La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues

Abstract

The ethical challenges facing contemporary science range from scientific misconduct to the rightful treatment of people, animals and the environment. In this work, we explore the role of virtue ethics, which concern the character of a person, in contemporary science. Through interviews with 13 scientists, eight of whom are geoscientists, we identify six virtues in science (honesty, humility, philia, innocence, generosity and reticence), paired with vices, and construct a narrative argument around them. Specifically, we employ the narrative structure of the late medieval poem The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri, and draw on its moral universe to explore the scientific virtues. Using this narrative device, we make the case for virtue ethics being a reliable guide for all matters scientific. As such, this work lays out a modern code of conduct for science.

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Geosci. Commun., 4, 129–145, 2021
https://doi.org/10.5194/gc-4-129-2021
© Author(s) 2021. This work is distributed under
the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 License.
Research article
La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues
Anthea R. Lacchia1,2 and Stephen Webster2
1Irish Centre for Research in Applied Geosciences, School of Earth Sciences, University College Dublin, Dublin, Ireland
2Science Communication Unit, Imperial College London, London, UK
Correspondence: Anthea R. Lacchia (lacchiaa@tcd.ie)
Received: 2 June 2020 – Discussion started: 29 June 2020
Revised: 11 February 2021 – Accepted: 2 March 2021 – Published: 7 April 2021
Abstract. The ethical challenges facing contemporary sci-
ence range from scientific misconduct to the rightful treat-
ment of people, animals and the environment. In this work,
we explore the role of virtue ethics, which concern the char-
acter of a person, in contemporary science. Through inter-
views with 13 scientists, eight of whom are geoscientists,
we identify six virtues in science (honesty, humility, philia,
innocence, generosity and reticence), paired with vices, and
construct a narrative argument around them. Specifically, we
employ the narrative structure of the late medieval poem The
Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri, and draw on its moral
universe to explore the scientific virtues. Using this narrative
device, we make the case for virtue ethics being a reliable
guide for all matters scientific. As such, this work lays out a
modern code of conduct for science.
1 Introduction
Modern-day science is suffering. Everywhere we turn, signs
of malaise are rife. Scientific misconduct, including plagia-
rism, falsification and fabrication of data, has long been
recognised in science (Resnik, 1998). More recently, mount-
ing financial pressures (Ledford et al., 2019) and a culture
of fierce competitiveness (Abbott, 2016; Lawrence, 2002),
where mental illness is widespread (Evans et al., 2018), have
been associated with the cutting of ethical corners (Casade-
vall, 2019) and with scientific misconduct, such as the recent
reports of genome-edited babies in China (Cyranoski, 2019).
Has science lost its way? Today’s scientists, from
hastily completing grant applications to feverishly editing
manuscripts, are busy staying afloat in a terrifying world.
As they battle the incoming waves of funding cuts (e.g. Na-
ture, 2019a) and administrative burdens (James, 2011; War-
ren, 2018), ethical considerations seem few and far between.
So where should we go to find answers to modern ethical
dilemmas in science? We will argue that, by turning to the
writing of a late medieval Italian poet and great thinker on
ethics – Dante Alighieri (1265–1321) – we will retrieve the
moral compass we seek. Specifically, we will seek inspira-
tion from Dante’s moral universe, masterfully articulated in
his poem The Divine Comedy (Dante, 1922), as a means of
exploring the role of virtue ethics in science.
Virtue ethics, a branch of ethics first articulated by Aris-
totle (384–322 BC) in his Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle,
1953), henceforth referred to as Ethics, concern the character
of a person as opposed to his or her actions (Rachels, 2010).
According to Aristotle, the “good of man” is “an activity of
the soul in conformity with virtue” (Rachels, 2010). Further-
more, expressed in contemporary terms, Aristotle’s ethics
helps us make the link between the good character of a person
and the moral integrity of that person’s society, in particular
the institution for which they work. For, almost by defini-
tion, a virtuous person combines a sense of personal integrity
with a constant search for professional diligence whether as
a farmer, a shopkeeper, a lawyer or, of course, a scientist. It
is a key Aristotelian point, and an alluring one, that the per-
son who carries out their work virtuously will flourish, will
have an enduring sense of well-being and will contribute to
the proper development of their community. While Aristotle
had in mind the city state of Athens and its citizens, this pa-
per argues that the same ideas can be applied to science and
scientists. In particular, then, if we wish to be assured that
science has its house in order, morally speaking, we must
look first to the life of the individual scientist, and its proper
development, rather than relying solely on impact measure-
ments, codes of conduct and policy reforms. Of course, the
Published by Copernicus Publications on behalf of the European Geosciences Union.

130 A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues
institution is important – we can hardly imagine the scientific
profession without it. But, the Aristotelian point is that, first
of all, we must look at the scientific self.
