Can Virtue Be Taught?

(And, If So, Should It Be Taught?)

by

Roger J. Rigterink and David Louzecky

In 1993, the United States Naval Academy was rocked by the largest cheating scandal in its history. An investigation revealed that one hundred and twenty five midshipmen had scrutinized problems from an electrical engineering exam prior to when they took it. While some of the midshipmen were expelled, others were allowed to remain in the Academy, but only upon completion of a special ethics course-one designed by a set of "moral experts" commissioned from outside the Academy. The apparent purpose of this course-assuming that it was not intended as a new form of punishment-was to improve the midshipmen's moral dispositions.

Given that the "moral experts" ended up designing a course that looked remarkably similar to an archetypical college ethics course, the expectation that such a course would improve the midshipmen's moral behavior might strike many philosophy instructors as rather bizarre. Admittedly, ethics teachers would vigorously defend their courses as important components of a philosophical curriculum, but few would see their aim as the betterment of student deportment. That is not the stated goal found within college catalogues. (Imagine a course description that began "This course is designed to transform a student's behavior so that it better conforms to community moral standards....")

Christina Hoff Sommers is among those who doubt that ethics courses as currently taught improve student moral behavior. She stands out from other skeptics, however, in wanting to challenge the status quo. That is because she believes that such courses actually cause a degradation in preexisting student moral sensibilities. She is afraid that they bestow on students a sense that morals are simply a matter of taste and, because of that, a belief that anything goes. These concerns have led Sommers to advocate that we revamp our ethics courses to focus on the virtues. She contends that this restructuring is necessary in order to reinforce student commitment to a set of reputable moral standards.

Sommers has been delivering this message to a variety of audiences in an assortment of formats for over ten years: first, in a semi-scholarly article entitled "Ethics Without Virtue"; then in a presentation at an American Philosophical Association divisional meeting; and finally, in an op-ed piece, "Teaching the Virtues," which was first published in a professional journal and then reprinted in a Sunday news magazine.

It should come as no surprise that this last publication met with a receptive audience. Sommers herself notes how recent a Gallop poll reveals that four out of five Americans would like to see morals become part of the school curriculum. That squares with the personal experience of many professional educators who are commonly asked, "Why don't you teach these kids some ethics in school?"

Given the public demand that schools undertake the task of moral education and given Sommers's belief that this demand can and should be met, perhaps it is time, once again, to ask that ancient question: "Can virtue be taught?"

A Critical Assessment of Sommers

I

Sommers has both a negative and a positive thesis. To a large extent, her case for the teaching of the virtues is based, not upon the primacy of the virtues themselves, but upon the damage that she claims occurs with the teaching of something else. Much of her consternation stems from the use of values clarification at the secondary and high school levels. Teachers who employ this technique set out to help students discover the nature of their own values. When the technique is practiced according to form, teachers are not to comment on the legitimacy of any of the students' final choices. This is what raises Sommers's concern. Important moral choices are presented as if they were simply matters of taste-no different in kind from preferences for vanilla or chocolate ice cream. In fact, the two sorts of choices are often presented in sequential fashion within a single class period.

At the college level, enrollments in applied ethics courses have been burgeoning, quite often at the expense of the more traditional ethics courses. Typically, an applied ethics course is taught using a technique that Sommers dubs "dilemma ethics." Students read about a series of controversial social issues, each with its own set of arguments pro and con. At least some of the arguments on both sides are pronounced cogent, so the conflicts regularly end in a stalemate. The class simply moves from one social issue to the next without reaching a final resolution on any of them. Initially, Sommers thought that this sort of course would have a positive impact on students because the individual articles expose them to strong moral reasoning culminating in positive claims of duty. She has since decided that the collective impact of a continuous stream of articles pro and con is likely to be negative. Students come to the conclusion that there are no correct answers in ethics; much like with values clarification, moral decisions are reduced to matters of taste.

The palliative that Sommers recommends, her positive thesis, is that students be exposed to the virtues. She would dispense with values clarification entirely; in its place, she would subject students at the secondary school level to stories and parables that embody the virtues (or demonstrate the evils of vice). At the college level, she would continue with the use of moral puzzles and dilemmas, acknowledging they give students an opportunity to practice moral reasoning and to learn about the logic of moral discourse. She cautions, however, that students should begin their studies in moral theory by reading classical pieces of philosophy and literature that emphasize the virtues.

