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[249] Virtue theory

Greg Pence

Originally published in Peter Singer, A Companion to Ethics (Blackwell Publishing, 1991)

i Introduction

George Eliot in Middlemarch writes of her heroine Dorothea Brooke that 'Her mind was theoretic, and yearned by its nature after some lofty conception of the world which might frankly include the parish of Tipton and her own rule of conduct there; she was enamoured of intensity and greatness, and rash in embracing whatever seemed to her to have those aspects.' Dorothea marries Reverend Casaubon, whom she soon discovers to be dull and insecure. Casaubon becomes so dependent on Dorothea that if she revealed her real opinion, he might commit suicide. Locked in a bad marriage of her own choosing, Dorothea resigns herself to small, private moments of happiness. When she meets Will Ladislaw and finds love, she considers abandoning her husband. For most of the novel, Dorothea struggles with herself and agonizes over questions like, 'What kind of person would I be if I leave him? If I stay?'

It is just such questions of how one ought to live in shaping one's own character that have recently engaged moral philosophy. Some moral philosophers have become frustrated with the narrow, impersonal form of the hitherto dominant moral theories of utilitarianism and Kantianism and have revived the neglected tradition of 'virtue theory'. Previously, ethical theory had two concerns. First, it tended to focus on internecine warfare between utilitarianism and deontology. Second, it often abandoned ethical theory altogether. This occurred either by a 'descent' to ethical issues without mention of any theoretical base or by an 'ascent' to descriptions of words and concepts without regard to implications for action. In such theories, considerations of character were notably absent. As Lawrence Blum says, 'It is especially striking that utilitarianism, which seems to advocate that each person devote his or her entire life to the achievement of the greatest possible good or happiness of all people, has barely attempted to provide a convincing description of what it would be like to live that sort of life.' (Blum, 1988.) It is just this goal, describing types of character which we might admire, that virtue theory seeks.

Although 'virtue' sounds antiquated (non-philosophers would use words such as 'integrity' or 'character'), questions about personal character clearly occupy a central place in ethics. Such questions concern what a 'good person' would do in real-life situations. Champions of virtue, while not necessarily rejecting utilitarianism or rights-based theories, believe that those traditions ignore those central [250] features of ordinary moral life involving character. Dorothea's answer to the question of what she ought to do, they say, has nothing to do with calculations of utility, balancing interests, or resolving conflicts of rights. Her problem concerns the kind of person she is.

Utilitarians often defensively reply that their theory implies that one should strive for good character because the possession of good moral traits by most people maximizes general utility. Such a reply misses the point. Take almost anyone regarded as having admirable moral character. Next ask about the explanation of why this person's approach to life should be a model for others. The answer is never that the person has a personal goal of maximizing utility. If the utilitarian agrees, the question then arises: how is utility relevant to forming character? Considerations of utility rarely enter into the thinking of 'saints' or 'heroes'. Although utilitarianism has important answers to questions, say, of public health or medical triage, it doesn't explain the 'data' of the life of character and its issues of courage, compassion, personal loyalty, and vice.

Dorothea's situation illustrates two other aspects of virtue theory. First, one might concentrate on the general question of the nature of virtue. Is there some core quality which Dorothea shares with other good people? Some master virtue? Christianity often held that humility was such a master virtue (and pride the master vice).

Second, one might look at specific virtues or traits, especially as they conflict. Dorothea is pulled in one direction by what was called 'fidelity' in the Middle Ages, 'steadfastness' in Victorian times, and might be called 'loyalty' today. This virtue conflicts with something pulling Dorothea the other way, her desire for autonomy. Considered in isolation, both traits are good: loyalty can get Dorothea through the inevitable rough spots in her marriage, autonomy can prevent her from being a doormat.

Questions of this sort would ask whether a good person can ever divorce simply because of incompatibility, especially in a marriage without cruelty or abuse. Moreover, Dorothea's situation is complicated (as is usual in the dilemmas of moral life) because her husband will be irremediably, perhaps fatally, hurt if Dorothea defects. More commonly, children will be harmed. Resolution of her dilemma partly depends on how she answers the question of how a good person in her situation should rank the virtues of loyalty and autonomy.

ii Anscombe and Maclntyre

The revival of interest in virtue in the 198os was sparked by the earlier work of two philosophers, Elizabeth Anscombe and Alasdair Maclntyre. In 1958, Anscombe argued that historical notions of morality--of moral duty and obligation, of 'ought' in general--were unintelligible today. The world-views within which such notions formerly made sense no longer held sway, but their ethical progeny persisted regardless. Such anchorless 'children' have become contorted into doctrines such [251] as ‘Act not to satisfy any want of yours but simply because it’s morally right to do so'. For Anscombe, such doctrines are not only not good, they are actually harmful. Virtue perniciously becomes an end in itself, unattached to human needs or desires.