The starting principle is that, in order to be “good”, one
must cultivate the virtues and embody them. The task is far
from trivial. The responsible scientist is the one who estab-
lishes what these virtues might be and makes a habit of them,
whatever the difficulties presented by the prevailing culture.
It is to that end, the elaboration of the scientific virtues, that
the arguments of this paper are organised.
Aristotle would counsel that the effort is worthwhile. For,
by diligently following the precepts of good practice and by
seeing the cultural benefits of establishing fair dealings with
others, a scientist will establish within themselves a set of in-
ternal goods. From that, the Artistotelian would argue, bene-
fits will ripple out to the wider professional culture – to sci-
ence. Moreover – a key Aristotelian point – the work will
bring pleasure; the scientist, secure in the knowledge that
they are working well, according to the best traditions of their
craft, will have the sense that they are flourishing. The impor-
tant question that follows is this: in contemporary science, is
the good scientist, in the Aristotelian sense, also likely to be
a successful one? Conversely, might it be that goodness in
science is a professional hazard in today’s research culture?
Does the nature of research culture act against the possibil-
ity of a scientist developing their personal and professional
virtues? It is the challenging and disturbing nature of these
questions that makes Aristotle’s 2400-year-old teachings so
pertinent to the modern-day scientist.
Philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe (1919–2001), in her
seminal paper Modern Moral Philosophy (Anscombe, 1958),
restored virtue ethics to a position of prominence in the
contemporary ethics debate (Rachels, 2010). Since her
work, some applications of virtue ethics to science have
surfaced (MacFarlane, 2009; Resnik, 2012). However, as
Anscombe (1958) argued, there are “great contrasts” be-
tween modern moral philosophy and Aristotle’s ethics. In-
deed, since the advent of Christianity, ethicists have focused
on actions rather than character, and the virtues have been
cast aside (Rachels, 2010). Scientists are still less inclined
to consider ethics beyond the confines of consent forms and
issues over data protection (see Sect. 2 for details about
quotes).
We think ethics doesn’t concern us because ethics
has to do with doing unpleasant things to animals
or people and we don’t do that; so, we learn to very,
very quickly tick the “no” box on ethics [forms].
Nobody ever asks you about the virtues of a good
scientist. (Professor)
Hence, for many contemporary philosophers and scien-
tists, gazing at the virtues will be like gazing directly into the
Sun. The issues are so strong, so burningly important, that,
paradoxically, they are hard to apprehend clearly. Before go-
ing any further, therefore, we must equip ourselves with a
narrative device to let us see them properly in spite of their
brightness.
Just as the mythical hero Perseus, in order to avoid be-
ing turned into stone by the gaze of the monster Medusa,
held up a reflecting shield to take aim and cut off her head
(Palazzi, 1988), we will deploy a narrative device to gaze at
the scientific virtues. Specifically, we will seek inspiration
from Dante’s The Divine Comedy,Divina Commedia in Ital-
ian (from now on referred to as Commedia), a literary mas-
terpiece that has inspired almost 700 years of research and
scholarship (Belliotti, 2014).
In the Commedia, Dante imagines making a metaphorical
journey through Hell (Inferno in Italian), Purgatory (Purga-
torio) and Paradise (Paradiso). Each of the three stages is
written as a section (cantica) composed of 33 parts (canti),
with one additional introductory canto (Reynolds, 2006). The
Commedia starts from a moment of “profound psychological
crisis” and tells the story of how it is resolved (Shaw, 2014).
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,
che’ la diritta via era smarrita. (Inf. I, 1–3)
(In the middle of the journey of our lives
I found myself in a dark wood,
for the straight path was lost.)
Dante, who sets his fictional journey through the under-
world in the 35th year of his life (Scott, 2004) invites the
reader to identify with what we would call a midlife crisis to-
day (Shaw, 2014). In this sense, the Commedia can be seen as
a precursor to the modern self-help genre (Shaw, 2014). In-
deed, any scientist who has faced an ethical dilemma could
relate to Dante’s verse.
O’ voi, ch’avete l’intelletti sani,
mirate la dottrina che s’asconde
sotto il velame de li versi strani. (Inf. IX, 61–63;
Reynolds, 2006)
(O ye whose intellects are sane and sound,
note well the doctrine that beneath the veil
of the mysterious verses can be found.)
With these lines from the Inferno, Dante exhorts his read-
ers to pay attention to the allegorical meaning hidden behind
his verse (Reynolds, 2006). For him, poetry is a vehicle of
truth, and his poetic verses, if properly interpreted, become
a pedagogical device that allows the reader to contemplate
truth (Auerbach, 1971). The poem’s didactic and campaign-
ing intent is manifest in several passages of the Comme-
dia (Honess, 1997), such as in Paradiso, when Cacciaguida,
Dante’s ancestor, exhorts Dante to share the vision of divine
justice and truth he has been privy to, when he returns back
to Earth.
