In Chapter XXXIIII ("The Spinster Loses Some Sleep") of Owen Wister's The Virginia, we find the narrator turns the narrative into a brief discussion of ethics. The Virginian has been involved in a lynching of cattle rustlers; Molly Wood is struggling with this as a matter of conscience. Judge Henry is attempting to think through what he should say to her about it; a former federal judge, he doesn't approve of vigilantism in general, but he's also a Wyoming man who knows that the standard mechanisms of law cannot keep up with cattle rustlers enough to prevent them from degrading the entire social order into what is effectively a system of organized crime -- he has seen it happen. At this point, the narrator himself voices an opinion:
I cannot say that I believe in doing evil that good may come. I do not. I think that any man who honestly justifies such course deceives himself. But this I can say: to call any act evil, instantly begs the question. Many an act that man does is right or wrong according to the time and place which form, so to speak, its context; strip it of its surrounding circumstances, and you tear away its meaning. Gentlemen reformers, beware of this common practice of yours! beware of calling an act evil on Tuesday because that same act was evil on Monday!
As a narrative device, this works quite well in context -- Wister is not just telling a tale of Wyoming cowboys but trying to portray their culture sympathetically to people who do not share it. Aware of his audience, he recognizes that he needs to give the reader, just like Molly Wood, an actual way to see The Virginian's integrity and honor despite the foreignness of his ways. From this point he therefore goes on to provide an actual philosophical argument for his exhortation:
On Monday I walk over my neighbor's field; there is no wrong in such walking. By Tuesday he has put up a sign that trespassers will be prosecuted according to law. I walk again on Tuesday, and am a law-breaker. Do you begin to see my point? or are you inclined to object to the illustration because the walking on Tuesday was not WRONG, but merely ILLEGAL? Then here is another illustration which you will find it a trifle more embarrassing to answer. Consider carefully, let me beg you, the case of a young man and a young woman who walk out of a door on Tuesday, pronounced man and wife by a third party inside the door. It matters not that on Monday they were, in their own hearts, sacredly vowed to each other. If they had omitted stepping inside that door, if they had dispensed with that third party, and gone away on Monday sacredly vowed to each other in their own hearts, you would have scarcely found their conduct moral. Consider these things carefully,—the sign-post and the third party,—and the difference they make. And now, for a finish, we will return to the sign-post.
Suppose that I went over my neighbor's field on Tuesday, after the sign-post was put up, because I saw a murder about to be committed in the field, and therefore ran in and stopped it. Was I doing evil that good might come? Do you not think that to stay out and let the murder be done would have been the evil act in this case? To disobey the sign-post was RIGHT; and I trust that you now perceive the same act may wear as many different hues of right or wrong as the rainbow, according to the atmosphere in which it is done. It is not safe to say of any man, “He did evil that good might come.” Was the thing that he did, in the first place, evil? That is the question.
Thus the narrator's argument is that change of circumstances can change the nature of the act in such a way that our judgment of its morality reasonably changes. If I cross a field on Monday, when I have no reason to think there is legal reason for me not to do so, and if I cross a field on Tuesday when there is a posted No Trespassing sign, I am in some sense doing the same thing, but the character of the action has changed. The legal difference makes a difference to the moral assessment. Very often, whether an act is moral or immoral depends on whether certain conditions are met, but circumstances can change whether the conditions are met. They can also shift what conditions are met. Thus if I ignore a No Trespassing sign because I am preventing a murder, the narrator says, the action is right. And very importantly, it's not a wrong action done for good reason (evil that good may come), but simply a good action.
In ST 2-1.18.10, St. Thomas Aquinas considers what is essentially this same question: Can circumstance place moral action in the class of good or evil? The superficial reason why not is that circumstances are accidental to the nature or substance of the act itself, but in natural things the accidents do not change the nature of that in which they inhere. But, says Aquinas, this is because natural things are determinate to one and always come down to an ultimate form, so there's no way for a circumstance to contribute to what the thing is. It is not so in human actions, because reason is not determinate to one and for any particular reason why you might do something the way you do, you could have an even more basic reason. In natural things, the starting point for everything is fixed; in rational matters, we can choose our starting point. The nature or substance of an action is what Aquinas calls the object; it is what you are actually choosing to do; if we add a circumstance to it, this can sometimes be added in such a way that it specifies a precondition of the object, without changing the object itself but in such a way that it changes whether the action should be classified as good or bad:
Thus to appropriate another's property is specified by reason of the property being "another's," and in this respect it is placed in the species of theft; and if we consider that action also in its bearing on place or time, then this will be an additional circumstance. But since the reason can direct as to place, time, and the like, it may happen that the condition as to place, in relation to the object, is considered as being in disaccord with reason: for instance, reason forbids damage to be done to a holy place. Consequently to steal from a holy place has an additional repugnance to the order of reason. And thus place, which was first of all considered as a circumstance, is considered here as the principal condition of the object, and as itself repugnant to reason.
In general, this circumstantial sensitivity occurs when the circumstance shifts whether the object is concordant or discordant with reason, since the morality of an action is fundamentally about how it relates to reason. This means, first, that shift in classification is not necessarily done by only one circumstance; it could happen by a combination of circumstances. It further means that, depending on how they relate to reason's direction of the act, circumstances may have no effect at all on whether an action is moral or immoral, or may make it better or worse without changing whether it is moral or immoral (obvious examples being when the circumstances provide some excuse for a wrong action without making it cease to be wrong, or when there are better or worse ways to do something like being honest with someone), or they could shift entirely whether it is right or wrong.
