An Introduction to Ethics. For Training Colleges.

Front matter

AN INTRODUCTION TO ETHICS

FOR TRAINING COLLEGES

by

Chapter 1

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY: ETHICS AND MORAL EDUCATION.

§ 1. What is Ethics? It is usual to enter on the study of any science by giving some definition of it. What, then, is ethics, and what is the subject-matter with which it deals? All sciences consist of answers to questions. The inquisitive child who wearies his mother with his questions is on the high-road to science. He wonders why the fire burns, why the wheels of the watch go round, what the moon is made of, and why his stomach hurts. To satisfy his wonder he asks questions. This is the attitude of the true scientist. Newton asked himself why the apple falls to the ground; and discovered, as the answer to the question, the law of gravitation.

When a science has been developed, it consists of a body of answers to a certain general question. Thus, the science of mathematics consists of a system of answers to the question, What is the nature of number and quantity? Astronomy is an attempt to answer the question, What are the laws which govern the planets and other celestial bodies? Physiology seeks to answer the question, What is the constitution of the human body?

Now, when we have before us the results of such sciences as these, when we know the answers they have given to their questions, a further question still remains to be asked. We must ask, What is the value of these answers? What is the good of their results? What is the value of the physiologist's researches? What is the good of knowing the distance of the Earth from the Sun? This kind of question with regard to the value or good of their investigations is not usually asked by the particular sciences themselves. Yet it is a question of fundamental importance.

This sort of question is one of the first that the child asks. The child is forward to ask, What is the good of this? What is the good of that? In its school-work it asks, What is the good of grammar, what is the good of decimals, what is the good of learning dates? and so on. One of the child's stoutest objections is, "I don't see the good of it." The child is anxious to know the value of the actions he is made to do and the knowledge he is made to acquire. His questions are often disconcerting, and we find it difficult to give any satisfactory answer. "What's the good of going to Church?" "What's the good of poetry?" "What's the good of finding the South Pole?"

"'But what good came of it at last?' Quoth little Peterkin. 'Why, that I cannot tell,'said he."

The more complex civilisation grows, the more difficult it becomes to explain or to understand the good or value of the actions that men perform, the aims they set before themselves, and the knowledge that they acquire. In a simple and primitive community the good of every action can readily be explained. The South Sea Islander knows what is the good of fishing. It is to satisfy his hunger. He knows what is the good of climbing for milk-cocoa-nuts. It is to quench his thirst. He knows what is the good of sacrificing to the gods. It is that they may send rain, or protect him from his enemies. He knows what is the good of everything he does. All his actions have reference to human life. All his activities are directed to the preservation of his own life and those of his tribe. The good of his actions is their value-for-life.

It is easy for the savage to see what is the good of his actions, because his ends are limited and his aims are narrow. Almost all his actions are dictated by some primitive impulse or by a desire to obtain some fragmentary end. But in a complex civilisation, such as our own, the ends that men set before themselves may be very comprehensive and very remote; and it is often extremely difficult to see the value of the actions they perform and the knowledge they acquire. Yet ultimately it will be found that all the aims of man, whether in the complicated society of a high civilisation, or in a primitive community of savages, have value only in relation to life. This is the ultimate good of all man's material and spiritual achievements, of all that he does and knows. The good of a thing is its value-for-life.

In many cases it may not be easy to see precisely what value-for-life a certain action possesses. What is the value-for-life of the discovery of the South Pole? It might be replied that Scott and Amundsen believed that the discovery of the Pole had a value-for-life because of the geographical, geological, and meteorological discoveries made by the Polar parties; and, quite apart from the value of these researches, the example of unselfishness and sturdiness and heroism shown by the explorers had a real value-for-life for the rest of humanity. It may, of course, often happen that an action which seemed to the agent to have some value-for-life really has none. But a man always aims at what he believes will have some value-for-life.

We must beware of interpreting value-for-life in too narrow a way. What has value-for-life is not simply to be identified with what is useful. What is useful does have value-for-life; but many things which are not useful also have value-for-life. Value-for-life is a more comprehensive term than usefulness, and includes much that is not useful. Music, art, and literature, for instance, are not useful in the ordinary sense of the word, but they certainly have great value-for-life.

Everything, then, that man does is done because it is conceived to have a value-for-life. And this is a value for human life. Every action and judgment has some relation to man, and is done with reference to what is good for man. But what is the good for man? If all action and all science have a value-for-life, there must be some good for man. The question what that good is is the question that ethics asks and tries to answer. What is the good of human life? What is the aim of human life? What is man's chief end?