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A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues 131
Ma nondimen, rimossa ogni menzogna,
tutta la tua vision fa manifesta; (Par. XVII, 127–
128)
(But nonetheless, with all lies removed,
all your vision make manifest;)
Clearly, Dante’s mission can be thought of as a commu-
nicative one (Honess, 1997; Shaw, 2014). We will draw upon
the Commedia’s broad narrative structure, and its commu-
nicative intent, as we embark upon a journey of our own, in
order to explore modern ethical dilemmas in science and the
role of virtue ethics in solving them. As we shall see, this nar-
rative device will allow us to contemplate questions of ethics
in a more personal, direct and practical way than do the myr-
iad rules and principles that fill textbooks on science ethics.
Unlike Dante’s divinely willed journey, ours will be sec-
ular. Naturally, in omitting the religious aspect, we omit an
important part of the Commedia’s exegesis but not, we trust,
the essence of this masterpiece as a description of a moral
universe. In choosing narrative as a form of argumentation
(Calame, 2005, p. 66), we follow the example of the Greek
poet Sappho (Voigt, 1971), the philosopher Plato (1974) and,
more recently, contemporary author Jostein Gaarder (1991)
as well as Dante.
The Commedia is full of references to Dante himself and
to the characters of contemporary Florence, as well as to his-
torical, mythological and biblical figures. Dante is accompa-
nied on his journey, first, by the great Roman poet Virgil, and
then by Beatrice, traditionally identified with Beatrice Porti-
nari, the woman Dante loved in his youth (Shaw, 2014). In
this work, we will encounter characters from ancient Greek
and Roman myth and philosophy, such as Aristotle, who will
help us make our journey through the Inferno,Purgatorio
and Paradiso of science, and we will exercise literary free-
dom in projecting onto them modern scientific concerns. For
now, suffice it to say that we will encounter three main char-
acters, i.e. a Scientist and two guides – first Ulysses and later
Aristotle. In our choice of characters, we weave together the
thoughts and the questions of the Scientist, Ulysses and Aris-
totle, Dante, the character whose journey we follow, Virgil,
who represents reason, and, finally, Beatrice, who represents
divine knowledge. But, before we set off, let us consider
Dante’s world and how it can speak to modern science.
Dante’s work cannot be understood without understanding
the political turmoil of Florence in the poet’s time. Indeed,
Dante’s complicated relationship with his native Florence
permeates the Commedia (Hainsworth and Robey, 2015).
The Florentines and their feuds are particularly well repre-
sented in the Inferno, as these ironic verses attest.
Godi, Fiorenza, poi che se’ sì grande
che per mare e per terra batti l’ali,
e per lo ’nferno tuo nome si spande!
(Inf. XXVI, 1–3)
(Rejoice, Florence, for you are so great,
that over sea and land you beat your wings;
and through Hell your name echoes!)
In Dante’s lifetime, Florence was one of many city states
in northern and central Italy (Scott, 2004). A wealthy mer-
cantile and banking centre, it was deeply troubled by fac-
tional struggles and changes in legislation and systems of
government (Shaw, 2014). At the turn of the 14th century,
Florence was a city divided, with nobles and wealthy mer-
chants splitting into Guelfs and Ghibellines, respectively the
party of the Pope and that of the Holy Roman Emperor, al-
though petty rivalries tended to override ideological affilia-
tions (Shaw, 2014). The inhabitants of Florence did not just
have internal feuds to contend with but also spats with other
Italian cities. As pointed out by writer Andrew Norman Wil-
son in his book Dante in Love,
The inhabitants of medieval Italian cities lived in
a state of such enmity with one another that it was
necessary for them to live huddled in fortified tow-
ers. (Wilson, 2011, p. 39)
The Ghibellines came to power in Florence in 1260, fol-
lowing the battle of Montaperti, but were, in turn, expelled
from the city in 1266, after the Guelf victory at the Battle
of Benevento (Santagata, 2016; Shaw, 2014). In 1295, the
Guelf party in Florence divided into two factions, known as
Blacks and Whites (Santagata, 2016), a split that would lead
to Dante’s traumatic exile. Dante was an ambitious man, ac-
tively involved in public life. By 1300, Dante’s party, the
Guelfs, had been in power for more than 30 years (Shaw,
2014). From June to July of 1300, Dante, who aligned with
the White Guelfs, served as one of six priors who exercised
executive power in Florence. In 1301, while he was absent
from the city, the Blacks staged a coup and returned to power,
partly owing to an intervention by Pope Boniface VIII (Wil-
son, 2011). The following year, Dante was fined, charged
with corruption and exiled. It is in exile that he started work
on the Commedia (around 1308), a task that would consume
him until shortly before his death (Shaw, 2014).
An interesting parallel emerges between the disordered
state of late medieval Florence and the state of science to-
day. Let us consider Shaw’s (2014) eloquent description of
Florence in Dante’s time.
