# An Introduction to Ethics, for Training Colleges/Chapter 11

CHAPTER XI.
THE PLACE OF DUTY IN THE MORAL LIFE.
§ 1. Moral Obligation. So far we have been considering conduct from the point of view of the rightness and wrongness of the actions in which it consists. We examined the various sanctions of conduct, and concluded that while these sanctions are of educational value in persuading children to do the right, they are not to be regarded as reasons why the good should be done. There is no reason why we should do the right except simply that it is right. What is right is what I have morally got to do. It is my duty to do the right. If I am morally healthy, the right action presents itself to me as the action that I am morally bound to do. It is my "bounden duty."
This consciousness of moral obligation is possible only to a growing self. It is possible only to a self that is aware of its own imperfection, and also of an ideal perfection which it has not yet attained. The sense of moral obligation implies that the self is aware that it ought to perform a certain action. Now, if the self is morally healthy, as soon as it perceives what it ought to do, it will do it. If it is morally healthy, it will regard what it ought to do as the only ​conceivable course of action for it. But if the self be weak, it may do what it ought not to do, though it realises all the time what it ought to do. Now, whether it actually does what it ought to do, or what it ought not to do, it is equally conscious of moral obligation. It feels that a duty is laid upon it. When it does what it ought to do, it is conscious that it has done its duty: when it does what it ought not to do, it is conscious that it has not done its duty. In both cases alike, the consciousness of duty, of moral obligation, is involved.
§2. Why is it Hard to do our Duty? Some people find it easy to do their duty. But for the average man it is exceedingly hard. To do our duty involves a moral struggle. The reason for this is that our duty very often conflicts with our inclinations. It is contrary to our desires. It is not in the line of our interests. Duty makes certain requirements to which we have a natural aversion. Duty seems to have an uncanny way of running counter to our wants and preferences.
The child early learns this characteristic of duty. Just when it is most interested in its mud-pies, Duty calls it to be tidied, to be taken to the drawing-room, to be displayed to people in whom it takes no interest whatever. Just when its bricks are rising into the most enchanting castle, Duty summons it to bed. And so on indefinitely. The average child would probably define duty as "what you don't want to do."
The associations which duty thus early acquires often continue to cling to it. There seems to be a natural warfare between duty and our desires and ​inclinations. Now, as we recognised in a previous chapter, the inclinations and desires are natural to man. Without them human life would not be possible. Even if we would, we could not destroy them all. But the progress of the moral life consists in controlling and organising them. Every time a desire is restrained there is a contest for supremacy between inclination and duty. We want to satisfy the desire, but we know that it is our duty to repress it. Because our impulses are so spontaneous, our appetites so insistent, and our desires so importunate, duty must again and again come into conflict with them. Thus we come to regard the law of duty as set over against our lawless and unruly impulses and desires.
But we must not make the mistake of thinking that duty never conflicts with anything but impulse and passion. It may be our duty to gratify a natural appetite or impulse against a formed and consistent habit of life. The scientist may become so engrossed in his experiments that he may forget for a day at a time the need of satisfying the natural appetite of hunger. Here it is his duty to leave his laboratory for a few minutes to satisfy his bodily needs. The student may be so anxious about his work that he neglects natural desires for relaxation. In such a case it is his duty to play tennis of an evening for the sake of his health. Again, it may be a business-man's duty to obey an impulse of pity, in opposition to his formed habit of life, which tells him that it is "unbusinesslike." In all these cases, though duty lies on the side of appetite and impulse and instinct, it is always in conflict with the dominant interest. ​The scientist's interest is concentrated on his experiment, and that is why he finds it hard to do his duty by interrupting it and satisfying his hunger. The student's interest is engrossed in his studies, and the business-man's interest is wholly engaged by his business. It is difficult for them to do their duty in obeying natural impulses, because these run counter to their dominant interests.
We may state, then, the general truth that it is hard for us to do our duty, because Our duty so often conflicts with our dominant interests. The stress and strain of the moral life arise from the conflict of duty and interest. But it is not necessary that duty and interest should always be opposed. Duty and interest may be in perfect accord. And one of the great tasks of the moral teacher, as we shall see more fully later on, is to educate men so that their interests may be in harmony with their duty.