Sommers proclaims that a consideration of the virtues would have two virtues. First, she believes that the dilemmas to be found in an applied ethics course often leave students mentally disengaged. While decision making about rare, life-saving drugs, or the treatment of civilians during a war, or what to do about a request for the customary bribes in a foreign country can be of critical importance, these are not the decisions that students face; nor are students likely to have the authority to make such determinations during the course of their future lives. Sommers contends that the remoteness of these issues creates an impression that morality is something removed from the ordinary person's life-that it deals with societal issues to be decided upon collectively or by individuals in positions of higher authority; morality, in other words, has nothing to do with personal concerns. This would not be true, however, if ethics courses were to focus on matters of friendship, courage, honesty, and loyalty; these are matters that are already of importance to students and will continue to be throughout their lives.

Secondly, Sommers contends that such courses would impress upon students the objective nature of basic moral decency. Stories containing virtue and heroism make it readily apparent what is good; vice is easily identified in stories about evil beings. Thus, courses that focus on the virtues would show that morality is not simply a matter of taste; they would edify and enlighten; they would reinforce good character rather than tear away at its roots.

II

Sommers uses both anecdotal stories and statistical evidence to support her claim that ethics, as it is currently taught, is detrimental to instilling moral behavior. One typical anecdote is about a colleague who chastised her for being concerned about personal morality. The instructor proclaimed, "You are not going to have moral people until you have moral institutions." Sommers's colleague recited this maxim as a justification for her preference for applied ethics courses which focus on social rather than personal issues. At the end of the semester, the same instructor returned to Sommers disheartened, having just discovered that many of her students had plagiarized on their take-home final; this led to an inquiry about setting up an ethics course that teaches personal morality.

Sommers cites several surveys to show that stories like the one above are not just isolated occurrences. A Boston Globe survey, for example, found that seventy-five percent of today's high school students and fifty percent of today's college students admit to cheating. Similarly, a U.S. News and World Report poll revealed that thirty-four percent of college-aged students would be willing to steal from an employer; that compares with only six percent of those over the age of forty-five who claimed that they would be willing to do the same.

While this combination of (often colorful) anecdotes and statistics is initially persuasive, closer reflection raises questions about what, if anything, Sommers has proven. She clearly wants to suggest that modern UW Colleges student are more willing to cheat than those from past generations, but does her evidence verify this? Anecdotes, after all, are nothing more than that; they can always be met with other anecdotes. One of the authors, for example, remembers his mother recounting how a distinguished Secretary of State had written a term paper that received thirty-three "A's." (With such a good paper, one would hope that he benefitted from one of them.) This and other stories about times past raise the question, "Was Sommers's colleague confronting a truly contemporary phenomenon or just something that has always been a part of college life?"

Sommers' statistical evidence fails to answer this question. Admittedly, it shows that fewer people past the age of forty-five acknowledge any willingness to steal from an employer, but these individuals also differ from the college students in that they have actual employers and real business collegues and as opposed to the imaginary stereotypical business persons (evil, manipulative geniuses with a psychotic fixation on the bottom line). This raises the pair of questions, "What did the older generation think about stealing from an employer when they were of college age?" and, more importantly, "What will the current generation think about such activities when they are actually situated in the workplace?" If Sommers wants to compare the two generations in terms of their commitment to morality, these are the questions that really count.

Even if it should turn out that the levels of cheating and other moral misdeeds are higher today than what they once were, one has to wonder whether Sommers is correct in proclaiming that the current methods of teaching ethics are to blame. Any decent Republican will rattle off an entire laundry list of causes for the "moral crisis" in America: movies that contain graphic violence, songs that contain forbidden words, too much television, not enough church, single parents and parents on welfare, homosexuals in the military, midnight basketball, not to mention the fact that Clinton inhaled. With politicians proposing such a plethora of candidates as the root cause of a decline in American morality, it is hard to see how Sommers can single out values clarification and applied ethics courses as the true culprits.

Sommers, as mentioned, does propose a mechanism which would allow these techniques to play a negative role in the moral development of students: she suggests that, by not providing any definitive answers, these techniques inadvertently convert students into moral relativists and nihilists. Admittedly, as any experienced ethics teacher can attest, students will announce in the midst of class that ethics is nothing more than a matter of personal opinion; in fact, they can say this with such regularity that it begins to wear on even the most patient of teachers. But, does that make Sommers right with regard to her claim that it is the classes themselves that are responsible for this attitude? After all, students are just as likely to make such pronouncements the first day of class as the forty-fifth. Nor does it seem likely that, by confronting students in large groups for fifty minutes a day, three times a week, one is going to profoundly influence their moral development. In truth, ethics courses are such a tiny part of larger life. There seems to be something foolishly grandiose about thinking they can change students' lives completely and fundamentally.