Florence, with its never-ending series of changes
in legislation, political institutions, and even the
makeup of the body politics, is like a sick woman
tossing and turning on her bed, whose constant
restless motion seeks to assuage her pain but is
itself an expression of her malaise. The strug-
gle to institute, fine-tune and protect the fledgling
institutions of democratic accountability and the
rule of law against the vested interests of the
grandi [aristocrats] would seem to be incompatible
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132 A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues
with peaceful and healthy civic flourishing. (Shaw,
2014, p. 37)
Considering the repeated calls for new regulations in ge-
netic research (Nature, 2019b), the everlasting quest for new
ways of measuring scientific success (Curry, 2018), and the
ceaseless drafting of new codes of conduct for researchers
(Hiney, 2018), science resembles that sick woman, forever
tossing and turning through restless nights.
Dante recognised that his native Florence was in dire need
of moral guidance and sought to save her through his writ-
ing. Given the ethical issues that permeate science today, it is
clear that we need a Dante for science. This is precisely the
mission that provides impetus to this work.
2 Methodology
In this study, we have sought to apply notions of virtue ethics
to science. We use the term science to denote the natural,
physical and social sciences, but we wish to point out that
many of the virtues and vices identified in this paper are per-
tinent to academic research and issues of research integrity
as a whole. Our choice to restrict our investigation to sci-
ence which, because of its high research costs and societal
impacts, is in truth a zone of particular academic pressure, is
reflected in our choice of interviewees (see below).
In order to identify those virtues most pertinent to modern-
day science, we carried out 13 one-to-one interviews with
scientists from various disciplines and institutions and at
different career stages. Our sample included two emeritus
professors, five professors (including principal investigators,
henceforth referred to as PIs), two postdoctoral researchers
(postdocs), two doctoral students, one technical officer and
one policy officer. Participants were affiliated with six dif-
ferent institutions in Ireland, the UK and Belgium. We re-
cruited participants drawing on a convenience sample of aca-
demics, including collaborators, colleagues, former super-
visors and researchers whose views on research ethics we
were aware of (through academic papers, news articles or so-
cial media). The expertise of interviewees included biology,
geoscience, palaeontology, social science, immunology and
medicine. Despite a relatively small sample size, our sample
included a range of ages and career stages and a gender ratio
of seven females to six males, although we did not formally
gather demographic information.
The interviews were semi-structured, and most of them
(10) were conducted face-to-face, with three taking place via
Skype or telephone. Their duration was 20 min to just over
1 h. Prior to the interviews, interviewees were provided with
an information sheet and consent form, which are included
in Appendix A. All interviewees signed the consent form and
indicated whether they wished to remain anonymous. Inter-
views were recorded electronically and transcribed.
The purpose of the interviews was two-fold. First, by
means of thematic analysis (Boyatzis, 1998), we identified
a series of virtues described by the scientists during the inter-
views. These virtues acted as a framework on which we con-
structed the Dante-inspired narrative, with each virtue paired
with a sin (see Appendix B for a detailed structure of the nar-
rative). Second, the interviews served as a source of quotes
for our narrative. Overall, the framework of virtues and the
quotes – which are presented throughout the text alongside
the interviewee’s title or career stage – serve to ground our
arguments in reality. Further quotes in the narrative are de-
rived from the works of the characters themselves, such as
Aristotle, who will read from his Ethics (Aristotle, 1953).
But let us embark upon our journey without further delay.
3 A dark wood
Dante set his Commedia in the Easter week of 1300. Our
Commedia Scientifica starts in 2021, 700 years after Dante’s
death. Let us turn our attention to a lonely figure sitting at a
lab bench. From now on, we shall refer to her as the Scientist.
Her biography on the departmental website tells us that she is
completing her third postdoc. Under her name, we see an im-
pressive list of awards and publications. What the Scientist’s
biography does not mention is that her parents are worried
about her. She has not been eating properly lately. Her grant
has nearly run out. Last week, her lab manager asked her to
“amend” a figure and a table – just a small tweak for the sake
of statistical significance. She knows she needs to reach the
results they need, and she needs to reach them fast. She is
so close to getting that lectureship. Changing a number or
two is easy to do, she tells herself. Yet, she cannot bring her-
self to do it. Exhausted and not knowing how to proceed, she
rests her head in her arms. A document entitled Singapore
Statement on Research Integrity (2010) lies open beside her.
Without noticing, she falls into a deep sleep. Let us trace her
footsteps as she dreams.
The Scientist awakes in a dark wood. Moonlight cuts
through a dense canopy of trees, merging with mist rising
up through the humid air. Distant howling punctuates the
silence. Terrified, she rises and makes her way through the
forest, eventually reaching a clearing. Through the mist, she
can just about make out the outline of an imposing building
perched on a hilltop, complete with turrets and barred win-
dows.
She hurries towards it. A tall, bearded man is standing out-
side the building’s walls, a small dog at his feet. He waves to
her and seems to beckon her to come closer.
“Can you tell me where I am, please?” she asks.
“Of course,” he replies. “I have been waiting for you. You
have reached the place where lost scientists are forever lost.
