic, the Aristotelian, and the Christian inventories[20] in order to verify this remark. The determining tendency thus revealed turns out upon analysis to contain two elements:—first, the desire to reduce the essential virtues to the smallest number possible, and second, the inclination to rank them from the highest, or supreme virtue, to the lowest. Such a procedure as the latter,—that of building the edifice of virtue down from the top,—is, in our estimation, no part of a scientific method in ethics. Neither does it tell us what a virtue is. Besides, as might be expected from such biased and provincial system-making, what one philosophy or religion calls a virtue, may be classified by another as a vice. Witness the ambiguous status of humility as treated now by the followers of Nietzsche, and again by the early Christians. Perhaps, however, such ambiguities may be traced to the fact that the term “vice” is of uncertain etymology, while no such perplexity arises concerning the origin of the word “virtue.”

This lack of unanimity or completeness in the various invoices of virtue is not in any way fatal to our purpose. In spite of special emphases philosophies and religions may exhibit or insist upon, every particular virtue is undeniably some quality, trait, or performance which is admired or esteemed. Taking this description as our point of departure, let us first consider what sort of traits and performances have been thus commended, after which we shall be able to discover to what an extent virtue and vice are contradictory. For it is by no means obvious at the start that they are true antonyms.

Let it be recognized, then, that the original signification of virtue refers to the so-called manly or noble qualities of bravery, valor, daring, courage, and the like. From this it is inferable that just as might and right were found to have much in common, so do virtue and physical power. Perhaps the biologist would call this phase of virtue a manifestation of positive thigmotaxis, that is, the tendency to face and fight against physical obstacles. We might also call these manly or noble qualities the spectacular virtues, since he who displays them is always subject-matter for the dramatist, whether a man exhibit his valor in the midst of a crowd on Broadway, or alone in the fastnesses of the Yukon. How far this sort of virtue can be attributed to the dumb animals has not yet become part of ethical inquiry. In Plato’s Dialogue “Laches” Socrates argues that the virtue that is strength, in so far as it pertains to human beings, contains an intellectual element that is wanting in the lower animals, however pluckily they may defend their young against an intruder. Nevertheless, sympathetic and careful observers of animal behavior are becoming more and more convinced that the defence which such a bird as the penguin makes against the egg-eating skua-gulls is just as courageous an act, and therewith just as virtuous, as that of a weak nation against a mighty invader. Reduced to its lowest terms, every act of bravery is the same: it is only the interests involved which make the sacrifices of Regulus and Andreas Hofer seem fundamentally different from those of dumb animals at bay before the merciless hunter. But evidences of a growing doubt on this point are manifest today in the fact of our awarding hero-medals to dogs and horses in the same manner as we award them to men.

A second class of traits which have been traditionally commended includes such things as caution, probity, temperance, sobriety, honesty, and the like. These virtues are at once seen to lack the theatrical or spectacular quality which attaches to displays of physical courage or intrepidity. They might, therefore, perhaps be called the unobtrusive virtues. It is not to be understood, however, that these unobtrusive virtues require any less physical energy than do those with which they have just been contrasted. To be sure, the energy expended is on the whole less suddenly released, for it may involve far more work to acquire the habitual trait of honesty than to be gallant for an hour or so on the field of battle. Perhaps it is due to the recognition of this fact that today raw physical fortitude is not the first association which the mention of “virtue” calls up in our minds.

A third use of the term “virtue” signifies any inherent property capable of producing certain effects, in which connection it particularly refers to the medicinal efficacy of drugs distilled from plants. This sort of virtue is good for something, and is usually regarded as life-enhancing.

Finally, this concept appears in certain familiar phrases, such as “by virtue of,” “in virtue of,” and the like, where it usually connotes strength, or efficacy, or even reason, and right. Thus we see that the word “virtue,” like the other ethical concepts we have analysed, loses almost all of its specificity when it enters into idiomatic phrases.

These four classes exhaust the uses to which this concept has been put. What, then, shall we declare to be the common element in them which we may call the essence of virtue with respect to human beings? In giving our answer, it is necessary to call attention to the fact that our third use of the word “virtue” (signifying the medicinal efficacy of drugs) will occupy a minor, or even negligible place in our definition. As for the rest, seeing that the virtues are one and all traits which are commended or praised, they may be considered as action-patterns or action-tendencies which human beings manifest. We can also go further than this. Employing the physiological principles hitherto used in defining ethical concepts, it appears at once that the word “virtue” means that energy is either being mobilized or expended to obtain what the organism considers to be a dependable good. This can also be stated in another way, by saying that those human traits which have been expressly denominated virtues are some of the attributes of what is commonly called a “good” man. (See Ex. 21, p. 38.) In this restricted sense, furthermore, the virtuous, or good, man is the one whose acts are called right. And this leads us at once to a very important question.

