Problems of Ethics

There is no doubt that humans are driven to action by motives that take the form of goals, i.e., representations of the good to be achieved through action. Thus arises the question: what constitutes the ultimate aim or highest good for which all other desires exist? To this question, hedonism responds: it is pleasure; it is that for which all else is desired. In opposition to this stands another perspective, which posits the highest good not in subjective feelings of pleasure, but in the objective content of life, or, since life manifests itself through activity, in a specific manner of expressing vital activity; let us permit ourselves to call this perspective energetism.

Another indisputable fact is that individuals judge the actions and behaviors of both others and themselves through predicates—good and bad. The conduct and mindset of a person evoke feelings of pleasure or displeasure in the observer; if these feelings become habitual, they give rise to affections of respect or contempt. If these feelings pertain to one’s own self, to one’s past existence and conduct, we refer to them as remorse or anxiety of conscience, or conversely, self-respect and peace of mind. If, however, they relate to potential future actions, we denote them as a sense of duty, an obligation, or the feeling of what ought or ought not to be done. This entire aspect of our being, through which we reflect upon ourselves as wanting or acting beings, is termed conscience.

The question then arises: from where does this judgment derive its foundations, being from the outset independent of judgments concerning what is beneficial or harmful to me? What serves as the measure by which moods and actions are evaluated in relation to their moral worth? To this question, there exists again a dual response:

1. The moral law, which each person carries within themselves, serves as the standard of moral worth: an action is deemed good when the will is aligned with the moral law.
2. Alternatively, the measure is the effect of an action on the well-being of all those whom it affects. This distinction represents the divide between formalist and teleological moral philosophies.

The opposition between hedonism and energetism reflects the fundamental divergence that dominated Greek moral systems: Aristippus and Epicurus align with the former, while Plato, Aristotle, and the Stoics adhere to the latter. In modern philosophy, the hedonistic perspective is primarily favored by proponents of English empiricism and analytical psychology; Jeremy Bentham and James Mill are its most consistent representatives. They assert that psychological analysis reveals that every action, without exception, is determined by the motive of achieving pleasure and avoiding pain. According to this view, the maximum of pleasure and minimum of displeasure represent the necessary goal of human will. Representatives of "energetism" in its various forms include Hobbes, Spinoza, Shaftesbury, Leibniz, and Wolff: self-preservation, the pursuit of one’s will, the freedom of rational thought in true cognition, harmonious development, and the manifestation of all powers—these are the formulas of this understanding. Recently, evolutionary ethical philosophy has arrived at a similar viewpoint: a certain type of life and its manifestations in activity represent the actual aim of all life and aspiration.

I contend that the truth lies with energetism. Analytical psychology is mistaken if it believes that the motive of human will is universally represented by the idea of pleasure; this is a flawed theory of will, presupposing that will arises solely from experiences of pleasure and pain. The situation does not unfold such that initially, due to eating or sexual activity, the feeling of pleasure is aroused, and only thereafter does this experience of pleasure engender an expectation, and from expectation, a desire directed towards these things; nor does it occur such that the feelings of displeasure are first eliminated through these activities, and then, due to experience, a constant attraction is established. On the contrary, attraction is the initial determination of being; in consciousness, it manifests not as suffering, but as a felt inclination, desire, or eagerness towards a specific activity, and only then does the feeling of pleasure arise when this attraction finds satisfaction, or suffering occurs if it is suppressed. Were it not for this attraction, there would be no discourse on pleasure or displeasure. The same applies to the higher impulses of will: the striving towards specific activities—running and jumping, play and creativity, struggle and dominance, thought and poetry—emerge in life at their own time, without any preceding feelings of suffering aimed at their removal, nor are feelings of pleasure conceived as the aim of the activity. Thus, we shall assert: the aim towards which will is directed is not in the maximum of pleasure but in the normal expression of vital activities to which the species is predisposed. In humans, the direction of life activities is generally determined by the content of historical life unity, of which the individual grows a part. Here, too, it occurs that with the increasing development of life, the objective content of life enters consciousness, directing will; the life type becomes a representable life ideal. Any objective form of existence or life activity—be it the life of a warrior, explorer, saint, spouse and mother, or a nurse—becomes, in individual processing, a goal that attracts will. The attainment of this goal yields a sense of satisfaction; discontent and inner discord follow failure.