§ 2. The Vocation of Man. If we ask the plain man, What is the good for man? we shall receive very different answers. One man will answer that the aim of human life is the enjoyment of pleasure, another that it is the attainment of fame, another that it is the acquisition of knowledge, a fourth that man's chief end is, in the words of the Westminster Catechism, "to glorify God and to enjoy Him for ever." These answers are clearly very different, but if we examine them a little, we shall see that there is one thing that they all imply. They all involve a reference to man's character. Those who say that the great aim of life is the attainment of pleasure assume that pleasure is to be enjoyed by a person with a character of some stability. The very fact that a person has an aim at all, even though it be so low a one as the life of mere enjoyment, shows that he has some character. Only the man who is entirely aimless is totally devoid of character. Again, those who say that the end of life is the attainment of fame and honour certainly imply a reference to character. If they are sincere in their ambition, they desire not merely that honour should be ascribed to them, but that their characters should be such as to deserve the honour. They want to deserve it, for it is not real honour unless they deserve it. Honour is simply the outward recognition of the fact that there is something great and good about a man's character. Similarly, the other two views of the good for man both have reference to character. The acquisition of knowledge naturally has an influence, either good or bad, on the development of character; and the religious man knows that he cannot glorify God and enjoy Him unless his own character be good and his own conscience clear.

All these answers, then, different as they are, agree in implying that the good for man is intimately connected with his character. And we may state provisionally that the good for man consists in the development of a strong character in the activities of a socially valuable position in the community. All that this means will be explained fully in subsequent chapters: in particular, it will be shown (a) that this is the highest aim any man can have, and (b) that this aim is possible for every man.

Ethics, then, deals with the vocation of man and the character which he forms in fulfilling that vocation. The subject-matter of ethics is character and conduct. Now, we might have inferred this at once from the etymology of the name ethics. Ethics is derived from the Greek word ἦθος, which means formed character. Further, the word ἦθος is connected with ἔθος, which means custom or habit. Ethics is the science of character, the science which deals with moral customs and habits of conduct. Ethics is sometimes called moral philosophy, a name which is derived from the Latin mores, meaning primarily customs and habits, and secondarily the habits of moral agents in respect of moral action, i.e. character.

But ethics does not simply describe the various kinds of conduct and custom which we actually find among different races of men. It is not content to enumerate the moral customs of the world, and to state the kind of conduct that they sanction. Ethics is always concerned with the rightness or wrongness of conduct: it deals with the character and conduct of man, in so far as it is good or bad, right or wrong. Ethics always approves or disapproves, it sets a value, negative or positive, upon conduct. It appraises and evaluates conduct. It reflects on conduct, and pronounces human actions good or bad, with reference to some standard or criterion.

§ 3. Ethics and Moral Education. Perhaps it may be asked, What is the good of ethics? What is the use of reflecting on conduct? Even a very little experience of the world shows us that the happiest and best people are often those who have reflected least on character and conduct. Goodness and happiness, like health, are things about which the ordinary man rarely thinks unless they are impaired. There are moments when we feel, like Hamlet, the misery of being able to reflect at all: our native resolution becomes all sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought. At such times we are apt to sympathise with Voltaire's dictum, "Travaillons sans raisonner; c'est le seul moyen de rendre la vie supportable." And it is true that people often speak grammatically without ever having studied grammar, argue logically with no knowledge of logic, keep perfect health in blissful ignorance of hygiene, and live good lives although they have never heard of ethics.

Yet in all these departments of life we believe in education. Man is a rational animal, and willy-nilly he must think. It is natural that he should reflect on his behaviour. The educator is aware, of course, that all men do not speak grammatically, or argue logically, or live healthily, or act rightly; and he is convinced that in all these departments of life it is possible to use education with valuable results. Education maintains that in general the more a man knows about grammar, the more likely he is to correct his faults and learn to speak grammatically. Education holds that a knowledge of hygiene will sometimes save a man from disease, and will improve the general health of the community. So the moral educator believes that the more a man has reflected about conduct and character, the less likely he is to do wrong, and the more likely he is to do right.