§ 3. Rules of Duty. We have seen that even when we clearly recognise what our duty is, it may be hard to do it. But it is often equally difficult to know what our duty is. What is my duty? Can ethics give any answer to that question? Can ethics give any list of rules, by following which we may be sure always to know what our duty is? In other departments of knowledge and behaviour such systems of rules do exist. The child is early given a set of rules with regard to good manners. In most of the arts there are bodies of rules, which are always or generally true, and by acting in accordance with which the student is likely to turn out good work. Is there anything corresponding to this in ethics? Are there definite rules of conduct, obedience to which ​will guarantee right action? Now, there certainly are vast numbers of moral rules, in which the child is often instructed with much earnestness and persistence. "Under all variety of circumstances, in season and often out of season, we are fed on a diet of line upon line and precept upon precept. Children find precepts on the walls of their nurseries, and boys and girls in the headings of their copy-books. When the country girl leaves her home, it is with a precept her mother bids her farewell; and it is with a precept that the father sends out his boy to make his way in the world."
There is no doubt that the moral experience of mankind is to a large extent embodied in these precepts, whether they be commonplaces of moralists, lines from the poets, proverbs of the people, or commandments of God. And it is natural that these moral rules should have an influence in shaping the lives of men and women.
(1) Yet the ethical value of such moral rules is very limited. If, in a concrete situation, we merely act according to a moral rule, in accordance with a formula which we have learnt by rote, our action really has no moral value. This follows from all that was said in the previous chapter. If a moral action is simply in accordance with a moral rule, simply in blind conformity to it, then the action is not really a moral action. It has no motive. If I respect my parents simply because the fifth commandment enjoins that duty, then my action has strictly no moral value. (2) Precepts of all kinds are often mere counsels ​of prudence. The duties they advise are those which are calculated to make a man "Healthy, wealthy, and wise." Now, health, wealth, and wisdom are all desirable; but they do not constitute the moral end. Duty looks to a far higher ideal than that. And if we pay too much attention to precepts and proverbs, we are apt to discover that it is perilously easy to find precepts to justify any action that is most convenient and profitable to ourselves. It is wonderful how readily we can find particular precepts to support what we want to do, even if we know that what we want to do is really wrong.
(3) But even if we are sincere in seeking the help of precepts, even if we apply to them not to give us good reasons for doing what is wrong, but to guide us in moral perplexities to do what is right, we discover that they are of very little practical assistance. If we think of one precept which advises one course of action, we are pretty sure to remember another which counsels precisely the opposite. It is notorious that precepts, especially those that have become proverbial, contradict one another. "We have a dozen to tell us that honesty is the best policy; a dozen more to say that the children of this world are wiser than the children of light. Some to declare that like draws to like, and others that extremes meet; a host to persuade us that to hesitate is to be lost, and we are almost persuaded—till we remember that second thoughts are best. As many to decide that it is never too late to mend; and as many more to pronounce that as the tree falls so it must lie."
​Even when rules of conduct have been organised into a system and become a definite moral code, it may be impossible to apply them in concrete moral situations. If we attempt to apply the Ten Commandments, we soon find that it may be impossible to observe one commandment without breaking another. Conflicts may take place between two commandments. In all such cases of conflict, we are bound to ask, Which law has superior authority? Which is the greatest commandment? Which is the supreme principle of duty?
A comprehensive principle of duty was suggested by Kant and formulated thus: "Act only on that maxim which thou canst at the same time will to become a universal law." Unless I am ready to will that the act which I am going to perform should become a universal law, and be performed by all other human beings, my act is not right. Telling the truth is right, because I can will that everybody should always tell the truth. Committing suicide is wrong, because if I willed that suicide should become universal, the whole human race would disappear. And I cannot will that. Giving way to utter idleness is wrong, for I cannot will that all men should live in idleness and fail to develop their faculties.