Alasdair Maclntyre agreed with Anscombe and carried her analysis further. In his view, modern societies have inherited no single ethical tradition from the past, but fragments of conflicting traditions: we are Platonic perfectionists in saluting gold medallists in the Olympics: utilitarians in applying the principle of triage to the wounded in war; Lockeans in affirming rights over property; Christians in idealizing charity, compassion and equal moral worth; and followers of Kant and Mill in affirming personal autonomy. No wonder that intuitions conflict in moral philosophy. No wonder people feel confused.

Instead of this hodgepodge, Maclntyre would revive a neo-AristoteIian account of human good which would ground and sustain a set of virtues. Such an account would also provide a conception of a meaningful life. The common question, 'What is the meaning of life?' is almost always a question about how those asking the questions can feel they have a place in life in which they are emotionally committed to those around them, in which their work expresses their natures, and in which individual good connects to some larger project which began before a life and which continues after it. Maclntyre's answer is that such meaning comes - as do the excellences which are the virtues and which sustain the prospering of rational societies - when a person belongs to a moral tradition which allows for a narrative order of a single life and which depends for its existence on standards of excellence in certain practices.

For example, medicine has a moral tradition dating back at least to Hippocrates and Galen. This tradition sets out what a physician is supposed to do when a patient comes bleeding into the emergency room or a plague begins. Within this tradition, physicians' lives can achieve a certain unity or 'narrative'. They can look backwards (and forward) and see how their lives made (make) a difference. Moreover, medicine has its internal 'practices' which allow for intrinsic pleasure beyond its extrinsic rewards: the deft surgical hand, the perspicacious diagnosis of the esoteric disease, the esteem of a great teacher by students. Contrast this life with that of a worker on an assembly line making plastic bolts, who has suddenly seen his factory close. Maclntyre contends that only in certain kinds of societies, just as in only certain kind of jobs, can the virtues prosper.

iii The historical foundation of virtue theory

It is impossible to understand modern virtue theory without some understanding of the history of ethics. The ancient Greeks (mainly Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle) made three kinds of contributions. First, they focused on virtues (traits of character) as the subject of ethics. For example, Plato's Republic described the virtues encouraged by democracy, oligarchy, tyranny, and meritocracy. Second, they analysed [252] specific virtues such as the ‘cardinal’ (major) ones of courage, temperance, wisdom, and justice (we will discuss ancient views of courage later). Third, they ranked types of character, e.g. Aristotle classified human character into five types, ranging from the great-souled man to the moral monster.

In the thirteenth century, Thomas Aquinas synthesized Aristotelianism and Christian theology. Aquinas added the 'theological virtues' of faith, hope, and charity to the cardinal virtues. Ancient Greek ethics, however, was secular, whereas Aquinas ultimately gave a theological justification of virtues. He is a halfway point between the naturalistic view of character of the ancient Greeks and the hostility to naturalism of Kant.

During the Enlightenment. Kant tried to derive morality from pure reason itself. Although Aquinas claimed that truths of morality could be known by reason alone, he sometimes was forced to appeal to God's existence and nature. Kant later tried to avoid such appeals and to discover an essence of moral character--of virtue or good character--which transcended any particular set of virtues or any particular historical society.

Kant decided that virtuous people act precisely from, and because of, respect for a moral law which is 'universalizable'). When they are acting in their highest capacity as pure rational agents, Kant thought--at least on one interpretation--that people emphatically do not act on ordinary desires, even desires to be known as a good person, or because it makes them feel good to ease suffering. On this view, Kant wanted an account of moral character above and beyond the contingent desires fostered by particular societies at specific times in history. Thus, he was left with a very abstract, but also very hollow, position.

Modern virtue theorists think Kant went wrong here and that modern moral philosophy has followed listlessly in his wake. Rather than seeing Kant as a beginning of an ethical tradition, they see him as its reductio ad absurdum. Utilitarianism commits a spill-over mistake, identifying Kant's abstract duty with the greatest good for the greatest number, and ignoring the problem of how acting on such a duty relates to problems of character, such as being deficient in compassionate feelings. As Joel Kupperman says, 'Despite the opposition between Kantians and consequentialists, it is easy for someone who is reading some of the works of either school to get the picture of an essentially faceless ethical agent who is equipped by theory to make moral choices that lack psychological connection with either the agent's past or future.' (Kupperman. 1988.)

