We all want to be good people and do good things. We would like to make the right choices, and live lives that are sincere and ethical (most of us anyway. Man United fans LITERALLY trap you in their club.) These questions obviously aren’t new; we’ve bashed our heads into walls and screamed at each other for centuries trying to figure out answers to these questions. This is what the field of normative ethics is about. They are prescriptive, so they give us systematic and coherent accounts of standards that we ought to appeal to when we make moral decisions. This is different to the field of metaethics, where we take one step back and look at what exactly “good” means. We won’t worry about that for now though, maybe I’ll write about that later.

Of the normative theories, there are two that had maintained dominance: Consequentialism and Deontology. Consequentialist theories are maximising doctrines. What that means is it seeks to generate the greatest something, and for the consequentialist, that would be well-being, or happiness, or utility. Deontologists, on the other hand, tell us that we have to follow universal rules. Immanuel Kant, a key proponent of this theory, believed that there is a “categorical imperative”. It is a rule of conduct that is unconditional for all rational, moral agents (that’s us!), and that the validity of these imperatives do not rely on any desires or any consequences — a universal law. For example, imagine someone lying (not hard if you're a MAN U fan.) The underlying principle of their action might be “I will lie if it benefits me”. These are subjective rules that guide action. But what if we universalise it? What if we apply this to everyone everywhere at all times? This is the next step. Imagine a world where it is universal law that everyone lies whenever it benefits them. This is where deontologists identify a “Contradiction in Conception”. The purpose of communication is to pass on some kind of information. It’s implicit then that we are truthful in our communication. If someone tells you something about themselves, you would typically believe them (within reason), especially when that thing is more information driven rather than just messing around. If lying were practiced universally, then the very concept of communication would be destroyed. No one would believe anyone, and no one would tell the truth. Lying literally relies on the expectation of truth from communication. If it were universal, “lying” would become very ineffective. Man United fans would have a very hard time in this kind of world.  From this type of reasoning, we can derive other duties, like “do not steal” or “keep your promises”. Kant puts it like this:

“… the moral worth of an action does not lie in the effect expected from it, nor in any principle of action which requires to borrow its motive from this expected effect. For all these effects—agreeableness of one’s condition and even the promotion of the happiness of others—could have been also brought about by other causes, so that for this there would have been no need of the will of a rational being; whereas it is in this alone that the supreme and unconditional good can be found”. — (Immanuel Kant: Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals (Part 2))

These theories do sound appealing, don’t they? After all, we should never lie, and we certainly should try to reach the best possible conclusions such that it maximises well-being. But we do need to put them under scrutiny. Let’s do that.

Confessions

Imagine you’re a priest, and as a priest, you are to adhere to the Seal of confession: the absolute duty of priests not to disclose anything learned about the person confessing, as he is the mediator between that person and God. 

During confession, a (seemingly) devout member of your congregation confesses to something that leaves you shocked: they have stolen a large amount of money from a charity he works at that provides vaccines and medicine to poor and affected countries in Africa, and this charity saves millions of children’s lives per year. This was an effortless “heist” so to speak. While he had presented himself as a kind, helpful person, and he managed to use these things to socially engineer this company. He promises to stay at the charity and pay the money back, eventually, and so he begs you not to tell anyone. If you do, he will surely go to prison, and his sick mother will likely suffer without him there. If you do nothing, you stay true to your duty to keep this secret, but if you don’t, this crime will most likely go unpunished. 

Under these circumstances, a deontologist might say that “breaking this confidentiality is wrong, and as such you must remain silent.” The sanctity of confession is concrete. It is foundational to their faith, a trust between the confessor and God. When we think about respecting people as ends in themselves, Kants categorical imperatives push towards keeping promises and being truthful. But, clearly, this conflicts with duties about inflicting harm, and justice. The priest had promised confidentiality, but the imperative to focus on the inherent worth of every individual screams at the harm being done to those children. It’s a conflict that arises from the core principles of Kantian ethics, not necessarily abstraction on its own. A consequentialist will begin weighing up the pros and cons, subtracting the 5 and working out the correct course of action. Technically speaking, the man has stopped stealing money. He does plan to pay the charity back after all, and his mother, who is sick, will surely die if left alone. Consequently, it may be a much better approach to allow him to get away with what he did. But is it morally acceptable to allow someone to get away with harming others, even if he has changed, if not doing so would harm others? Or maybe there is long-term damage of breaking the seal of confession which could outweigh immediate benefits. Perhaps people are less likely to confess serious sins if they fear their secrets won’t be kept! The loss of trust would have serious negative consequences for the community. But how does the consequentialist know this? Perhaps the consequentialist doesn’t have it any easier than the deontologist? 

Picture a more “human” scenario. It’s your friend’s big day: he’s getting married! He’s getting ready to walk down the aisle, waiting in the back, looking at his beautiful wife-to-be with tears in his eyes. He turns to you, and asks you, “be honest… how’s my outfit looking?” The outfit looks like ass. But, you know that your friend struggles with self-doubt and anxiety. You know that telling them may trigger an episode. What do we do? A strict deontologist might tell you that telling the truth is a moral duty that is derived from the categorical imperative, and as such it would prohibit lying period. In this case, you should still do your duty as a moral agent to tell the truth: his outfit is DEAD. Of course, that doesn’t mean you go outright and tell them that, let them down slowly. To lie, even with good intentions, is to violate a fundamental moral principle. A consequentialist may circumnavigate this issue, though. We don’t want our friend to ruin his big day. That could surely mess up his walk on the isle, may even prevent him from wanting to step out. We would abstain from telling him the truth in this situation, offer him reassurance and focus more on the positive aspects of his appearance and to deflect from telling him about any flaws. White lying!