Once I, too, was one of these lost souls. But I have learnt
from my mistakes. Ulysses is my name and I will guide you
through these unhappy walls.”
This self-proclaimed guide is none other than the heroic
wanderer Ulysses (Homer’s Odysseus), the king of Ithaca,
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A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues 133
who took part in the 10-year siege of Troy described in
Homer’s Iliad (Homer, 2014) and whose 10-year return jour-
ney to Ithaca is the subject of Homer’s Odyssey (Homer,
1996). At his side sits the faithful dog, Argos (Boyde, 2000).
Dante, having no knowledge of Greek, learnt about
Ulysses from Roman scholars such as Ovid, Cicero, Seneca
and Horace (Bosco and Reggio, 2010; Boyde, 2000). In the
Commedia, Dante places Ulysses among Hell’s fraudulent
counsellors (Inf. XXVI), and it is here that the hero deliv-
ers his orazion picciola (little speech; Inf. XXVI, 122) to his
crew, persuading them to sail with him into the unknown.
Considerate la vostra semenza:
fatti non foste per viver come bruti,
ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza. (Inf. XXVI,
118–120; Singleton, 1989)
(Consider your origin:
you were not made to live as brutes,
but to pursue virtue and knowledge.)
In Dante, as in Homer, Ulysses is an intensely curious
man, with an unquenchable thirst to know more about the
world, and an accomplished orator, well versed in the art of
persuasion (Bosco and Reggio, 2010). In Ulysses’s speech,
the two values that define what it is to live as human be-
ings – intellectual activity (canoscenza) and practice of moral
virtues (virtute) – conform to what Aristotle describes as the
source of human happiness (Shaw, 2014, p. 129). This is
not the only time Dante draws from Aristotle on matters of
ethics. Furthermore, as we shall see, these values are also en-
tirely relevant to science ethics.
In Homer, Odysseus eventually reaches the shores of his
beloved Ithaca and reunites with his wife Penelope (Homer,
1996). But Dante’s Ulysses meets a very different fate. Hav-
ing dared to venture beyond the Pillars of Hercules (which
we recognise as the Straits of Gibraltar), the hero goes be-
yond what is allowed for human beings (Chiavacci Leonardi,
1991; Poirier, 2016; Reynolds, 2006; Shaw, 2014). This
transgression, which Dante calls folle volo (mad flight; Inf.
XXVI, 125), is punished with death as the ship is swallowed
by the sea (Dante, 1922). This punishment makes sense in the
context of Dante’s moral universe, where human reason can-
not reach truth if unaided by divine knowledge (Bosco and
Reggio, 2010). Ulysses may be punished, but he is also ad-
mired by Dante, who recognises in him much of his own pas-
sion for knowledge and fierce ambition (La sete natural che
mai non sazia; The natural thirst which is never quenched;
Purg. XXI, 1). Indeed, there is a lot in common between
Dante’s own divinely willed “flight” into the underworld and
Ulysses’s folle volo (Bosco and Reggio, 2010).
In Ovid’s Heroides, Penelope urges Ulysses to return to
Ithaca, reminding him of his duties as a father, son and hus-
band (Boyde, 2000). Her pleas are summarised by Dante’s
Ulysses in these lines:
Ne’ dolcezza di figlio, ne’ la pieta
del vecchio padre, ne l’debito amore
lo qual dovea Penelope’ far lieta,
vincer potero dentro a me l’ardore
ch’i ebbi a divenir del mondo esperto
e de li vizi umani e del valore; (Inf. XXVI, 94–99)
(Neither fondness for my son, nor reverence
for my aged father, nor the rightful affection
which would have made Penelope glad,
could conquer inside me the longing
that I had to gain experience of the world,
and of human vice and virtue.)
These wonderful verses describe Ulysses’s urgent long-
ing to gain knowledge and satisfy his curiosity – a force
inside him so strong that it leads him to shirk his famil-
ial duties. Thus, Dante’s Ulysses reminds us of the dan-
ger of taking knowledge – and science – too far, as already
recognised by Dantean scholars Patrick Boyde (2000), Jean-
Louis Poirier (2016) and Prue Shaw (2014, p. 130). Clearly,
Ulysses is somewhat of a mixed character – vengeful, boast-
ful, neglectful, as well as cunning and brave. This ambiva-
lence is also a trait that has long been identified as pertain-
ing to scientists by sociological studies of scientists (Mitroff,
1974). Indeed, by Mitroff’s account, the ability to hold dia-
metrically opposing views in mind at the same time may be
essential to science.
In Homer, as pointed out by contemporary philosopher
Alasdair MacIntyre (1984, p. 132), Odysseus’ cunning is
treated as a virtue, “and it is of course for his exercise of
the virtues that a hero receives honour”. We, too, without
forgetting Ulysses’s darker side so well epitomised in the
verses above (Inf. XXVI, 94–99), will take the kinder view
as we follow Ulysses through the scientific underworld. Just
as, in Dante, the trusted guide Virgil personifies human rea-
son and knowledge (Shaw, 2014), so we will take our Sci-
entist’s guide, Ulysses, to personify the intellectual curios-
ity and love of knowledge that scientists recognise in them-
selves.
