Professional Responsibility

John D. Ayer, How To Think About Bankruptcy Ethics, 60 Am. Bankruptcy L.J. 355, 359 (1986):

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....