In an influential paper, Susan Wolf argued for a stronger point than that utilitarianism merely omits reference to character. She argued that it actually entails an ideal character at which it would be neither good nor rational to aim. A utilitarian saint, who devoted maximal time and money to saving the starving, would be a boring, one-dimensional person who missed out on the non-moral goods of life such as participation in sports or reading history. In striving to maximize aid to humanity, such saints would devote all their spare time to altruistic acts, leaving no time for the many self-enhancing acts which normally make life rich and satisfying.

[253] iv Eliminatism

Anscombe and Maclntyre sometimes talked as if principle-based ethics had to be abandoned altogether and that a correct account of virtue could accomplish this. Such 'eliminatism' still holds the allegiance of those who would believe they can resurrect in modern life the virtues of the Aristotelian polls or the code of the eighteenth-century aristocrat.

This way of thinking often ignores, among many other problems, the fact that the Aristotelian and aristocratic societies were not democracies. Indeed, the accounts of virtues given by aristocrats such as Aristotle and Hume were idealizations of the behaviour of their times, not descriptions. Those who wish for a 'return' to the polis or Scottish Enlightenment are not returning to real societies, but to ancient books.

Still, it is argued by some that an account of virtues is" possible which is compatible with democracy and which can still dispense with talk of rights and principles in ethics. Instead we would only talk about what is noble, good, honourable, 'appropriate', and in taste. Is this not possible?

To show that it is not possible, we will discuss courage as an example.

v Courage

Any discussion of how one ought to live needs to consider at some point the importance of courage in a life. Here two interesting questions appear. First, can one try to be courageous without knowing what courage is? Second, how is courage connected to other things, such as other virtues and knowledge?

Philosophical discussion of courage can be traced to Plato's dialogue Laches, in which Socrates debates the Athenian generals Laches and Nicias over the

correct definition of courage. Courage was certainly esteemed as a virtue before Socrates, e.g. among Homer's warriors, but in the fifth century BCE its nature had become a problem. When the Athenian navy brought home strange ideas and customs from the world, the Sophists begin to teach that standards of courage varied from society to society, century to century.

Against them, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle argue that courage is a timeless value trait. In the Laches. Socrates embarrassed the Athenian generals, who first incorrectly identify it with stereotypic behaviour associated with courage (rescuing babies from burning houses), and who then fail to appreciate the difference between facing any fear and facing worthy fears. For Socrates, courage requires wisdom and hence cannot serve evil goals.

Socrates also defends the controversial claim that courage serves an individual's self-interest. As John Mackie has argued in his book, Ethics: Inventing

Right and Wrong, if one developed the disposition to calculate when courage served one's interest and When it did not, the disposition would neither be real courage nor one which would serve one's real interests . . . .

Notice that the question here is not between courage and daring. The difference [254] between these two is precisely that courage involves acting to further an ethical ideal, whereas the daring of the clever jewel thief does not. The controversial question about courage and worthy ideals is really about whether courage is courage when serving the 'wrong' ideals.

vi Eliminatism, again

So now we return to the question of eliminatism, i.e. to whether an ethical theory based entirely on character can do all the work of ethics. Let us approach this question by asking whether an officer in the Confederacy could be courageous during the American Civil War. On an ideal-neutral analysis of courage, he can. Courage here is simply facing risks for some ideal, not necessarily the right one.

Most people would regard the officer as fighting for the wrong ideal because the Confederacy depended on slavery. So then, presumably, Socrates would say that the Confederate officer wasn't truly courageous. But, alas, this is precisely what Socrates would not say. For all the great ancient philosophers thought slavery was natural and correct. Indeed, the lifestyle of the virtues of the aristocrats in the polis in part depended on the existence of it. The ancient Greeks had the wrong moral principle about relations between humans, and there seems no easy way in which their theory of character can be developed to do the work of this principle.

When we read the ancient Greeks, we are impressed by their sense of developing themselves according to ideals of beauty, courage, and nobility. Ancient Greek ethics was perfectionistic in stressing the perfection of the polis, the individual, and the future of man. Such perfectionism scorns the equality of democracies. There is simply no way fully to emulate ancient Greek ideals of character and also to act on principles of moral equality between humans (much less humans and animals).