It’s a bit like being a mountain climber, a polar
explorer or a deep-sea diver. You go and explore
somewhere, you go somewhere nobody has been
before. [. . . ] You are exploring uncharted territory.
There is that tremendous excitement that you get.
(Professor)
Given the spirit of science which, irrespective of author,
Ulysses embodies, it is fitting that we should seek guidance
from him on where to place our own Herculean Columns of
the life scientific. But, let us return to the Scientist and her
dream. Ulysses strokes Argos and whispers that he will be
back soon. He starts to walk towards a large wooden door.
The Scientist follows, transfixed...
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134 A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues
4Inferno – the sins of a science that has lost its way
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate. (Inf. III, 9)
(Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.)
This inscription is scrawled above the door of our unethi-
cal research centre, a fiery pit of misconduct and infinite sad-
ness. Before proceeding, it is worth noting that the sins we
will encounter here and in our scientific Purgatorio will only
broadly follow those of Dante’s moral universe. In common
with the Inferno, we will consider incontinence, violence and
fraud (Auerbach, 1961; Di Zenzo, 1965), but substantial de-
viations from the Commedia’s nine circles and seven terraces
of Purgatory must be allowed, if pertinence to contemporary
science is to be our guiding principle.
The Scientist and Ulysses step inside a vast, open-plan of-
fice, complete with rusty scientific instruments and dusty lab
benches. In one corner, dozens of scientists are seated at long
rows of desks, quietly sobbing.
“These,” says Ulysses, “are the souls of scientists whose
plight I know all too well, for their curiosity went too far.”
Heavy chains hold the scientists down, forcing them to
stare forever into microscopes with broken lenses, resem-
bling the instruments they held so dear in life. In Dante, pun-
ishments must always reflect the nature and gravity of the sin
– a principle he calls contrappasso (Scott, 2004) – becoming
“either an externalisation of the aberrant impulse or a cor-
rective to it” (Shaw, 2014, p. 113). The same is true of the
unethical research centre we are intent on exploring.
As they make their way across the dimly lit office, Ulysses
and the Scientist see another group of souls huddled together.
As they approach them, they are met with loud, desolate
cries. The scientists are chained to their desks, but are look-
ing up, arms outstretched, towards towering piles of books
and documents.
“These souls are separated from their families by walls of
textbooks and papers. They can hear their loved ones calling
for them from behind these walls, but, alas, they are never to
be reunited,” says Ulysses.
Turning away from the tormented souls, he wipes away a
tear from his cheek and walks on.
In the centre of the office, hundreds of souls are crawling
on their hands and knees, weighed down by heavy plaques
hanging from their necks. Some plaques are decorated with
inscriptions such as “Dr”, “Professor” and “Emeritus”, fol-
lowed by the names of universities and funding bodies; oth-
ers simply bear a series of figures on them.
“These,” says Ulysses, “are the souls of scientists who
were greedy for money, power or fame” (e.g. Chawla, 2019).
The heavy plaques they are dragging in endless circles on
the ground bear the insignia of the science they hungered
for in life. Some of the plaques show the amount of money
they won in grants or the titles and affiliations they treasured
above all else, while others bear the words of modern scien-
tists.
You have senior scientists making all the decisions
for junior scientists. Those senior scientists often
don’t have to live with the consequences of some
of the decisions that they’re making. I think that’s a
big issue to tackle, to rebalance power. [. . .] People
get seduced by the power. (Professor)
[If] you’re in a prime position to get money for
funding, that automatically, I’m not saying every-
body, but it inflates egos. [...] It definitely estab-
lishes a power dynamic of having to chase the big
guy with the money, and the smaller people have to
scramble around – that is unhealthy competition.
(Doctoral student)
One day a week everyone would go down for tea
and coffee and cakes and, you know, just one be-
tween the group and everything. My supervisor
said, “That’s a waste of time. In that one hour,
you could see two more patients and generate more
data.” (Doctoral student)
At this point, the Scientist’s gaze is drawn to another side
of the room, where scientists are chained to one another and
forced to share tiny desks. They elbow each other angrily, as
they try to claim some desk space as their own.
“Tell me, dear guide, what sin plagues these poor souls?”
asks the Scientist.
“These scientists, once PIs, fostered an atmosphere of
fear, secrecy and competition in their workplaces,” explains
Ulysses. “Now, they are forced to co-exist in this confined
space, while the luxurious offices they occupied in life lie
empty behind them,” he says.
