Note: This is part 3 of a series on morality and ethics. Here are the other parts: part 1, part 2, part 4, part 5, part 6, and part 7 (plus additional posts on hypocrisy and free will). The entire series makes up the fourth chapter of my book, The Triple Path, which can be downloaded for free here in PDF and eReader formats or purchased at all major book retailers (in print and eReader formats).

 

In this part, we continue our discussion of the different schools of thought on ethics and morality.

Consequentialism

Consequentialist theories of ethics hold that the results of an act are what matter. They thus judge an act’s morality based on its consequences, not on whether it conforms to the law, or some set of moral rules, or even based on the actor’s intent. The consequentialist resolution to the “lying to the murder” scenario is that lying to the murderer is the most moral act to take, because it would achieve the result of protecting the victim.

The most well-known branch of consequentialism is utilitarianism. Eighteenth Century English philosopher Jeremy Bentham founded utilitarianism, with its “fundamental axiom” that “it is the greatest happiness of the greatest number that is the measure of right and wrong”.1 Bentham called the principle of maximizing happiness and pleasure “the principle of utility”,2 hence the name utilitarianism. Proponents of later versions of utilitarian theories have argued for maximizing other things as well, such as well-being, personal interests, and even beauty and love.

All things being equal, it would make sense that we want more well-being than less and that more happiness, beauty, and love are better than less of them. But like each moral theory, utilitarianism has its faults (many of these same criticisms can be leveled against other kinds of consequentialist theories).

One problem with pure utilitarianism is that it can be cold and impersonal, which is alienating to our innate, emotional moral sense. It just feels wrong to be so calculating in our moral judgments. A practical moral system has to take into account natural human emotion.

Another problem is that it is often hard to predict the consequences of one’s acts. The fruits of some bad decisions do not become apparent for years, or even decades—long after it is too late to do anything about the bad choice. It is also difficult to sort out competing interests, such as when an act has bad consequences for some and good consequences for others; or when it brings huge positive consequences for a few people, but small negative consequences for a lot of others; or when it brings small, diffuse positive consequences for a lot of people, but huge negative consequences for a few. It would be easy to make compelling arguments for either side in many of these kinds of situations.

Bentham came up with equations to show how to compare and evaluate different kinds of pain and pleasure to determine their relative worth. Even with equations, though, how precise can you be when measuring and comparing subjective human experiences? And how practical is it to work out equations when trying to make a decision in the heat of the moment?

If you noticed that some of these critiques of utilitarianism sound similar to the criticisms above about Sam Harris’s conception of ethics, that is because Harris’s system is a kind of utilitarianism.

Because it has to account for so many competing interests, and because of the problems in accurately measuring utility, Utilitarianism makes it too easy to rationalize what would be good for you and costly for some­one else. No one is omniscient, and no one is purely selfless; it is easy to convince yourself that what you want is also moral. This is especially true with Utilitarianism, which tends to eliminate any kind of transcendent authority that is over the system. Relying exclusively on utilitarianism means that the human rule-makers at the top can too easily justify moral rules they have created for their own benefit.

The communists who starved millions to death, sent millions more to their deaths at gulags and reeducation camps, and who committed genocide against their own people rationalized the bloody horror of their acts with utilitarian excuses.

Utilitarianism is not the only type of consequentialist ethics.

Ethical egoism teaches that each individual should maximize his own self-interest. Economists and libertarians love this one. The tremendous success of modern capitalism shows how well this principle can work to create a thriving, prosperous society. When taken to extremes, however, or when held up as the highest value, ethical egoism can go very wrong: just look at the general economic stagnation experienced by most people in the West since the 1970s, as the wealthy have captured for themselves almost all the extra income productivity gains; or at the causes (and effects) of the financial collapse of 2008; or at the moral malaise of modern times, as people are increasingly seen, and treated as, nothing more than economic production units.

Ethical altruism takes the opposite stance, saying that the morality of your acts depend on how they impact other people, regardless of the consequences to yourself. There are many examples of self-sacrifice that we all recognize as noble and commendable. The main problem, though, is that too strong a focus on selfless altruism makes it too easy for freeriders to take advantage. Furthermore, many people claiming (even to themselves) to be altruists are not necessarily acting out of pure motives. As philosopher Max Scheler said, altruism is not noble when “love for the small, the poor, the weak, and the oppressed is really disguised hatred, repressed envy, and impulse to detract. . . directed against the opposite phenomena: wealth, strength, power, largess”.3

Deontology defines morality in terms of ensuring your actions conform to the rules and fulfill your duties, while consequentialism defines it in terms of the results of your acts. The last of the major three schools of ethics focuses on neither.

Virtue Ethics

In virtue ethics, having a virtuous character is seen as its own end, not as a means toward some other greater end. In virtue ethics, you cannot reduce virtue to some other more important ought, such as maximizing utility or fulfilling your duty. Beyond just having a virtuous character, though, virtue ethics also requires having what is usually translated from Ancient Greek as “practical wisdom”, which means being able to figure out what is right in a given situation. These ancient ideas obviously have had a strong influence on the Triple Path.4

In contrast to virtue ethics, many modern theories explain why people conform to laws and norms in terms of maximizing their personal self-interest. For example, the “control theory of deviant behavior” holds that:

[p]eople conform when they believe they have more to lose by being detected in deviance than they stand to gain from the deviant act. Some people deviate while others conform because people differ in their stakes in conformity. That is, some people simply have far less to lose than do others. A major stake in conformity lies in our attachments to other people. Most of us conform in order to maintain the good opinion of our friends and family. But some people lack attachments. Their rates of deviance are much higher than are those of people with an abundance of attachments.5

These types of theory describe only a part of human nature. They fail to adequately account for why people who have a lot to lose sometimes go against the majority and stand up for what they believe in, even at tremendous cost to themselves. Most people in Nazi Germany or Stalinist Russia or Maoist China kept their heads down and went along with the rest of their society, but not all of them.

Most people want to do the right thing and have an inherent sense of morality. I suspect that many or most of the people who went along with the Nazi, Stalinist, or Maoist re­gimes privately disagreed with them, but lacked the moral courage to stand up and say so.

This is where virtue ethics has tremendous power. It helps explain why people act morally even when there is little personal upside, but still much personal risk: because they have an inherent sense of morality and enough moral courage to act on it. Beyond just its explanatory power, virtue ethics has transformatory power to help us develop the necessary moral courage to stand up for what is right. Virtue ethics helps us become the kind of people who would stand up to a Hitler, Stal­in, or Mao in power over us.

Critics of virtue ethics question its potential universality, given cultural differences in what is considered virtuous. Furthermore, they charge that its focus on personal character attributes, as opposed to right action, means that it cannot provide clear rules to follow.

Furthermore, critics argue that while you cannot get from is to ought, the ought cannot ignore the is. There are limits on what is possible and what can be expected of people. The virtues and behaviors expected of people must take into account our human limitations and the limitations of existence.

These criticisms are worth considering. On the other hand, virtue ethics has survived since the times of Ancient Greece until now, and is still taken seriously as a way of approaching morality. It most definitely should play a big part in how we conceive of morality.

In the next post, we will continue discussing the different schools of thought on morality and ethics, focusing on two of the newest schools of thought: moral relativism and pragmatism.

 

 

Footnotes