Whats wrong with rules?

Nothing! Kind of. I think the issue is that a rule centred approach has the problem of rules clashing. In the case of the priest, he has the duty of confidentiality, but also to prevent harm and uphold justice. In the wedding outfit, we may feel torn between being honest and being kind, and even if we can be honest in a kind way, surely that still isn’t the best approach in this situation? Maybe our duty to tell the truth isn’t the best course of action in this scenario? Another issue is that deontology puts such a massive focus on abstract duties, but these feel very impersonal and non-human. Michael Stocker (1976) gives us an interesting scenario. Imagine you’re in the hospital, and your friend comes over to visit. As he leaves you, you tell him “thank you for coming to see me, man”. He turns around, and, to your surprise, he tells you not to mention it. Not because he truly cares for you (although that may also be true), but because it's his duty. ... Kind of a weird way to think of things, surely? We are human beings, we value care, compassion and friendship. But deontology leaves little room for human emotion. To prioritise abstract rules without considering human relationships doesn’t seem like the right way to do things. 

What about consequences?

Consequentialists, particularly utilitarians, might be a solution to the above. We should choose the action that maximises overall well-being. If causing harm to one person will prevent greater harm to others, then we should pick that option.

But does this hold up under more scrutiny? Sometimes. However, consider this: if a particular action like punishment is based purely on the consequences of an action, rather than the action being intrinsically right or wrong, then how can we, truly, rule out the possibility that we ought to punish innocent people (provided we’ve done the utilitarian calculus)? A rule-consequentialist might argue that, sure, punishing an innocent person may seem beneficial in this specific case, but we should have general rule against it to maximise overall well-being in the long run, as this would foster trust. This may be true, but what if we guarantee secrecy? If we could punish someone we knew was innocent and absolutely no one would find out that they were, and this would prevent further problems, should we do it? An act-consequentialist — someone focused primarily on the outcome of a specific action — may tell us to suck it up and do it. We may be able to justify plenty of horrors with such a simple ingredient. Consequentialist ethics may allow a normative theory of ethics such that criminals and corrupt politicians may not ever receive true justice, and may get away with any morally abhorrent acts they commit.

The theory may also be quite demanding. Especially for us human beings with emotions. If we really do commit to maximising well-being, then surely we should be maximising well-being everywhere? What’s a relaxing bath? You didn’t necessarily need it, that time could have been used to maximise well-being somewhere else. It’s clear to see that a sense of moral burnout is inevitable. It would make it difficult to commit to living ethically (under this framework, that is. It doesn’t mean you become Hitler.)

Soo, now what?

Earlier, we introduced two normative ethical theories that dominated the field of moral philosophy for decades. However, as demonstrated above, these frameworks may lack the human-aspect of morality, at least in my opinion. It doesn’t consider emotions, or the nature of human beings. It’s either too rigid or so loose that it leads to absurdities when we follow them to their logical limits. Principles and calculations they offer, but it doesn’t capture what may feel morally important in our actual lived experiences. They provide answers (and quite rigorous and brilliant ones at that) to many of the hot topics in applied ethics like abortion and euthanasia, but rarely in our lives do we use these same justifications for many of our decisions. We don’t always perform such utilitarian calculus or follow the categorical imperative. We often think about the kind of person we want to be. So where the hell do we go from here?

Well, what if, instead of focusing purely on rules and consequences, we shift our attention to character? From there, we don’t just ask, “What is the right action?” But “What kind of person should I be, and what would they do in this situation?”. This is where the third normative ethical theory, Virtue ethics, fits in. Virtue ethics has seen a very recent revival. Stemming from Aristotle, it offers a different way to think about morality. It says we should focus on cultivating virtues like honesty, kindness, courage, justice — and developing practical wisdom (phronesis), which is the ability to discern the right course of action in much more nuanced situations. It’s about becoming a certain kind of person, not following rules and consequences only.

This is the first post of my series on virtue ethics. It acts like an introduction, not so much a direct justification for virtue ethics, that will all be unravelled as time goes on. I do believe this normative theory is much more elegant in how it approaches morality. Character is so, so important, so much so that all the main ethical theories have adopted accounts of virtue into their frameworks (partly due to argumentation but also due to advances in moral psychology.) But virtue ethics is more than just an integration of virtue into another framework (this is what virtue theory is). Virtue ethics makes virtue the central idea within it. Maybe becoming a good person is much more important than simply performing good actions. We will explore these things in more detail in future posts. 

References

• _5.11: Immanuel Kant: Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals (Part 2)_. (2021, January 15). Humanities LibreTexts. Access here.
• Stocker, M. (1976). The Schizophrenia of Modern Ethical Theories. _The Journal of Philosophy_, _73_(14), 453–466. https://doi.org/10.2307/2025782
• Woodcock, N. (2019). Why Virtue Ethics? Action and motivation in virtue ethics. _Aporia_, _19_(1), Article 1. Access here.
• Zyl, L. van. (2019). _Virtue ethics: A contemporary introduction_. Routledge.