One has to wonder whether one should even take students at their word when they proclaim that ethics is simply a matter of taste. After all, it is one thing for students to say that morals are nothing more than opinion and another for them to act upon such a belief. Let's give students a break. They are in the midst of coming of age, developing new personal loyalties, seeking families, acquiring a sense of identity and purpose, etc. It is understandable how, amidst all this turmoil, they can have some intellectual difficulty naming any foundational beliefs. Still, the authors' impressions, supported by hundreds of hours of conversation with students, tons of term papers, and thousands of evaluations from present and former students, is that students are relativists neither when they enter a philosophy course nor when they leave. They have just become adults and gotten out from under the thumbs of authoritarian and hypercritical elders. They tend to be open and generous, tolerant and experimental. To confuse that with relativism is both simpleminded and sinister.

Finally, if we must talk about moral misdeeds, a cursory check of what happens within the Belt Line, on Wall Street, and in IRS files shows that, even in the midst of all their psychological turmoil, students can be more honest and forthright than the adults who make such a sport of criticizing them. And these are the adults who were educated in that apparent golden age of morality: after Tammany Hall but before the current moral crisis.

III

Amidst all her criticism of how ethics courses are taught, Sommers offers an alternative: namely, her recommendation that ethics courses be reformulated to focus on the virtues. She claims that if this were done, ethics courses could do something that current courses were never designed to do: cause a genuine improvement in morality. Regardless of how Sommers's negative thesis fares, this positive recommendation deserves to be considered on its own merits.

It is hardly surprising that Sommers, or anyone else, would want to encourage morality since a prevalence of morality is essential to the smooth functioning of society (not to mention one's own personal safety). And the virtues have a particularly important role to play in that neither individuals nor societies can flourish in its absence. Although most people are initially surprised by this claim, their incredulity is a consequence of their having adopted the social convention of focusing on external consumer goods rather than the internal goods of living.

There is an important incongruity in what Sommers recommends, however, when she suggests that morality ought to be taught within an ethics class that focuses on the virtues. This recommendation is at odds with some of the traditional tenets of virtue theory itself.

To begin, Aristotle was at least in part right: Many of the virtues are little more than habits of character. As such, they cannot be instilled through formal classroom instruction. One cannot inculcate courage (industriousness, honesty, concern for personal integrity, etc.) simply by reciting moralistic stories depicting courageous acts or by undertaking a philosophical analysis of the concept of courage. Courage, as an attribute of character, is acquired through habituation-the actual doing.

Do not get the authors wrong on this point. Virtue can be acquired through public schooling. The Japanese, quite frankly, have mastered the art. They rely on their nation's school system, not home parenting, to inculcate the fundamental virtues recognized within their society. But this instruction does not happen during the course of a philosophy class or any other single class; it happens throughout the entire day. Students practice acts of sharing, neatness and orderliness, respect for others, loyalty, etc. This has allowed the Japanese to instill the basic values of their society within their school system. Sommers is suggesting that American school systems attempt to duplicate this feat. What is of interest at present, and where the authors are currently finding fault, is with her suggestion that this can be done by revamping the way in which we teach ethics. Contra Sommers, if we are to imitate the Japanese, it is not ethics classes that must be changed; it is what happens throughout the entire school day.

A reading of MacIntyre engenders a similar conclusion-that Sommers is misguided in locating where the changes need to occur-but for very different reasons. According to MacIntyre, virtues are intimately tied to the internal goals of a practice; virtuous people are those who become imbued in a practice and come to embrace its goals as their own. Once that happens, cheating, or other moral misdeeds, becomes somewhat nonsensical. If, to use one of MacIntyre's own examples, people become devoted to the game of chess, as aficionados, they have nothing to gain by cheating. Admittedly, cheats might obtain cash prizes, recognition, or social status-what MacIntyre would label external rewards-but there is no way that people who cheat can believe that they have won a game of chess, nor can they claim to have advanced the tradition that stands behind the game. That leads to one of MacIntyre's most fundamental claims: The root cause of moral decay is when a practice, a social institution, or a profession becomes too dependent upon external rewards as opposed to internal concerns for excellence.