But the success of all education depends on the willingness to improve of the person who is being educated. The educator can't make a child speak grammatically, unless the child wants to speak grammatically. He can't make the child argue logically, unless the child wants to argue logically. He can't make the child live healthily, unless the child wants to preserve his health. And he can't make the child act rightly, unless the child wants to act rightly. Nobody will benefit from education of any kind, unless he is willing to take advantage of it. Ethics will never make a man good. Grammar will never make him grammatical. Hygiene will never make him healthy. But if ho wants to be healthy and good, he may learn much that will help him from hygiene and ethics.

It is the task of the moral educator to apply the principles of ethics, just as the physical instructor applies the principles of hygiene and physiology. As the physical instructor ought to know something about physiology and hygiene, so the moral educator ought to have some acquaintance with the principles of ethics. The moral educator ought to have, as one of his qualifications, some knowledge of the laws that govern the growth of character, the grounds on which our judgments of right and wrong ought to be based, and the great ends to which human life and work ought to be dedicated.

The opponents of moral education often expect far too much from it. They expect that it will make boys and girls better. And then they criticise it because this result frequently does not follow. As a French teacher has said, "My prizeman in morals is the biggest knave of the lot." But there is nothing to be greatly surprised at in that. It simply means that that boy did not want to be good. And no amount of ethics will ever make him good, unless he wants to be good. In this respect moral education is in precisely the same position as education in general. No amount of grammar will make a boy grammatical, unless he wants to be grammatical.

Education in general sometimes seems to have better results than moral education. When that is so, the reason is this. Practically everybody wants to be able to speak grammatically, to read and write well, to count correctly, and to live a healthy life. But not everybody wants always to act rightly. If a person wants to be good, wants to act rightly, wants to do what he ought to do, then ethics may be of great value to him.

In addition to this, the moral educator may do something to inspire the child to want to act rightly. If he is brought into contact with the child young enough, while its character is still being formed, and the system of its wants and desires is still being developed, he may do much to influence it, to turn its desires in the right direction. Moral education may help the child to learn to want the right things. And that is of supreme importance. But moral education can never make a child good.

§ 4. Plan of the Book. At this point, it seems worth while to anticipate for a moment, and to sketch, in the merest outline, the general argument of the book. This brief analysis is not, of course, completely self-explanatory; but it will perhaps be enough to indicate roughly the scope of our study, and the general lines on which we try to answer the question that Ethics asks. That answer, we have already suggested, may be provisionally phrased thus: "The good for man consists in the development of a strong character in the activities of a socially valuable position in the community." Now, in trying to understand all that this means, we must first trace the natural development of character, and examine in detail the various elements which go to constitute it. This is done in Part I. Then, in Part II., we consider the relation between character and conduct; examine the grounds on which conduct is regarded as right or wrong; and show how character is realised in actual conduct in performing the duties of a worthy station in the community.

At the beginning of Part I. we deal with the origin of character in the tendencies and capacities which the child inherits from his parents. But, if we say that the ultimate groundwork of character is provided by heredity, we must remember that, from the first, the tendencies and capacities which the child inherits are influenced by his physical and social environment (Chap. II.).

Next we consider the instincts with which the child starts life, and show how these are modified and developed to form the basis of the great institutions of the moral life (Chap. III.).

Then, along two main lines, we follow the development of character out of the instinctive origins of human behaviour.

First, we show that impulses, which may be regarded as instincts in their active or executive aspects, may be controlled and developed into desires, which are relatively permanent and pervade the whole of life (Chap. IV.).

Secondly, emotions, which in their origin appear at the instinctive level of human life, may be organised into sentiments, which have a profound influence on the evolution of conduct (Chap. V.).

But comprehensive as these sentiments and desires are, they may yet lead to conflict and disharmony in the moral life, unless they are unified in a permanent self. We accordingly have to examine the meaning of the self, and the importance of its habits. We have now reached the level of formed character (Chap. VI.).

Finally, we consider the self in two of the aspects of its relation to practical life, first as willing its actions, and then as judging its own and other people's thoughts and actions. The self in these two aspects is usually called will and conscience (Chap. VII.).

Throughout the whole of the first part, we are not content merely to trace the development of character. From point to point we suggest means whereby the teacher may seek to influence the growth of the child's character, when that shall seem advisable. The teacher may fairly hope to do something to help the child to desire the right things, to feel in the right way, and to form the right habits. In short, the child may be influenced to want to be good.

