Can ethics be learned? The answer is yes, surely. A staple
of world literature is the situation in which a character of
a novel, or a play, or whatever, is educated by experience. Othello
learns (too late) about love and jealously when he discovers
the wrong he has done to Desdemona. Huckleberry Finn learns about
loyalty and betrayal when he lies to protect Jim. For professionals
(including lawyers) there is a wonderful story of ethical education
in the career of young Doctor Tertius Lydgate, one of the protagonists
of George Eliot's novel, Middlemarch. The reader observes
him as he sets out on his career as an ambitious, optimistic,
somewhat callow, young physician, with a confidence in his capacity
to do good. We observe his growing subtlety and maturity as he
comes to understand that ethical choices are, at least, more
complex than he thought, and that the conscientious discharge
of his obligation requires, at least, all the ability he can
bring to the task.
Ethics can be learned, certainly, but it is not at
all clear how they are taught. Othello and Hick Finn and
Dr. Lydgate learn from their particular experience. We may learn
by reading about Othello and Huck Finn and Dr. Lydgate. They
did not learn that way, but let that be; people learn in different
ways, and others may learn in ways that they do not. Indeed,
a good deal of effort and energy goes into the task of presenting
"literature" as a presentation of edifying lessons
on goodness. You may remember the often-reprinted title page
to the original edition of Defoe's novel, Moll Flanders.
It introduces the novel as:
THE FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES OF the FAMOUS Moll Flanders,
& c. Who was Born in NEWGATE, AND DURING A Life of continu'd
Variety for Threescore Years, besides her Childhood, was Twelve
Year a Whore, five time a Wife, (whereof once to
her own Brother) Twelve Year a Thief, Eight Year
a Transported Felon in Virginia, at last grew Rich,
liv'd Honest, and died a Penitent
* * * *
Defoe may have thought that his readers would draw the right
lesson from all this, and perhaps they did, I cannot say. What
is clear is that the reader often draws lessons quite different
from the morals intended. You probably recall the case of Alex,
the young hoodlum/narrator in Anthony Burgess' novel, A Clockwork
Orange. Confined to the reformatory, Alex passes the time
by reading the Bible--hardly a typical pastime for a young public
menace. The chaplain, full of his own notions of the edifying
lessons to be derived from reading the Bible, basks in the warm
glow of Alex's newfound enthusiasm. In fact, of course, Alex
doesn't read the Bible the same way the chaplain does. What Alex
enjoys is "the scourging and the crowning with thorns. .
. ." We'll bet he is just waiting for a chance to try it
out himself.
The chaplain might regard the case of Alex as a failure, but
in an ironic sense, it was a success. Alex at least made "a
choice" of sorts and in the sense that I am using here,
it may even have been an ethical choice (though wrong).
In that sense at least, Alex's moral education is a success.
For in moral education, the goal is to see not only that the
pupil does things our way, but also that he wants
to do them our way. There is a hilarious illustration of this
distinction in Evelyn Waugh's novel Brideshead Revisited.
In Brideshead, Rex, the bluff and gullible businessman,
is about to be married. He wishes to have an elaborate Catholic
church wedding. He learns he cannot do so because he is not a
Catholic. Rex declares that this problem is easily solved. "I'll
become a Catholic," he says. "What does one have to
do?" Lady Marchmain, the mother of the bride, has her own
reservations about Rex's sincerity. But she swallows her skepticism
and retains Father Mowbray to instruct Rex in the faith. Later,
Father Mowbray reports on his progress:
"He's the most difficult convert I have ever met."
"O dear, I thought he was going to make it so easy."
"That's exactly it. I can't get anywhere near him. He
doesn't seem to have the least intellectual curiosity or natural
piety."
"The first day I wanted to find out what sort of religious
life he had till now, so I asked him what he meant by prayer.
He said: I don't mean anything. You tell me.
I tried to, in a few words, and he said: 'Right. So much for
prayer. What's the next thing?" I gave him the catechism
to take away. Yesterday I asked him whether Our Lord had more
than one nature. He said: 'Just as many as you say, Father.'
"Lady Marchmain, he doesn't correspond to any degree
of paganism known to the missionaries."
Just as many as you say, Father: It
is not his attitude to Roman Catholicism that is to topsy-turvy,
but his attitude to belief itself. That is why "he
doesn't correspond to any degree of paganism known to the missionaries."
He doesn't seem to understand that this is a situation where
it isn't enough to know "just what the rules are."
He has to obey the spirit as well as the letter, or it doesn't
count. And this is what we want an education in ethics to be.
Getting it right and wanting to get it right: as if this weren't
enough, there is a third difficulty with the teaching of ethics,
as Alex understood and Rex did not. That is the problem of "feigning."
Rex at least practiced the virtue of candor: he made no secret
of his indifference to belief. Alex, I am sure, did otherwise.
Or rather, Alex may be candid with us, the reader, but I am sure
he was nowise so candid with the chaplain. He certainly understood
that in his situation if you do not believe, still at least it
is in your interest to pretend to believe, and that pretense
alone will carry you a long way. Jonathan Swift caught the spirit
of the situation in his satire, A Tale of a Tub:
Look on this globe of earth, you will find it to be a very
complete and fashionable dress....To instance no more:
is not religion as cloak, honesty a pair of shoes,
worn out in the dirt, self-love a sordid, vanity a shirt,
a conscience a pair of breeches which, though a cover
for lewdness as well as nastiness, is easily slipped down for
the service of both?
As pupils, some of us are better at feigning than others.
On the other hand as teachers, we have varying degrees of ingenuity
at imposing our beliefs. The foil for Rex as an example of moral
education would surely be Winston Smith, the protagonist of George
Orwell's 1984, in his effort to elude the embrace of Big
Brother. Winston, like Rex, wants to learn to conform. For Winston,
as for Rex, mere outward conformity is not enough: he must make
Big Brother's rule a part of himself. Happily for Rex, but unhappily
for Winston, Big Brother is able and willing to bring Winston
to heel; but he does so by breaking his spirit. Whether through
the absence of resources or the presence of scruple, Father Mowbray
doesn't go that far.
Summarizing, then, it is very easy to identify ways in which
moral education goes wrong, and far from clear just what makes
it go right; but moral education does happen, even so. This sketch
of teaching and learning helps us to identify two points that
add bite to the notion of ethical choice. First, when a choice
is "ethical," it becomes part of my identity.
I cannot thereafter betray that commitment without damaging my
sense of myself. Othello and Huck Finn and Dr. Lydgate are changed
men at the end of their stories, and we admire them for it. Likewise
Winston Smith, and he wins our pity....
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