This helps explain why lawyers have become so maligned. Too many of them are in it for the money. Being more concerned with the depth of their client's pockets than matters of justice leaves them disengaged from the very profession that occupies most of their waking moments. In a like manner, survey after survey indicates that doctors go into medicine first for the money, second for the status, and third for the interesting activities and the benefits provided to others. Their incomes have risen, but their status has plummeted because their lack of virtue is so transparent. Not only would society be better, but doctors would be happier if they changed their focus from the external rewards to the internal goods of the activities of medicine.

Too many students are also disengaged from what they are doing. They sign up for courses, not because they desire insight, inspiration or needed skills, nor because of any inherent interest in the topics found within the course descriptions, but because the courses fit into the complex matrixes of requirements for their majors or their degrees (or even worse, because the courses are being offered at convenient times). UW Colleges and universities are not blameless in this affair; to an increasing degree, they pander to this focus upon the externals. Advertisements touting the advantages of a college education, for example, give prominent note to the financial rewards, with the best UW Colleges promising the highest rewards. Is it any wonder, in an environment like this in which personal convenience and external rewards become the name of the game, that cheating becomes viewed as a legitimate means for obtaining ones' ends?

Once the source of moral decay has been identified in this way, the remedy becomes obvious. Students need to become more inspired within their classes. Law, after all, ought to be about justice, not earning power; literature is filled with remarkable insights into the human condition, not prospects for employment; and engineering is not just a means to an end, but an admirable tradition of technological achievement. Virtue requires that students develop genuine interests in the practices and professions they study. Things go amuck, however, when external rewards become the dominant reason for pursuing a course of study. Unfortunately, in today's climate, too many students simply do not give a damn.

One could object that even uninspired students can become proficient engineers (lawyers, physicians, etc.). After all, as long as workers do a good job, why should society care if the work is done with a sense of dedication or merely out of a desire to earn more cash? The answer, as MacIntyre points out, is that this sort of climate spawns moral decay. It is only a matter of time before some of the brighter members of society come to realize what the Sophists discovered two millennia ago: The best way to maximize external rewards is not by doing a good job, but by creating an illusion of having done a good job.

This brings us back to Sommers. She has suggested that we need to improve upon the teaching of ethics in order to prevent just this sort of moral decay. Ironically, if the above analysis is correct, it is not ethics classes per se that need to be improved upon. It is the teaching of everything else.

IV

There is a more charitable reading of Sommers that needs to be addressed. She claims that if ethics courses were to focus on the virtues, they would be more "engaging and inspirational"; they would have a greater "edificatory effect." This phrasing suggests that Sommers does not envision university courses becoming the training grounds for instilling virtues. Rather, she foresees discussions on the nature of virtue "inspiring" students to conduct a rational evaluation of their lives. If they discover their lives lack meaningful purpose, are unfulfilling, this might induce them to take steps toward remediation. Any such remediation, however, would be initiated by the students and take place outside the classroom.

This interpretation puts Sommers on firmer footing. As previously noted, many of the virtues are connected with habits of character. Both individually and socially, habits are important and good habits even more so. Initially these habits are instilled in us by others through socialization, conditioning, indoctrination, and education. There comes a time when individuals, as moral beings, need to take control of their own lives, to become responsible not just for their habits, but also for their goals and aspirations. Otherwise, they exist as mere social products, not truly autonomous agents.

Taking control requires a rational examination of one's life and it has to be done from a position of freedom. This is where a college education can offer something significantly different from anything that might have occurred in the lower grades. It can give students, who have just come of age, an opportunity to reflect on what ends, what endeavors they wish to pursue; and to determine whether their present habits, their present characters, are suited for these purposes. They can reflect upon the nature of the good life.

Ethics courses are ideally suited to play a pivotal role in this process. Not only is living well at the center of student interest, it is at the center of ethics. Although a great deal of student behavior is driven by hormones and convention, they, like everyone else, have an interest in flourishing. An ethics class, particularly one that focuses on the virtues, can be especially beneficial in giving students a time, a place, and an incentive to reflect on what life should really be about.

