“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, No antonym, except in the
(strength). The spectacular rare cases where cowardice
virtues. may be regarded as vicious.
Caution, probity, temperance, Negated by mendacity,
sobriety (and the unobtrusive drunkenness, and debauchery,
Christian virtues). but not precisely; nor
popularly by gluttony and
indolence.
Medicinal efficacy of drugs. No antonym.
The phrases, “by virtue of,” No antonym.
“in virtue of,” etc.
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.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] Compare the expression, “And now abideth faith, hope, and
charity” with “And now there are faithful men, hopeful men, and
charitable men.” Only the latter of these statements has any real
meaning.
[20] Plato’s list is very brief, and his virtues correspond to the
three parts of the soul as he conceived it. Self-control, courage,
and wisdom are the three virtues which characterize the desire, the
will, and the reason respectively, while the supreme virtue is a
harmony or health of the soul.
For Aristotle, virtue is found in a moderation between extremes. For
example, the virtue of courage is a mean between cowardliness and
rashness. Others of his virtues likewise derived are: temperance,
liberality, high-mindedness, mildness, friendliness, candor,
urbanity, and justice.
The Christian virtues, while never stated in systematic form, are
typically represented by humility, kindliness, self-denial, meekness,
patience, temperance, and, perhaps, other-worldliness.
Comparatively few ethical writers attempt to give a list or
scale of virtues and vices, and some of them ignore the question
completely. Martineau, in a somewhat successful attempt to free
himself from an irreconcilable dualism in ethics, presents a scale
of traits beginning, presumably, with vices (e. g., censoriousness,
vindictiveness, suspiciousness), and ending with virtues (compassion,
reverence, and veracity). In the application of this system, the
chief question is, not what is bad or what is good, but simply, which
trait is better and which worse than another.
[21] It is to be observed that Jesus was much more specific and
empirical than either Plato or St. Paul, since in his treatment of
this phase of the problem of conduct, Jesus often described the
situation concretely, e. g., “those persecuted for righteousness’
sake,” rather than by employing, as did Plato and St. Paul, abstract
nouns, such as “courage,” “charity,” and the like. But it must also
not be forgotten that of all the ethical teachers of antiquity,
Socrates alone consistently stuck to the concrete realities of ethics
and constantly admitted the size and difficulties of the problems
involved.