Why is it, we ask, that so few of the innumerable human traits that are commended every day—not only by words of praise, but also by that subtler and more emphatic sign of unconscious imitation—have been chosen as virtues, while so many others have been left out of the list? The four cardinal virtues,—courage, prudence, temperance, and justice,—exemplify this high degree of selectiveness, while this inventory omits all mention of human skill in any form, in spite of the fact that when the list was made by Plato, human skill in the fine arts had reached one of its limits of excellence.

The answer here sought is highly significant as a comment upon ethical speculation in a pre-scientific age. The list of cardinal virtues is merely an index of the bias of its maker with regard to the outstanding problems of his own time. These four traits which Plato elevated to the top of his system are not, then, to be taken as an indication of what Plato saw most frequently exhibited by the citizens of Athens, but, if anything, just the contrary. Anyone who has read Plato’s “Republic” will recall that his aim was to describe an ideal, that is, a not-yet-existing state, and that these four virtues were lauded, not because they had been found in actual life to be either sufficient or practicable, but rather because they seemed to Plato to fit into his ideal scheme. Now it is seldom denied that courageous men, prudent men, temperate men, and just men are to be soundly commended, or do we in any sense deny it here. Our only question is, Should these four traits be called the cardinal or supreme virtues before the whole list of commendable traits has been scrutinized? The answer which the scientifically trained mind gives is in the negative. Something else, however, is even more important for the foundation of an empirical ethics, namely, the question: Are those traits which we openly praise to be regarded, in the study of actual conduct, of prior importance to those which, by being unconsciously imitated, receive our silent, and therewith more significant approval? This, however, is the same as asking whether man has ever dared to face with courage and sincerity the real ethical problem.

A glance at another well-known list of selected virtues reveals even less of a tendency toward the statistical method in ethics than even Plato showed. We refer to those significantly unobtrusive virtues which characterized the ethics of primitive Christianity, and which were doubtless derived from the Beatitudes. Readers of the English Bible may recall that the epithet “blessed” was employed by Jesus to describe (1) those who were poor in spirit, (2) those who mourn, (3) the meek, (4) those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, (5) the merciful, (6) the pure in heart, (7) the peacemakers, (8) those who have been persecuted for righteousness’ sake, (9) those falsely reproached, (10) the poor, and (11) those who weep, which persons, in the average, are an entirely different class of organisms from those whom Plato would have called “blessed,” that is, commendable.[21] There is evidence to believe that this novel emphasis upon a certain type of person,—a type hitherto openly unpraised in the ethical thought of man,—gave rise to the tendency to elevate such traits as humility, kindliness, self-denial, meekness, patience, and the like, to a supreme position in the minds of primitive Christians.

However, this class of virtues is again not to be considered as indicative of the only traits which people commend, either openly, or by more subtle and significant signs. It is even safe to say that no group of Christians, be it either small or large, existing in a remote or a modern generation, were ever naïvely satisfied, or brought by dint of training, to act on the principle that these unobtrusive traits were the chief virtues. The reason for this plainly lies in the one-sidedness of such traits. Paulsen, in his “System of Ethics,” points out that whereas the Greeks found positive values in (1) scientific knowledge, (2) esthetic and other pleasures, (3) temperance, (4) courage, (5) justice, (6) honor and high-mindedness, (7) bodily cultivation, (8) economic solvency, (9) family life, and (10) the state, the early Christians considered almost none of these things to be worth their while. And whereas it would be more or less insulting to the memory of Jesus to call the doctrines of the early Christians an extension of his teachings, yet we can say that the unobtrusive virtues which early official Christianity sought to emphasize, are one and all withdrawing reactions, and as such must be rejected as the sole basis of a scientific ethics.

We reject them because they are not based upon a sufficient consideration of the total needs of man’s body,—that on which his life and mind depend. Man has not only a flexor system, but an extensor system of muscles as well, and it must be plain from the discussions in the preceding chapters that both of these systems are ethical mechanisms. However, official Christianity has often seen fit, by its exclusive emphasis upon those virtues which involve withdrawing reactions, literally to declare that the extensor system shall be denied a stimulus. The Greeks were far wiser; for even though they may have failed to achieve a conception of virtue which took into consideration the wholesome balance between flexor and extensor activities, they nevertheless did not err in propounding a doctrine that ignored the simplest principles of human behavior.