Too often this sort of reflection occurs only after it is too late: after people have families, house payments, and other responsibilities. By then they are stuck, committed to careers and perhaps even family choices which they now regret. They are reduced to pursuing any internal goods which might give quality to their lives during evenings hours and on weekends. (And, as the American work week continues to expand, these off hours are rapidly disappearing.) For this reason, it would be worthwhile for students, while still young, to consider how friendship and courage can add to life, see the advantages of internal versus external rewards, and ponder the nature of excellence.

Does that mean we can expect ethics courses, ones which focus on the virtues, to methodically transform students into moral citizens? No. No more than we can expect ethics courses to systematically transform them into philosophy majors. But ethics courses can provide students with something they sorely need: opportunities to reflect on the life choices they are in the process of making.

Reflections on the Public's Interest In Having the Virtues Taught

I

While the above interpretation might be agreeable to Sommers and make sense of her claim that virtue can and ought to be taught, one has to wonder whether her readership would be pleased by its consequences. She plays to an audience which wants to reestablish traditional American values-family values, if you will-whatever they happen to be. (One thing is apparent; they are not family choices.) Her audience, in its clamor for virtue, could be in for a surprise. A course which emphasizes the virtues might well lead students to do some pretty unconventional things, like becoming rural doctors, environmental attorneys, or teachers in East St. Louis. And this is exactly what most parents, much of society, wants to avoid. They are not sending their sons and daughters to college hoping to see them turn their backs on lucrative careers in favor of quality lives.

This gets us to the nub of the problem. American society is built upon a desire for more consumer goods-so much so that even friendships and family often contain elements of utility. Adults socialize for the sake of contacts and networking. People date for sex, marry helpmates, and have kids to care for them in their old age. Admittedly, people talk vaguely about how wrong this is. But, they also recognize that quality relationships take time. Given the choice, they would rather work the extra hours. The alternative would be to forego the second car, perhaps even the VCR.

Of course Sommers is right; one has to support efforts to inspire a little more virtue into both the nation and its youth. Not only would students be happier if they were to associate themselves with the ends of a practice, but society would benefit from gaining family members more dedicated to their spouses and children and a work force more committed to true social needs. It should also be understood, however, that America is not currently organized around the promotion of virtue and true practitioners are often looked down upon as somewhat eccentric. If Sommers is going to promote an education system which inspires its students toward virtue, truth in advertising requires that she also make clear what the success of such a program would entail. The sad truth is that many Americans do not truly understand what virtue is and would be rather appalled to see their children acquire it. Perhaps, then, the problem is not, as Sommers suggests, that today's school children are taught values clarification, but that parents are not.

II

One of the authors has what most Americans would consider frightfully ascetic tendencies; but even he would be loath to give up his microwave, the autodrip coffee pot complete with timer, and the machine that proclaims "Intel Inside." Externals do have their attractions. Any call for virtue needs to take this into account. While the rest of the world is becoming so liberal and so capitalistic that Francis Fukuyama has argued that we have reached the end of history, it would be ludicrous to believe that America could make the fundamental cultural changes required to become a society organized around virtue.

Perhaps that is fortunate. Individuals in a free society can always choose virtue, but to organize an entire society around a set of social norms, be they American values or any other, requires a diminution of freedom. In Japan, for example, it is not individual families who choose the moral values for their children; Japanese social values become standardized through the school system. This is symptomatic of what happens when one wants to ensure that every citizen acquires the right aspirations and has the right habits of character. The Japanese are tending toward a system, often explicitly adopted in other countries, in which education is replaced with indoctrination and free choice with conditioned reflex.

Even complete control of the education system may not be enough. Homogenous societies, each with their own brand of virtue, of necessity, become insular. Islamic fundamentalists have something genuine to fear from the corrupting influences of Western culture. The Japanese, who were already concerned about their youth becoming more interested in designer jeans than company loyalty, found it necessary to turn down offers of foreign assistance during the recent earthquake disaster; they feared that any additional foreign exposure would only serve to further corrupt their youth. Even the liberal minded French, seeking to preserve their cultural heritage, find it necessary to ban the use of English words.

The allure of a closed society, organized around a single set of virtues, is that people who are free, even if educated, can make some pretty poor choices. We, in America, have been doing that for some time. It may not be accurate to describe American culture as devoted to drugs, sex, and rock 'n roll; but it is not devoted to virtue either. The solution of the "family values" crowd is to reinstate the traditional American values. They want to do so in such a way, however, that the acquisition of these values is guaranteed. That would require the use of indoctrination and conditioning as opposed to education and free choice.