The German philosopher Frederich Nietzsche also wrote about trying to shape our character with pride and style. Here again we find a perfectionistic ideal of

character which is incompatible with moral equality. Indeed, Nietzsche's ideal is more notable for what it rejected (Judeo-Christian ethics) than what it posited. But even Nietzsche seemed unaware of just how a thoroughgoing anti-Christian ideal of character would look. He is aware that his Ubermensch ('Superman') would lack what Hume called 'the monkish virtues' such as humility and chastity, but he seems not to appreciate that compassion is a virtue historically indebted to 'monkish' traditions such as Judaism, Christianity, and Buddhism. From his Zarathustran heights, the great-souled man may at times help the insignificant poor out of his power and magnanimity simply because he feels like doing so. But more likely he will think that their ways of feeling and thinking do not count morally and will find them expendable. Thus ideals of character alone cannot do all the work of ethics.

On the other hand, if one were willing to define courage in a non-Socratic fashion, as capable of serving any ideal or goal, then the problem vanishes. This

problem arises only if such virtues as courage and wisdom must do all the work of ethics.

[255] The point could also be made by thinking about the role of rights to privacy and liberty in modern societies. Some rights of non-interference and some liberties are necessary to the minimally smooth functioning of modern society as we know it. The reason it is wrong to steal property or force hysterectomies on unsuspecting women cannot be totally explained by discussing the vices of criminals. Something must be said about why such actions violate the rights of victims. So eliminatism fails in virtue theory, although this leaves quite a lot of room for virtue theory to operate.

vii Essentialism

A related question concerns whether all virtues are excellences because of their connection to a single dominant telos (goal) of humankind. This question arises from attempts to revive neo-Aristotelian accounts of virtues which posit one true aim of a perfectly good life. One way to address this issue is to ask, as did Socrates and Aristotle, whether all virtues share a 'master virtue'. Alternatively, all virtues might share not necessarily a virtue, but some common essence, such as common sense. Aristotle thought a stupid man could truly have no virtue, and this point shows his difference with Christian accounts.

In recent times, Edmund Pincoffs has argued for a 'functionalist' account of virtues. In his account, the real virtues are those necessary to living well in any

of several forms of 'common life'. On his view, a core of virtues exist which are necessary for the flourishing of any form of society at any time in history.

Nevertheless, there seems no more plausible reason why all virtues must share some quality than that all goods must share some quality. Virtues may be seen as skilled excellences and there are myriad things at which one can excel. The idea that there 'must' be a core of all virtue is really the assumption in disguise that there is only one good way to live or one correct way for society to develop. But there are many possible worlds for the future: each would have different mixes of institutions and practices, each would need different kinds of virtues for its ideal development.

For example, in frontier societies, great heroes were often highly intelligent people who functioned beautifully outside the tight bounds of civilized cities with

their churches, weddings, schools, lawyers, stores, police, and factories. Such frontier heroes lived by a simple hard code (horse thieves must be caught and killed, "savages' are the enemy, each person pulls his own weight). When the frontiers became civilized, such heroes often found that their characters did not fit the society they had helped create. Society had required their types, and then moved on.

viii Moral feelings, desires, wants

Virtue theorists often examine the motivation of moral actions in kinds of desires and feelings. In a seminal essay, Jonathan Bennett discusses the role of feelings or empathy in ethical life. He discusses the conflict between compassion and moral [256] duty of Huckleberry Finn and Nazi SS leader Heinrich Himmler. The morality of Huck's time compelled him to turn in the runaway slave Jim, with whom Huck had become friends. In contrast, Himmler urged SS generals to overrule their human revulsion at killing Jews for their higher duty to the Fatherland. Bennett argues for the anti-Kantian conclusion that Huck rightfully heeded his affection for Jim, not his morality, whereas Himmler's generals should have heeded their feelings more. A moral theory which only explains this problem as a cognitive mistake (Huck should have transcended his time and just 'seen' that slavery was evil) does not address the issue which Bennett presses home.

Bennett also discusses the American fire-and-brimstone theologian Jonathan Edwards, who wrote that part of the special pleasures of the saved in heaven will be watching the torments of the damned below ('the seeing of the calamities of others tends to heighten the sense of our own enjoyments'.) Bennett writes that Edwards seems to have had absolutely no sympathy for the eternal suffering of the damned. For Bennett, Edwards is inferior to Himmler because at least Himmler felt something.