As a matter of historical record, primitive Christians did not succeed, by the exhibition of these unobtrusive virtues, in making themselves either inconspicuous or immune to their persecutors. If anything, indeed, they were all the more actively hounded because of their queer traits. And why? For the simple reason that the typical Christian virtues, being withdrawing reactions, and consequently allied to and confused with the attitudes of secretiveness and dissimulation, led the Roman officials quite reasonably to suspect that the early Christians were dangerous to the state. And it can be substantiated that primitive Christianity was far from being a patriotic movement. In those days, at least, the man who did not retaliate a blow was regarded first with amazement, then with contempt, then fear, and finally with the most diabolical hatred. Such a silent man might know something very important, might have knowledge of a world-wide insurrection ready to break tonight. Tear him to pieces, then; he shall at least not maintain that exasperating smile! How is such a meek man “blessed”? It may be true that our sentiments can partially apologize for a system of ethics based upon the functions of the flexor system alone, yet the sense of proportion which we inherit from the Greeks demands that we strike out on new paths which are not littered with the blunders of the past.

We must not forget to say, however, that one reason why these unobtrusive virtues have been given a chief place, not only in official Christianity, but also in Mohammedanism and Buddhism, is because of the simple, even though disquieting, fact that the flexor system is by nature stronger than the extensor system. Man, then, is by endowment more inclined to be humble and secretive than to be bold and frank, since the larger and stronger and more often activated muscles of his body are those which produce withdrawing reactions. That is also why man is prone to introspection, and to cultivate an inner life, and why also, to borrow a phrase of Dr. Morton Prince, he is frequently more interested in his own “mental mud-puddle” than in the external environment. Again, this physiological fact is responsible for each man having his own house, his nest, into which he retreats to escape from the novelties he can no longer adjust to, and where he may “bathe his receptors in comfort-giving stimuli.” And so, one is finally tempted to say that the unobtrusive virtues have obtained such a vogue because they are the only ones which over sixty per cent of mankind can appreciate and will ever really attempt to achieve. Perhaps, also, it is for the same reason that today the word “virtue” signifies almost exclusively chastity, a trait of character and an action-pattern which any physician will tell you is dependent for its existence and maintenance upon the contractions of very powerful flexor muscles.

The upshot of all this discussion is that from the study of man’s body as an ethical machine, it appears that he who would formulate a list of the chiefly desirable traits or virtues should first carefully consider the total needs of the organism. This new catalogue of virtues will be based upon the realization that man possesses both a flexor and an extensor mechanism. We know already that many ailments of the body are traceable to a lop-sided use of it, by which is usually meant the acquisition of chronic fatigue-postures in the flexor muscles. Indeed, chronic postures are recognized to be of such paramount importance, that experts have been employed to devise adequate stretching exercises (actuating the disused extensor system) in order to restore the organic balance of a nation. Moreover, just as the hygiene of the body depends upon a liberal use of all of its muscles, so likewise the ethical balance of the organism can be maintained only by the cultivation and commendation of a sufficient variety of traits to provide an outlet for all the action-tendencies which man naturally possesses. Virtue, then, we may henceforth regard as being based directly upon our physiological needs, and not upon the assumption, so frequently employed in the past, that ideals must be unattainable in order to be respectable.

Moreover, a strictly natural science of ethics will have a regard for the fact of individual differences among men, and, recognizing that blood-pressure, metabolism, talents, and capacities differ so widely as to make it impossible for any one trait to be the “highest” virtue for all persons, it will place the emphasis solely upon the needs of the individual case. Already this development has become wide-spread. The juvenile courts, the Society for Mental Hygiene, the National Child Welfare Association are all examples of an ethical technique based entirely upon the sciences of physiology, psychology, and medicine. This emancipation of ethics from official religion is one of the most momentous events in the history of civilization.

And finally, we may say that it is time to recognize that since each one of the “seven ages of man” has its own particular mental and physical characteristics, so likewise does each of these ages have its own particular virtues. Too long have parents whispered themselves into the belief that the child ought to strive to copy the man, for the result of this unconscious egotism has only forced such parents to discover that when their child has grown up, they immediately wanted him to be an infant again! But it is becoming recognized among those who learn to look at the world without such an exaggerated self-preference, that every phase of life,—infancy, puberty, youth, manhood, middle-age, maturity, and senescence,—brings with it ever new ethical opportunities in the appearance of traits peculiar to each phase, and that it is in the development of these various potentialities into their own natural end-product that the ultimate ethical values consist.