The Scientist shudders at the sight of one of the souls who,
hunched over, is desperately trying to hide a paper from the
glances of his neighbours. It is worth noting at this point that,
in Dante’s underworld, the damned feel no real regret for
their sins, only sadness for what they have lost (Sermonti,
2018). The same is true in our sad, scientific underworld,
where the Scientist is peering at the words of modern sci-
entists, etched on the walls.
The scientific career is super competitive. Of
course, to get all those publications you need to be
super competitive. I don’t like this face of science;
I don’t like how people just change their character.
(Postdoc)
So many times I’ve been told “don’t work with that
person”, and not been told why. (Doctoral student)
I’ve had a tough period of 3 years. I just want to
finish and leave this toxic environment. (Doctoral
student)
I sent this co-author the draft [of my paper] and he
sent it back to me with a sarcastic comment about
how I’d left this other person off, [saying] that
it was obviously a mistake, even though she was
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A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues 135
clearly in my acknowledgements at the end. I had
acknowledged her because, to me, she had done a
level of work that only warranted an acknowledge-
ment. [. . . ] But then we had a group meeting [. . . ]
and he [my supervisor] said we should just put this
person on all the papers because “if I want to work
with the lab it’ll just be easier if we do this”. [. . .]
That’s not right, to give someone token credit just
because it makes it easier than not doing it. (Doc-
toral student)
At this point, the atmosphere of mistrust and competition
becomes so overpowering that the Scientist feels weak and
has to hold on to Ulysses. Together, they stumble through
a small door and an old laboratory comes into view, illumi-
nated by red, flickering lights. Sounds of growling pierce the
thick air. To her horror, the Scientist sees dozens of animals
squeezed inside tiny cages. Separate groups of animals are
held in pens, while souls of scientists clean their empty cages.
“What dreadful place is this?” asks the Scientist.
“Here, you see the souls of those scientists who were vio-
lent in life,” says Ulysses. “Those who are guilty of abusing
the power they held over people in their charge are forced to
do the menial tasks they avoided in life.”
The Scientist turns pale, as she remembers the words of
junior colleagues who suffered power abuse at the hands of
their supervisors.
That’s something that worries me, that once I leave
and we have publications coming out of the study,
for which I have done every single patient visit,
collected every bit of data, I might not get first au-
thor. I might not even get co-authorship. (Doctoral
student)
“Those who were cruel towards non-human animals in the
name of science are imprisoned in these cages, transformed
into the sentient beings they tormented in life,” says Ulysses,
before silently pointing to an engraving on the wall behind
the cages.
Our throats were dry and thirsty; we drank deep;
And then the demon goddess lightly laid
Her wand upon our hair, and instantly
Bristles (the shame of it! but I will tell)
Began to sprout; I could no longer speak;
My words were grunts, I grovelled to the ground.
I felt my nose change to a tough white snout,
My neck thicken and bulge. My hands that held
The bowl just now made footprints on the floor.
(Met. XIV, 277–284; Melville, 1986)
With these lines, which our guide Ulysses will relate to
very well, Roman poet Ovid (43 BC–17 AD) described the
famous spell cast by the enchantress Circe, which trans-
formed Odysseus’ crew into swine. This is just one of
the many, vivid transformations in Ovid’s Metamorphoses
(Ovid, 1986) which inspire the punishments in this division
of our unethical research centre.
“In the darkest corner of the room,” whispers Ulysses, “a
special cage is reserved for those scientists who conducted
experiments on other humans. They are forever forced to
experience the pain of the experiments they themselves de-
vised.”
Keen to leave this cruel menagerie of unethical science be-
hind, the Scientist and Ulysses hurry through a dark passage,
which opens out into a vast lecture theatre. Endless rows of
seats surround a central pit, where a fire is burning. Paintings
depicting the tragic story of Daedalus and Icarus decorate the
walls. According to the Greek myth, Daedalus was an inven-
tor who built a labyrinth on Crete, only to be held there as a
prisoner by Minos, the king of Crete (Palazzi, 1988). In order
to escape, Daedalus engineered wings of wax and bird feath-
ers for himself and his son Icarus (Aimonetto, 1957; Palazzi,
1988). Not heeding his father’s warning not to fly too close to
the sun, Icarus soared upwards, melting the wax and falling
to his death (Palazzi, 1988). His final moments are described
by Dante.
ne’ quando Icaro misero le reni
senti’ spennar per la scaldata cera,
gridando il padre a lui: “Mala via tieni!” (Inf. XVII,
109–111, Singleton, 1989)
(nor when the wretched Icarus
felt his loins unfeathering by the melting wax,
and his father cried to him, “You go an ill way!”)
“In this room,” says Ulysses, “dwell the souls of scientists
whose sin was excessive pride.” He points to the fire in the
centre of the lecture theatre. “The scientists tending to those
flames are forced to burn the manuscripts, papers and books
they wrote in life. Published or unpublished, it is all the same
– the fruits of their labour are lost forever in those pyres”.
Nearby, souls tremble with anger as they stare at portable
computer screens chained to their laps.
“What is causing them such rage?” asks the Scientist.