Thus, the task of ethics will be to outline the form of human life to which its nature is predisposed. Certainly, it cannot present the content of life or the ideal of an individual in concreto; this is the work of creative nature and, in a certain sense, art; science is limited to describing those forms within which only a genuinely perfect human life can manifest, fulfilling human will and providing lasting satisfaction. This occurs in the study of virtues and duties, which, however, in their concrete development, are always determined by the people and the time. Ethics, therefore, has a relation to life similar to that of grammar to language, aesthetics to art, and dietetics to physical life: it delineates the forms of what is possible and permissible, again allowing for the most diverse implementations. The perfect, like the beautiful, is not a one-form type but an infinite variety of individual formations. As for the morally bad or evil, ethics will seek to articulate it similarly to how medical dietetics examines physical injuries, weaknesses, and deformities; just as these cases are viewed as consequences of external obstacles and injuries that hinder the natural tendency towards normal development, so ethics will attribute the bad and the evil not to the genuine will of the being, which must rather be presumed to be directed towards normal development and activity in the sense of human perfection, but to unfavorable conditions of development, under which the natural predisposition has suffered and undergone distortions. That the evil is contrary to the true will of the being, and that even in the evil person there lies, deep within their essence, an inclination towards the will of God, is, ethics will add, evidenced by the fact that evil is always accompanied by inner unrest; this is a reaction of the fundamental will against momentary excitements or against the hyperdeveloped aspects of the life of impulses, which seem to violate it. This sketches a dietetic mode of action: to eliminate the unfavorable circumstances leading to distortion and to assist the true will in opposing deformities through limitation and support.

We turn to the opposition between teleological and formalist philosophies of morality. The former is common in Greek philosophy; all agree that the distinction of moral qualities of conduct ultimately rests upon the differences in those actions likely to be produced by varying forms of conduct; all construct ethics from the perspective of the highest good, defined by all as happiness, eudaimonia. Another form aligns more closely with the philosophy of morality defined by Christianity: good and evil are determined not by the relationship of actions to a goal, but by their relation to the absolutely real law of God, as taught by the Church. The new philosophy, in its initial epoch, again returns to the teleological direction; we find it in Spinoza and Wolff, Shaftesbury and Hume. A strong reaction against "eudaimonistic" morality in favor of formalism begins with Kant; it continues to exert influence in German philosophy even to this day.

Indeed, the formalist philosophy of morality, at first glance, possesses an exceedingly evident quality: actions are deemed good or bad not by their consequences but by their intrinsic nature; lying and deceit are inherently wrong, independent of their outcomes; similarly, honesty and self-control are good in and of themselves. Or, to echo Kant: a good will is the only thing that is good in itself; it possesses absolute worth, entirely independent of what it accomplishes or produces. This assertion holds its own valid sense. Nevertheless, it is impossible to stop there. It is said that to act justly is good, while to act unjustly is bad, regardless of the actual consequences of a given action; the matter is resolved by disposition, not by consequences, which are always problematic. Of course, one might assert that the judgment of a particular action rests solely upon the disposition from which it arises. But would the concepts of just and unjust still hold if a person's actions had no effect, nor could have any effect, on the state of others? Clearly, no. Should the worth of an action, despite this, be entirely and unequivocally independent of its consequences? Would we truly label an unjust act as bad and reprehensible even if it consistently and by its nature benefited all concerned? If lying were inherently inclined to serve the deceived and engender trust in the deceiver, would people still hold the view that lying is wrong? Could this judgment be akin to some axiomatic proposition or perceptual judgment for which no basis can be provided? Or, conversely, is it possible to point out the grounds for why it is better to act moderately and thoughtfully, justly and truthfully, peacefully and benevolently, rather than the opposite?

I believe such a foundation exists; it is precisely that which is expressed in the thousands of proverbs arising from the experience of all peoples: lying, injustice, and intemperance are the ruin of humanity; they destroy not only individual lives but also entire nations; conversely, justice and prudence are pathways to the good. Indeed, to admit that actions influence the state of individuals and then nonetheless deny that these influences determine their worth is somewhat analogous to a form of teleophobia that posits: since we have eyes, we see, but our eyes are not for the purpose of seeing. Here too: virtues contribute to the preservation of life, while vices lead to its destruction, yet the judgment of their worth does not depend on this.

Thus, the task of ethics will consist precisely in establishing a teleological perspective in detail and demonstrating how life—human spiritual life—is preserved and enhanced by virtues, while vices, on the contrary, lead to destruction and constraint. Honesty is good, while theft in any form is bad; theft undermines the life of the victim first and then that of the thief; it deprives the latter of the benefit of labor—after all, a thief does not work; finally, it destroys the security of property, which in turn hinders the acquisition of property; nations without secure property become impoverished; and property is a fundamental prerequisite for any higher development of human spiritual life. Thus, truthfulness is good, and lying is bad, for the latter, aside from the disruptions it causes within a close circle (the delusion of the deceived and the isolation of the liar), has the secondary effect of generally undermining trust among people; trust is a fundamental condition for the social life of humanity, and without society, there is no true human life. Similarly, the violation of the sanctity of marriage and promiscuity are bad because they deplete the personal life of the wrongdoer and tend to disrupt healthy family life, which is the root of healthy human life in general; conversely, living purely and chaste is good, as it acts in a preserving manner—both physically and spiritually. Thus, it holds everywhere: certain modes of behavior are good to the extent that they tend to preserve and enhance human life’s goods; others are unworthy and bad because they tend to destroy the conditions for a healthy, beautiful, and spiritually rich human existence. Since well-being is perceived through feelings of satisfaction, and misfortune and decline through feelings of discontent, one might also say: virtue is the path to happiness, while vice is the path to unhappiness. Pleasure, according to Aristotle's view, follows from perfect activity as an unintended secondary result.