In Part II. it is assumed, for the most part, that the child wants to be good, and to do what is right. The great question is then asked, How is the child to know what is right and good? Part II. comprises an attempt to answer that question.

First, we consider the relation of character and conduct, and investigate what precisely we mean by conduct. We find that when we speak of a man's conduct we imply that he is free to act, that he is responsible for his actions, that he has a moral obligation to act in certain ways, and that his actions have some moral value, positive or negative (Chap. VIII.).

We then go on to consider the grounds on which we base our moral judgments, our judgments of the moral value of actions (Chap. IX.).

Then we ask whether the rightness and wrongness of actions depends on their motives or their consequences, and whether any general reasons can be given why we should do right actions and abstain from wrong ones (Chap. X.).

This leads to a recognition of the importance of duty, and a discussion of its place in the moral life (Chap. XI.).

Is duty inconsistent with pleasure? What is the significance of pleasure in life? (Chap. XII.).

We conclude that pleasure is not the only thing in life, nor is duty the only thing in life. They may come into conflict; but the good man will find that his pleasure consists in doing his duty in his own station in the community. Thus he realises his character, and fulfils his vocation (Chap. XIII.).

In the next chapter we consider the relation of character and vocation to the various virtues or types of goodness which we find realised in human actions (Chap. XIV.).

And in the last chapter we examine, in the light of character and vocation, the importance of the four great institutions of the moral life, the Family, the Church, the State, and the School (Chap. XV.).

For further reading: J. S. Mackenzie: Manual of Ethics, Introduction; J. H. Muirhead: Elements of Ethics, bk. i.; J. Dewey and J. H. Tufts: Ethics, ch. i.

Chapter 2

PART I.

THE GROUNDWORK OF CHARACTER.

CHAPTER II.

HEREDITY AND ENVIRONMENT.

§ 1. Character, Heredity, and Environment. If we examine the groundwork of character, we shall find that at any stage in the child's development his character is what it is in virtue of (1) the original inheritance which he has received from his ancestors, and (2) the modifications and alterations produced in his original nature by the influence of environment. In some children the sinews of character may be due to the former factor rather than the latter; in others, the environment may have exercised the dominant influence. But in every case the two factors are necessarily involved. Character cannot be produced by heredity alone. The child is not supplied at birth with a ready-made character, which environment can do nothing to alter or modify. On the other hand, the infant's mind is not simply a piece of blank paper on which the environment can make any marks it pleases. Environment alone does not produce character. All character arises from the interaction of both heredity and environment.

But this is not all there is to say about character. Even in its earliest years the child does not submit to be passively moulded by these two great influences. The child is not simply a mass of clay at the mercy of Heredity and Environment, the two hands of the Potter. The child himself takes a hand in the process of making his character. He reacts on the formative influences to which he is subjected, and as his system of purposes grows and his will-power develops, he definitely, though at first unconsciously, undertakes the task of fashioning his own character. Thus the three great factors in character-building are heredity, environment, and will. These are all represented in the saying, "Some men are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them." "Some men are born great"—this emphasises the importance of heredity; "some have greatness thrust upon them"—here is the factor of environment; "some achieve greatness"—this involves the activity of the man's will. But we must guard against supposing that any man's character is produced solely by heredity, or solely by environment, or solely by will. The relative importance of the three factors varies in different people, but in the formation of every character each element has had some rôle to play.

In this chapter we shall consider the significance of heredity and environment in their relation to character.

§ 2. Physical Heredity. All character has a physical basis. Every child has a body, and without a body it could have no character. In studying the development of character, we must therefore first examine the meaning of physical heredity. Heredity has been defined as the genetic relation that binds one generation to another. The individual's inheritance includes all that he is, or has, to start with, in virtue of this genetic relation. The importance of heredity is recognised in phrases that have become household words. "A chip of the old block" suggests the essential continuity of one generation with those that preceded it; and "Blood will tell" illustrates the popular conviction that the past generation determines the development of the present.

What exactly is included in the inheritance? It has been represented pictorially by President D. S. Jordan as a "pack." In The Heredity of Richard Roe, President Jordan makes an analysis of the contents of the pack with which the typical individual Richard Roe starts life. First of all, the pack contains the general characteristics of his common humanity, the general qualities that belong to him in virtue of the fact that he is a human being, and not a bird or a fish. In addition, the pack comprises the features which belong to the race of which he has been born a member. If he be of Celtic parentage, his pack will contain the characteristics of the Celtic stock. He will be fiery, but not with the passion of the South Italian; he will be imaginative, but without the mental symbolism of the Oriental. But his pack includes also those more particular characteristics which he has inherited directly from his parents—peculiar features in which he resembles them, and which mark him off as their son. And lastly, the pack will contain some elements which it is impossible to assign to any determinate quarter. These characteristics will be found in his pack, and in his alone. They are the peculiarities and idiosyncrasies which belong to him alone, and which differentiate him from all other people, even from his parents and brothers.