Kant illustrates the working of the principle in detail. "A man finds himself forced by necessity to borrow money. He knows that he will not be able to repay it, but sees also that nothing will be lent to him, unless he promises stoutly to repay it in a definite time. He desires to make this promise, but he has still so much conscience as to ask himself: Is it not unlawful and inconsistent with duty to get ​out of a difficulty in this way? Suppose, however, that he resolves to do so, then the maxim of his action would be expressed thus: When I think myself in want of money, I will borrow money, and promise to repay it, although I know that I never can do so. Now this principle of self-love or of one's own advantage may perhaps be consistent with my whole future welfare; but the question now is, Is it right? I change then the suggestion of self-love into a universal law, and state the question thus: How would it be if my maxim were a universal law? Then I see at once that it could never hold as a universal law of nature, but would necessarily contradict itself. For, supposing it to be a universal law that everyone when he thinks himself in a difficulty should be able to promise whatever he pleases, with the purpose of not keeping his promise, the promise itself would become impossible, as well as the end that one might have in view in it, since no one would consider that anything was promised to him, but would ridicule all such statements as vain pretences."
A moral principle such as this may be of considerable value in helping us to see that certain actions really are wrong. Many people who would scorn to steal will cheerfully evade the income-tax. They might be surprised if such evasion were named theft. But it certainly is theft, for I am really stealing from the State the sum that I ought to have paid, and indirectly I am taking it from the pockets of each and all of my neighbours. The wrongness of the evasion becomes very evident, if an attempt is ​made to universalise it. Can I will that everybody shall evade his income-tax? I cannot, and therefore see clearly that the action is wrong.
But even such a comprehensive principle as this is inadequate to the complexity of life. For it altogether excludes exceptions. And morality is really made up of exceptional cases, in the sense that the moral life consists of particular actions, and particular actions are always performed in particular circumstances. An action that may be right under certain conditions may be quite wrong in other circumstances. There is no moral rule, however comprehensive, which may not have to be broken under certain circumstances. It is a fundamental moral principle that murder is a sin. But who would say that the man who in the Indian Mutiny killed his wife to prevent her falling into the hands of the mutinous sepoys did wrong? Again, it is a sin to tell a lie. But under certain circumstances, it may be quite right to speak falsely with the intention of deceiving. In war it is right for a captured soldier to give false information to his captors. Perhaps ordinary morality may exclaim, "Oh, but I don't call that a lie." It is a lie. But the duty always to tell the truth has been overborne by a higher duty.
Are we then to conclude that moral rules are simply made to be broken? Hardly so. Moral rules, as we have seen, do have a certain value. They do hold true on the whole. They are like rules in medicine, which are true in most cases, and are helpful in dealing with most instances of the diseases to which they apply. But they are always liable to ​exception. Peculiar cases may occur in which they do not apply. The good doctor recognises that his rules are true only on the whole, and that he must not follow them blindly. He must use his insight to decide when they are inapplicable. It is very similar with ethics. The good man will bear in mind the moral rules which he has been taught, the proverbs and commandments which have helped to shape his life, but he will remember that they are always liable to exception, and he will use his moral insight to decide when and where they apply. But while we recognise that all moral rules are liable to exception, it is worth noticing the kind of exception of which they admit. A law of duty must never be broken to satisfy a whim or desire. Never break a law of duty simply to please yourself. One moral rule may be broken only for the sake of a higher moral rule. A duty may be ignored or postponed only for the sake of an over-ruling duty.
§ 4. The Authority of Duty. The conception of duty always involves the consciousness of the existence of some authority with which the duty is invested and by which it is commanded. We commonly speak of duties being "laid upon us," of obligations "imposed upon us"; and these phrases indicate that there is some authority which imposes the duty. What is the authority?
The authority of the moral law is only gradually apprehended. In the mind of the child the moral law seems to be embodied in the will of its mother and father. For the child their commands constitute the moral law: their commands have absolute authority. But his parents may be the first to ​point out to him that their commands are not simply theirs. They rest on some more ultimate authority.
They may suggest that the ultimate moral authority is the law of the land. What the law of the land commands is right, and what it forbids is wrong. But this conception of the authority of the moral law is defective; and in two ways. In the first place, the law of the land is not so comprehensive as the moral law. The law of the land places no restriction upon a host of actions which the moral law declares to be wrong. The moral law states that they are wrong, whether they are punishable under the law of the land or not. Further, it is simply not true that the authority of the moral law or duty depends on the law of the land. It is the other way about. The law of the land depends for its authority on the moral law. An action is not wrong because the law of the land says it is wrong. The law of the land says it is wrong because it is wrong, and unless the act is wrong in itself, the law of the land cannot make it so. There is an authority superior to the law of the land.