Is Vice the Opposite of Virtue?

It now remains to be seen what the word “vice” means, first by scanning the uses to which it is popularly put, and second, by reference to its physiological implications. Accordingly, then, we find the following general classes of things called vices.

Any fault, mistake, or error may be called a vice, as, for instance, a “vice of method.” This signification is practically identical with one use of the term “bad.” (E. g., bad workmanship, defective, below par; sometimes called poor or worthless.)

Likewise, any imperfection, defect, or blemish falls under this category, as “a vice of conformation,” “a vice of literary style.” Here again this use of the concept may be identified with some of the significations of “bad” and “wrong.” These first two classes of vice may be related to one another in the sense that the first is the cause, and the latter the effect,—the erroneous (vicious) method producing the blemish (vice) in the product.

In our third class are found the significations most commonly implied by this concept today, namely, those habits or actions contrary to public policy, and especially those which arouse violent censure. Such are gluttony, indolence, mendacity, drunkenness, debauchery, and the like, which might also be included in any complete list of the things which are called “bad,” “evil,” and “wrong.” The peculiarly specific element which enters here, however, is the damage to the organism which these vices entail. Sometimes, also, this concept is used in the expression, “an age of vice,” a phrase which denotes a period of time in which these censured practices are extremely prevalent, or given particular notice.

The term “vice” is also used in describing animals not thoroughly trained, as when it is said: “That bird-dog has the vice of mouthing the quarry,” or “I must break this horse of his vice of cribbing.”

Formerly, indeed, some inherited bodily defects were spoken of as “constitutional vices,” but this use of the term is now rare.

It can be seen at once that while virtue and vice are popularly regarded as opposites, no amount of stretching applied to either of these concepts will make it the true antonym of the other. It is idle for anyone to remark that they ought nevertheless to be regarded as diametrically opposed; empirically they are not, as the following analytical table plainly shows:—

VIRTUES	VICES
Valor, courage, intrepidity, (strength). The spectacular virtues.	No antonym, except in the rare cases where cowardice may be regarded as vicious.
Caution, probity, temperance, sobriety (and the unobtrusive Christian virtues).	Negated by mendacity, drunkenness, and debauchery, but not precisely; nor popularly by gluttony and indolence.
Medicinal efficacy of drugs.	No antonym.
The phrases, “by virtue of,” “in virtue of,” etc.	No antonym.
No antonym.	Fault mistake, error.
No antonym.	Imperfection, defect, or blemish.
No antonym.	The faults of untrained animals.
No antonym.	Constitutional vices.

How, now, shall we proceed to construct our definition of the ethical concept “vice”? It will be recalled that we used the term virtue to describe a situation in which energy was being either mobilized or expended to obtain what the organism considered to be a dependable good. Does vice imply the opposite of this? Hardly, for it must be admitted by the uncensorious observer that many of even the most violently condemned actions could be described as part of somebody’s program to attain a durable satisfaction. The glutton, remembering once more how comfortable a full belly makes him feel, may gorge himself without stint; and even if he has been warned that diabetes and gout are likely to be the final results of such persistent devotion to the pastry and the roast, he may still pursue these foods with avidity, cheerfully and hopefully making himself an exception to the general rule of impending disaster. In the same way, the lusty pursuer of sex enjoyments may be dispassionately regarded as planning and achieving his own type of satisfaction, and while he may often “in a cool hour” be aware of the likelihood of entangling alliances, yet even his self-censure is not guaranteed to keep him from mobilizing his energy for the attainment of his chosen, private “good.”

Once more, then, we realize that “virtue” and “vice” are not true antonyms. We saw this to be the case with “good” and “bad,” and likewise with “right” and “wrong.” It is only when these pairs of terms are used with the most severely restricted denotation, that is, with a provincial bias, that their opposition and contradiction appears. Such bias is also shown, when it is said that the glutton and the debauché “really know that they shouldn’t” indulge themselves as they do, a statement which signifies something like this: If these men who do what I call “wrong” were only to act as I direct, they would not be censured. Obviously so, but what a host of fallible assumptions this involves! It is merely ignoring the problem, and such a treatment furnishes no hint as to its solution. One begins to doubt the validity of all praise and blame as profitable ethical instruments. Besides, the appeal to self-censure, as employed in the above case, is, in the end, relatively inefficacious in actual practice, and is hence illogical as a basic principle in ethical theory. Indeed, it is idle to say that we all know what we should do; if we had that much information, we would act upon it, for the will and the intellect, as Spinoza remarked, are one and the same. The great need in ethics is to get right down to the empirical facts of conduct and to let them teach us, rather than to hide the facts behind a screen of pious insincerity. Importunate chiding may be a traditional tool of morality, but it does not contribute anything to the establishment of an ethical science.