I will add a few remarks to safeguard this perspective from misunderstandings and objections. The confusion surrounding this point, it seems to me, chiefly arises from the failure to distinguish between two types of judgments prompted by every action: between a subjective judgment—regarding the moral worth of the will manifested in the action—and an objective judgment—concerning the worth of the mode of behavior as such. The former exclusively considers disposition: an action is morally good if it arises from a good will, that is, a will determined by a consciousness of duty, regardless of its consequences. However, ethics does not deal exclusively or primarily with this; certainly, it must, along with Kant, affirm and emphasize that the moral worth of a person depends not on what he accomplishes and brings into the world but on the sincerity with which he performs what he perceives and understands as his duty. Yet its true task is another: to unveil the objective worth of actions and modes of behavior. This latter does not depend on disposition. Crispin's theft (using an old school example) arises from good intentions and thus is deemed a good act, but it remains a reprehensible mode of behavior, as theft, as such, undermines the structure of property, irrespective of the thief's intent. Furthermore, the judgment of subjective thought ultimately reduces to a teleological foundation: a good will is ultimately good because it is good for something—specifically, because it tends to lead to actions and behaviors that possess objective worth, that is, those that positively influence life towards human perfection.

Moreover, I note that the standard by which the philosophy of morality measures the worth of behavior is not or cannot also be the motive of actions. The actual motives of actions are inclinations, habits, principles, specific goals, and conceptions of what constitutes duty or propriety. Thus it is now and will always be; the general intention to promote the welfare of humanity will never serve as a motive for actions; it cannot be, for the welfare of humanity cannot be represented in concrete terms, and also because it is impossible to calculate how the actions of a particular deed relate to this ultimate goal. The actions of any deed extend infinitely; even the immediate consequences for the doer and his environment cannot be calculated, let alone the indirect ones; consider the influence through example, habit, and heredity. If one were required to calculate all possible favorable and unfavorable consequences before every decision, actions would never come to fruition. Hence, we have the abbreviated form of action; actions are usually automatic reactions that circumstances and prompts invoke without special calculations; the determining factors for the form of the reaction are merely the inclinations and habits, morals and principles just named. Therefore, the cultivation of correct—i.e., generally purposive or beneficial—automatisms holds great significance for life.

Here it is remarkable that collective beings, of which individuals are members—nations—develop automatic forms of reactions to address specific life tasks, with the inherent purposiveness characteristic of all organic beings: these are morals, understood here as all obligatory modes of behavior and actions for the members of the national body, including legal forms of life. By this means, individuals are freed from the insurmountable task of calculating consequences. They now act as dictated by morals and law, thereby avoiding both the uncertainty of calculation before action and the insecurity regarding consequences after action; they, in any case, act as a decent, "moral" person ought to act in such a situation. Just as in animal life, individuals are relieved of deliberation and calculation of what is useful and necessary for sustaining and continuing life by instincts, so humans are freed from all this by morals. Just as inherited forms of reactions generally determine activity in terms of preserving the individual and species, so do acquired morals based on inherited instincts play this role here; initially, as in the former case, there is no conscious understanding of the purposiveness of actions in accordance with morals. A primitive person knows of morals, which distinguishes him from an animal that is unaware of instincts; but he does not know why morals hold authority: they exist within him as objective reason rather than as subjective. Only reflection, culminating in ethics, leads to an understanding of the teleological necessity of morals.

From this, the nature of conscience emerges. Conscience, in its origin, is nothing more than knowledge of customs; for instance, the individual knows what behavior is prescribed to him by morals concerning the opposite sex; through upbringing, societal judgments about what is decent and indecent, lawful and unlawful, and through religious commandments that have been imprinted upon him since childhood, he learns how he ought to act. This “ought” serves as a constant and unconditionally necessary norm against which he measures what is, reminding and urging him; it warns and punishes him. This “ought” is not alien to his own will; he desires that the norm maintains its authority, that customs are upheld; he constantly demands this from others because he wishes for the society—the historical living entity—to endure and thrive to which he belongs. Only incidentally and occasionally does discord arise between the “ought” and immediate desire or isolated passion. Indeed, it is precisely then that the “duty” most prominently asserts itself in consciousness; hence it may seem that the opposition between duty and inclination is an essential phenomenon of morality.

At a higher stage of development, conscience takes on a new form; it becomes, in accordance with the individualization of spiritual life, an individual life ideal that rises even against established customs. This has occurred in all significant transformations of moral and religious life, and it constitutes the gravest tragic conflict: to contend for a higher morality against the prevailing conventional morality and to endure its judgment. Jesus and His disciples underwent this struggle: customs and law, the temple and the Sabbath—these are not the highest; the Kingdom of God is greater. Therefore, the citizen of the Kingdom of God transcends the law.