Does this authority reside in the will of God? Such a code of moral law as the Ten Commandments derives its authority from the will of Jehovah. The moral laws of the Mohammedans are dependent for their authority on the will of Allah as revealed in the Koran. But the moral consciousness soon begins to perceive defects in this formulation of the authority of the moral law. The will of God is revealed in various Holy Books, the Bible, the Koran, and so on. Now the moral laws enshrined in these ​revelations of God's will are not consistent. The different statements of the moral law conflict. For instance, the Bible says that polygamy is wrong, whereas the Koran says that it is right. The question therefore arises, Which statement is true? Which is the supreme authority? The Christian will say the authority of the Bible, and the Mohammedan the authority of the Koran; and it will be impossible to reach any agreement. But we have already seen that the authority of the moral law must be absolute, and its commands must be universally binding. The law of God is authoritative only to the man who believes in God. But the moral law of duty must carry a universal obligation.
And there is a further defect which is characteristic of all these views of the nature of moral authority. The authority to which they appeal is always external. It is always imposed from outside. The authority of parents, the authority of the law of the land, and the authority of God are all alike in this, that the seat of the authority is external to the agent himself. Now a duty is a moral duty only when it is self-imposed. A duty is my duty only when I recognise that, whatever external sanctions it may possess, it is laid upon me by myself. My conscience acknowledges that it is a duty for me, and my will imposes it upon me as a line of action that ought to be carried out. The duty is an obligation laid upon the self by the self.
§ 5. Duty and the Self. This aspect of duty is usually expressed by ethical writers in the statement that in morality the will should be autonomous. The will should not be at the mercy of any authority ​outside it and foreign to its nature. The will must be its own master, and when it obeys a paramount authority it does so because it acknowledges that the authority has a right to command. It recognises the authority as cognate to itself, and itself wills the action that authority commands. Its obedience to authority is not externally compelled: it is freely willed. The self must itself will to perform its duties.
This does not mean that the self is at liberty to regard as its duty any line of action it pleases to choose. In general, it is a man's duty to conform to the obligations which established authority imposes. But he should learn to appreciate why they are duties. Obedience to authority rests on the assumption that the moral experience of generations of men, which has been embodied in the existing moral authority, is likely to contain much that is true and good. The individual's moral judgments are very apt to be warped by passions and emotions; and he should make very sure of himself before opposing established moral authority. In particular, Green has suggested the useful practical maxim, "While a man may not go far wrong in imposing on himself some new restraint which is not generally recognised by his contemporaries, he ought to hesitate very much longer before he allows himself any indulgence which the accepted morality condemns."
There are certain duties which are expected of every member of the community. It is a duty for every man to tell the truth, to be honest, to pay his debts, to earn his living, and so on. But over and above these general duties, which are common to ​all members of the community, and are imposed by the general moral authority of the community as a whole, there is a host of special duties which are obligatory on a man in virtue of the particular position he occupies in the community. Every citizen has some position in the State, and enters into some relationships with his fellow-men. These positions and relationships not only enrich him with certain privileges and invest him with certain rights, but they also make certain demands on him and imply certain duties. Thus, in a man's domestic relationships, as a son or brother or husband or father, he finds that certain duties pertain to him. These duties vary according to the relationship in which he stands. The duties of the son are not those of the father. Again, the particular calling which a man adopts carries with it a system of particular duties which are obligatory upon him in virtue of his calling. These duties vary according as he is a doctor, clergyman, lawyer, artisan, labourer or soldier. But in addition to these particular groups of duties, each man has duties which are peculiar to him, and in which no one else can share. These duties he can recognise as duties only by a kind of moral insight. No moral rules will help him here. In order to realise his duties he must cultivate the duteous spirit, the attitude of conscientiousness.
For further reading: J. H. Muirhead: Elements, bk. iv. ch. i.; J. S. Mackenzie: Manual, bk. ii. ch. iii., bk. iii. ch. iii.; Kant: Metaphysic of Morals, first section. T. H. Green: Prolegomena to Ethics, §§ 206-217.
* ↑ MacCunn: The Making of Character, p. 179.
* ↑ MacCunn; The Making of Character, p. 181.
* ↑ The Metaphysic of Morals (Abbott's translation), p. 40.