This theme leads to a common defect in non-virtue theories. On theories of duty or principle, it is theoretically possible that a person could, robot-like, obey

every moral rule and lead the perfectly moral life. In this scenario, one would be like a perfectly programmed computer (perhaps such people do exist, and are products of perfect moral educations). In contrast, in virtue theory, we need to know much more than the outer shell of behaviour to make such judgements, i.e. we need to know what kind of a person is involved, how the person thinks of other people, how he or she thinks of his or her own character, how the person feels about past actions, and also how the person feels about actions not done.

For example, almost everyone goes through life without becoming a murderer ('the outer shell'), yet types of character of non-murderers differ significantly. The person who is frequently tempted to murder because of a hot temper, but refrains from doing so for moral reasons, does not seem like a higher moral type. It is far superior never to want, simply because of minor slights, to kill people at all. Better still is the person who would not kill and who mourns innocent lives when murdered.

ix Character, self, and society

Action does not occur in a political vacuum. Virtue theory also studies how different kinds of societies encourage different virtues and vices. One could

approach Dorothea's dilemma much more globally by asking whether the limited choices offered her in Victorian society were just. Some modern feminist philosophers pursue similar themes in discussing whether the traditional virtues and vices of women are praiseworthy. Past feminists have advocated androgynous ideals and promoted only human virtues, not male or female virtues. More recently, some feminists have rejected androgynous ideals and returned to the idea that some virtues (nurturing, compassion) may be more open to women than men . . . .

[257] In looking at character, one may both be 'philosophical' in looking globally at societies or 'philosophical' in being personal and looking at character from 'within'. How much can a person shape his or her own character?

It is clear that this discussion presupposes that some people have some capacity to shape their own character. Some philosophers dispute this, arguing that while individual acts may be free, character is a fixed aspect of humans. In reply, it can be agreed that not everyone has the ability to change, or even to modify, character. However, so long as the critic admits that one act can be free, then the possibility remains open that this act could initiate change in character.

Moreover, our systems of moral praise and blame, our development of manners, and our assumptions about free will, all assume that people can deliberately shape or corrupt their own characters. How much people can change their traits and characters is a subject beyond the scope of this essay, but a sketch of an answer is that situations of crisis often force people to re-examine their basic values, as Miss Brooke must do in her bad marriage when she falls in love with Will. When lucky, people sometimes obtain insight into their problems and are supported by resources for change (this is one value of psychotherapy). And it is a fact that people do change - they stop drinking, become more compassionate, or become mean. So it seems that change is possible. . . .

It is a deep fault of non-virtue theories that they pay little or no attention to the areas of life which form character. Perhaps the most important decisions in

such areas involve whether to marry, have children, be friends, and where to work. Writers working in ethical traditions based on rights, utility, or Kantian

universalization have largely regarded such areas as involving non-moral choices. But since ethics is about how we ought to live, and since such areas occupy so much of how we live, is this not a colossal defect?

Modern philosophers are pursuing many questions about virtue, such as the degree to which one is responsible for one's own character, connections between character and manners, connections between character and friendship, and analysis of specific traits such as forgiveness, loyalty, shame, guilt, and remorse. They are even returning to analysis of traditional vices such as inordinate desires for drugs, money, food, and sexual conquest, i.e. the traditional vices of intemperance, greed, gluttony, and lust. The next decade will see many important works on virtue.

References

Anscombe, G.E.M.: 'Modern moral philosophy', Philosophy, 33 (1958), l-19.

Aquinas, Thomas: Summa Theologiae.

Bennett, J.: The conscience of Huckleberry Finn', Philosophy, 49 (1974), 323-33.

Blum, L.: 'Moral exemplars: reflections on Schindler, the Trocmes, and others', Midwest Studies in Philosophy, 13 (1988), 196-221.

Eliot, G.: Middlemarch (London: 1871-2).

Kupperman, J.: 'Character and ethical theory', Midwest Studies in Philosophy, 13 (1988), 115-25.

Maclntyre, A.: After Virtue (South Bend, Ind.: University ofNotre Dame Press, 1981).

Mackie, J.: Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1971).

Pincoffs, E.: Quandaries and Virtues (Lawrence, Kans.: University of Kansas Press, 1986).

Plato: The Republic.

_________: Laches.

Wolf, S.: 'Moral saints', Journal of Philosophy, 79 (1982), 419-39.