The ethics of Hercules

by Robert Chenault Givler

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.