In Wister's sign-post example, the new legal circumstance created by the posted regulation affects how the action will be reasoned through in the reasoning of a sensible person. The example makes it sound like it's a difference of time, but in fact it's being Monday or Tuesday is not relevant to the rightness or wrongness of the action. Aquinas follows Aristotle and Cicero in identifying eight circumstances of an action: who, what, about what, where, by what aids, why, in what way (or how), when. When is not the relevant morality-shifting circumstance, although it could in a situation where a deadline of some sort were set. The circumstance here seems to be what; on Monday you were not doing something that could be itself classified as trespassing, but on Tuesday you are. In the wedding case, the circumstances that make the shift seem to be how and by what, although that might depend on the exact intention of the parties. Early in the book, we see a change of circumstances that matters; Steve, The Virginian's friend, calls him a 'son of a bitch', and Trampas, soon to be The Virginian's enemy, also calls him a 'son of a bitch'; this is certainly affected by the circumstance who (Steve is a longtime friend, and therefore has more leeway than Trampas), but in context the most important circumstance is how, which we see as the scene with Trampas results in one of the most famous lines in Western fiction: "When you call me that, smile." In Steve's case it was obviously done in a good-natured, affectionate way; Trampas was being mean.
In the case of the lynching of the cattle rustlers, this is a much more complicated situation. The what is killing human beings, which makes it (everyone in the story rightly agrees) a very grave action. The who, the about what, and the why are all important here: this is an honest attempt to serve genuine justice by punishing thieves with respect to a serious crime for which justice is difficult to obtain. In all of these circumstances the action fares better than (to use the contrast that is explicitly used in The Virginian) the lynching of Southern blacks, whose who, why, what, and about what make the latter an unmitigated evil.
However there are further complications in the cattle rustling case, which is why the narrator is sympathetic to Molly Wood's crisis of conscience and Judge Henry's reservations. The how is mixed. It is defective, since it is done extralegally, which is why Judge Henry would prefer another way if there were one, although in this particular case it was done very carefully and with due regard for certain crude basics -- for instance, they have made very sure that the people they will be hanging are indeed the cattle rustlers who have been causing problems throughout the area. But The Virginian himself struggles with the action because of other who circumstances -- his position means that he, himself, has a special obligation to protect his men from the problems caused by cattle rustlers, but one of the cattle rustlers he is going to have to hang is his friend Steve. The narrator effectively argues that the lynching is right; but we see that the circumstances complicate the matter by making it defective in various ways, even if the circumstances don't change the fact that it is right. Other circumstances, like when and by what aids play no significant role in the moral decisionmaking itself, although under the circumstances, where perhaps does play an indirect role in how we assess whether the reasoning is appropriate (the same actions done for the same reasons would be more of a problem in the East than they are in the West).
On Aquinas's account, why and what are always the most important circumstances, so while they are not always determinative for morality in themselves (they could just shift how well or badly the action is done), they are the circumstances most likely to shift an action between being good and being bad. What should be distinguished from the object, i.e., what you are choosing to do, which is not a circumstance but the substance of the action; rather, it's more like the classification of the object in light of its context. Why is so important because it is the way the object of the action relates to things more important than itself. What is more, how important the other circumstances are almost always depends on their relation to why and what, and how they interact with those. This is also seen in the cattle rustler case, in which it matters very much why The Virginian and his fellow cowboys are hanging the cattle rustlers, and what the action means in the context of the budding and as-yet unstable civilization of Wyoming; it is these that give us the reason to recognize that, however short of the ideal the action itself might be, the action is nonetheless an expression of integrity and honor and justice. The justice is circumstantially defective, but genuinely just.
All of this is quite interesting, both Wister's basic argument and the fact that it fits so well with St. Thomas's account, in part because people do not always do well in taking circumstances into account. We tend to see this kind of reasoning as making the world 'shades of gray' and contrast it with 'black and white', which people often prefer. This is highly misleading. The fact that circumstances can shift an action back and forth over the border between good and bad does not make the distinction between good and bad any less sharp. The fact that our actions are complicated increases what we have to consider to assess their goodness or badness, but good and evil are not affected by our complicated relationship to each. There's a danger that one might read Wister's argument, or St. Thomas's, as a sort of relativism; but neither is claiming that good and bad are relative but that our actions are to be assessed by what is relevant to our reasons for them. If you take bread that is not yours, it matters whether you are doing so maliciously or to feed your family. If you tell the truth to someone, it matters whether you are doing so to hurt them or because you believe they have a right to know. If you try to help someone, it matters how you go about doing it. Whether or not you are breaking the law depends on where and when in the world you are. You have different obligations to different people, so to whom you do things can matter. The categories of good and bad are not complicated by this; what is complicated is how our actions are classified in those terms.
Actions are good and bad in terms of how they fit with reason, and circumstances are how even actions the same in themselves can be differently related to reason. The circumstances are not the only thing that affect the morality of the action (obviously the object of the action is the starting point), but they do affect it.