The proportion of this comprehensive inheritance that is due to the various generations of the child's ancestors has been calculated; and may be stated most conveniently in the form in which it was formulated by Sir Francis Galton in his Law of Ancestral Inheritance. Galton showed that on the average in every inheritance the two parents together contribute one half, the grandparents between them one quarter, and so on in the regular series ½ + ¼ + ⅛ + … This law holds good on the whole, but it gives no guidance in dealing with particular cases.

Heredity involves two aspects. "The hereditary relation is such that like tends to beget like, white at the same time opportunity is afforded for the individual new departures which we call variations. Both the tendency to persist and the tendency to diverge are included in the hereditary relation, so that it is confusing to make an absolute antithesis between heredity and variation. Heredity, seen in its fullest sense, is the larger concept, and includes both inertia and divergence, both continuance and change. Whatever be the terms used, there are two complemental facts: that like tends to beget like, yet that every new creature has in some way an individuality of its own." Both these truths are illustrated by the fact of common experience that the child is like its parents in some respects, and differs from them in others.

§3. The Principle of Stability. The principle that like tends to beget like is responsible for the fundamental identity of humanity from one generation to another. The biologist explains why like tends to beget like by the theory of the "germ-plasm." The part that the germ-plasm plays in securing the similarity of one generation to the next has been well explained by Weismann. "In development," he says, "a part of the germ-plasm contained in the parent egg-cell is not used up for the construction of the body of the offspring, but is reserved unchanged for the formation of the germ-cells of the following generation." Certain germ-cells are specially set aside to perform the function of reproduction. These cells have not been exhausted in body-building, but have preserved intact the full inheritance which the individual has received, ready to be passed on to the succeeding generation. Thus, as Professor J. Arthur Thomson says, "The parent is rather the trustee of the germ-plasm than the producer of the child."

This undying germ-plasm supplies the principle of continuity from one generation to the next. It guarantees the persistence of the same characteristics. It secures the stability of the race. The steadying influence of heredity has been corroborated by an abundance of statistics. The conservative tendency of heredity always works in the interest of mediocrity. It is constantly operating to bring men and women back to an average type. This may be illustrated from evidence with regard to height. It was found that fathers 72 inches in height had sons whose average height was 70·8 inches; while fathers 66 inches tall had sons with a mean height of 68·3 inches. In each case the average height of the sons showed a tendency to return to the normal. The fact to which this evidence bears witness is true of all human powers and capacities. The dominant tendency in heredity is for men to revert to the normal and average. What then has prevented heredity from reducing all mankind to the same dead level? The answer is found in the fact of variation.

§ 4. The Principle of Change. Variation, as we have seen, is simply one aspect of heredity. It is the tendency to diverge, as contrasted with the tendency to persist. Both tendencies spring from the same germ-plasm. The changes in individuals are really expressions of the vitality of the germ-plasm, just as their persistent similarity is. To the fact of variation is due the diversity of the world of life. No two living creatures are precisely alike. Every fir differs from its neighbour, and no two oak-leaves are exactly similar. Much greater are the differences between human beings, even though they be of the same family. Variation is responsible for all progress and all degeneration. No advance would be possible, if offspring had always exactly resembled their ancestors.

Variations are usually divided into two main kinds. Between these there are important differences.

(1) Some variations are inborn. Environment has had no influence in their production. They are inherent in the constitution of the individual, and belong to it at birth. These variations appear abruptly in the child. They cannot be accounted for by the habits or surroundings of the parents of the child in whom they make their appearance. Biologists call these variations discontinuous variations or "sports." They have collected much evidence to show that these discontinuous variations occur on a large scale among plants and animals. In human beings also there are instances. The child who is born with great musical abilities may be the son of parents quite devoid of them. Nearly every genius is a "sport" or discontinuous variation. When once discontinuous variations have occurred, they may be transmitted to offspring, and thus become a permanent heritage of the species.