Consequently we shall have to reject any definition of the vices which goes no further than to describe them as those actions which some observer regards as unprofitable. It may be that such a definition superficially fits a great many cases, but great danger lies in accepting it without scrutiny, since it tends to imply that ethics is merely a study of opinions about conduct, and not of conduct itself. Now, no other science is a study of opinions, not even the normative sciences of bridge-building or landscape gardening; and ethics is no exception to this general rule. Moreover, since we do not know of any absolutely wise observer to whose opinion we can appeal in every doubtful case, a true definition of vice has not yet been achieved.

However, if we bear in mind that praise and blame, or commendation and censure are always relative to certain environmental conditions, and if, furthermore, we can discover what they really imply, we shall doubtless be able to arrive at a conception of virtue and vice that will square with the observable facts of human conduct. And the first point to be emphasized is that whenever these concepts are used, some standard seems to be implied. What is this seemingly hidden standard, this presupposed line, which, especially in the case of the vices, one is forbidden to cross under pain of censure? Sometimes it seems to be a line drawn within a family, sometimes within a neighborhood, while often it is confined to a class or profession, and again it is delimited by a national culture. Would it not seem that every such tacitly assumed standard is created by the relatively unconscious judgment of the group in the very effort to have a group, the members of which recognize each other as belonging to it? In other words, are not all such standards a function of the desire of the group to employ the pronouns “we” and “us” significantly? This is not oversimplifying the matter, since the use of such pronouns implies much more than is commonly realized. Indeed, when man says “we” instead of “I,” he indicates that a point in evolution has been reached where a similarity of predicaments has produced a similarity of aims. To fight a common foe, to till a common land, and to keep a common eye upon strangers are one and all actions implicit in the establishment of group standards. And even though these standards are often ill-defined, and frequently neglected by certain individuals within the group, nevertheless they remain as a background of reference (in strict mechanistic terms, as an old habit-posture), whenever there is any danger felt lest the word “we” should become meaningless. Danger felt by whom? Particularly, we are obliged to say, by the most conservative members of the group, for be it remembered that praise and blame, and reward and punishment are insisted upon most violently by undiscriminating persons. Such persons, it seems, are most sensitive to the waxing and waning of certain benefits which others have achieved for them, and which they regard as valuable to retain and dangerous to lose.

If anyone wishes to know what such benefits are he has only to recall what traits his own group calls virtues and vices, and to ask in every case just what they imply in terms of the needs of the group which sanctions or condemns them. For example, valor, courage, and intrepidity, together with the other spectacular virtues, have certainly been commended because they supply two very obvious and well-nigh universal group needs. The first is a common, stalwart defence, and the second is a healthy progeny. Cripples and deformed persons have never been objects of admiration or praise. As for the unobtrusive virtues, many of these have likewise been commended by such a group as feels itself beset or insecure on account of its inability to compete with the strong on their own terms, and this group has adopted them in a semi-paradoxical attempt to acquire solidarity. To turn at once to the other side of the picture, we find that the vices of gluttony, drunkenness, and lechery have been condemned not only because they effeminate and debilitate, and thereby undermine the defence-power of the group, but also because they tend to reduce the capacity of the group to create a sound and fertile offspring. This is doubtless why certain congenital abnormalities were formerly spoken of as “constitutional vices.” As for the word “vice” being sometimes applied to botchy work, incorrect methods, and the faults of untrained animals, we can see how in special instances a group might regard these things as peculiarly detrimental to its solidarity. Contrariwise, the “virtue” of a medicinal plant might, under the harassing circumstances of a plague or an epidemic, be the chief cause of even a nation’s concern.

In thus defining virtue and vice in terms of the assets and liabilities of the group, what becomes of our previous attempt to define virtue in individualistic terms? The answer is that this previous conception remains as a necessary complement to, and check upon, group intolerance. For while the desires of the group and those of the individual may sometimes clash, they do not need to be considered as basically or essentially opposed to one another. The historical fact is often manifest that when group solidarity tends to produce mediocrity, there is a sudden overt demonstration of individualism. Our own generation shows an example of this type of reaction. When, again, extreme individualism fails to yield group assets, the conservative tendencies begin to reassert themselves more powerfully once more. Yet it is doubtful whether exactly the same type of conservatism is ever repeated, since the individualism which it seeks to counteract is, in succeeding generations, different from the type which preceded it.

Is Virtue Its Own Reward?

From the foregoing it is apparent that the ethical concept “virtue” has two alternative interpretations. One of these involves the commendation of the group on the basis of what its members feel to be required for the maintenance of its traditions. The other interpretation is based upon what the individual mobilizes and expends his energy to obtain. Which of these is superior to the other, that is, which would survive in case of mutual conflict, only the last volume of recorded history will relate. What is more of a real problem to us is the question, commonly asked, Is virtue its own reward?

This curious question involves the philosophical theory of internal relations,—a theory of very doubtful validity. The statement that virtue is its own reward is equivalent to the assertion that virtue is valuable in and for itself. But if so, then virtue is unique, and this again is doubtful, for whether we observe the individual devoting his energies to the attainment of some dependable good, or the group commending him for it, it appears at once that virtuous actions are never undertaken without some hope of reward either in the shape of praise or of tangible results. Upon hearing this, some will groan, claiming that a good man should act ever and only on principle, and leave the rest to the gods. And yet nobody ever did so. Moreover, it is plain that the truly virtuous man, whether acting within the taboos of his clan, or striking out on entirely new paths after a “good” that he could depend securely upon, received a three-fold reward of a very substantial nature. He achieved power, he attained wisdom, and he secured peace; and these rewards, moreover, in the degree to which they were gained, automatically thereafter became the measure by which the dependability of any good could be estimated. And we also venture to say that the same criterion could be employed in determining to what extent any particular trait of character was a vice.

Even more than this, however, can now be said. For such a criterion as is here suggested has significant implications for the human body,—that upon which life and mind ultimately depend. Experiments in psychology and psychiatry have revealed that traits of character are more than skin-deep and brain-deep; indeed, they are more than muscle-deep: they are as deep as the vital organs themselves. Even more than this is apparent, for these same sciences have demonstrated that not only is such a trait as anxiety just another name for a chronic muscular tension, but also that many diseases are, if not caused, at least abetted by what we think, how we act, and what feelings we cultivate. In more precise terms, the mechanisms of thought and action, being partly identical with the mechanisms of locomotion and metabolism, can produce either a hygienic or an unhygienic effect upon the whole structure of man’s organism. And in this fact, I think, we can find an acceptable basis, even if a new one, for the distinction between virtue and vice.

This basis we propose is not altogether a novelty to keen students of human nature. We know that the normal, healthy and successfully adapted human individual is characterized by a relaxed and resilient condition, not only of his superficial or locomotor muscles, but also of the muscles of his alimentary tract. Both his voluntary and involuntary systems are constantly in a state of readiness to perform their necessary functions, and they also return to this condition after any series of actions has been performed. Such a man possesses aplomb, and is an example of the healthy Greek ideal of a sane mind in a sound body. In striking contrast to such a normal, resilient state, there are frequently found two other organic conditions which are readily delineated. The one is called muscular flabbiness, characterized by a powerless or a-tonic state of the muscles of either the voluntary (or teachable) and the involuntary (or unteachable) systems, or both. A man in this a-tonic plight is incapable of vigorous, coordinate action, and his muscles do not manifest a normal readiness to respond to successive stimulations. The other abnormal condition, at the opposite pole from this one, is the one involving chronic muscular tensions, a condition which may be compared to the state of a steel spring which is always kept under severe strain, and which is never released far enough to give the metal a chance to recover from the stresses it undergoes. Highstrung, over-anxious, jealous, irascible people illustrate this type of organism with exactness.

The ethical implications of the foregoing must have already been guessed. Is it not possible to define the virtuous man as the relaxed, resilient, coordinate individual, and the vicious man as either the muscularly flabby, and therewith the lazy, spineless, procrastinating, lecherous man; or else as the abnormally hypertonic organism, whose muscles constantly pay dividends of wrath, and whose grudges and malice are carried even through his slumber? If so, there should be no paradox implied in speaking of virtue and vice as functions of the human organism.