“They are looking at papers to which they put their names,
as authors, in life,” says Ulysses. “They are forced to watch
as their names slowly move along the author list, gradually
losing prominence, before landing in the acknowledgements
section, where, eventually, one by one, the letters vanish ir-
revocably,” he explains.
The Scientist smiles sadly, recognising the vanity and
hubris – from the ancient Greek , the feeling of being
as grand and powerful as the gods (Van Hooft, 2006) – with
which science is tainted.
At the back of the lecture theatre, souls are standing on a
podium, intent on giving a lecture, but the words are com-
ing out twisted and garbled from their mouths. Beside them,
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136 A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues
souls gasp as they point at projections of their h-indices on
large screens. From the h-index, a measure of scientists’
productivity based on number of citations of their papers
(Wendl, 2007), to the journal impact factor, a measure of the
average number of citations that articles published in a jour-
nal have garnered over the previous 2 years (Else, 2019a),
the Scientist is altogether too familiar with this modern cur-
rency of scientific success, which leads people to reduce one
another to numbers (e.g. Van Noorden and Chawla, 2019).
“These souls,” says Ulysses, “are watching their cherished
measures of success plummet over time on giant graphs, as
other scientists take notes and model the trends.”
It always saddens me when I see somebody putting
their h-index in their email signature. [Or thinking]
“my papers are only worth what the impact factor
says they’re worth”. That’s a terrible thing to do,
because there’s an interesting story behind every
paper. [... ] It’s that story which, I think, is the im-
portant thing, not just the numbers. (Professor)
At this point, Ulysses points to an opening in the wall. A
spiral staircase leads them to the basement, the last division
of infernal science.
“Here, we will encounter the corrupt souls of those scien-
tists who were dishonest in life. They are guilty of scientific
misconduct – including falsification, fabrication and plagia-
rism,” says Ulysses.
Through an endless array of news headlines projected onto
giant screens, these fraudulent souls are forever forced to re-
live the moment their dishonesty was exposed (see Enserink,
2017), as their colleagues point and stare.
“They hide their faces in shame and mourn their reputa-
tion, which is forever lost,” says Ulysses.
In my role as peer reviewer, I have come across
tonnes of plagiarism, multiple times. (Technical of-
ficer)
Ulysses reaches for the Scientist’s hand. “Come now, dear
Scientist. We have reached the end of this sorry place.”
Together they walk down a set of stone steps leading out
to a pier, where Argos is patiently waiting. Stars illuminate a
small boat anchored nearby.
e quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle. (Inf. XXXIV,
139)
(and thence we came forth to see the stars once
more.)
5Purgatorio – striving for a better science
The purgatory of science ethics is littered with the souls of
those who are striving to make science better. The souls who
inhabit this realm are present-day scientists, conjured up by
the Scientist in her dream. Just as Dante included in Purga-
tory those souls whose love of God was misdirected (Auer-
bach, 1961; Dante, 1922; Shaw, 2014), so our Scientist will
encounter here those whose love of science is misdirected.
amor sementa in voi d’ogne virtute
e d’ogne operazion che merta pene. (Purg. XVII,
104–105)
(love, the seed in you of all virtue
and of every action that deserves punishment.)
Past the breaking waves, Ulysses and the Scientist reach
a sandy shoreline, from where a tall glass building can be
seen. An old man is perched on a rock. He holds a dusty
book in his hands and appears to be deep in thought. As they
walk towards him, the Scientist makes out the title of the
book – Nicomachean Ethics. This lone figure is none other
than Aristotle, the Greek thinker whose towering influence
on ethics persists up to the present day.
Aristotle’s philosophy encompassed all branches of
knowledge, including natural science (Drake, 1980). His sci-
entific results, the fruit of much observation and gathering of
evidence, remained unrivalled for two millennia (Barnes and
Kenny, 2014), through Dante’s lifetime, earning him the title
of first scientist (Drake, 1980; Hankinson, 1995).
Dante placed Aristotle among the spiriti magni, or virtu-
ous pagans, in limbo, where he refers to him as “L maestro
di color che sanno” (the master of those who know; Inf. IV,
131). Moreover, in Dante’s Inferno, the general classification
of evil deeds is inspired by Aristotelian ethics (Nic. VII),
which Virgil calls la tua “Etica” (your ethics; Inf. XI, 80;
Scott, 2004). Aristotle’s lectures on ethics, the notes of which
are effectively published as his Ethics (MacIntyre, 1984),
showcase his excellent teaching abilities and his ethical theo-
ries (Thomson, 1953). We will draw on both elements as we
continue our journey.
On the shore of our purgatory of science, Aristotle greets
his visitors with a smile. At this point, Ulysses turns to the
Scientist and says:
e s’e’ venuto in parte
dov’io per me piu’ oltre non discerno. (Purg.
XXVII, 128–129)
(and you have reached a place
From where I alone can discern no further.)
These words are spoken by Virgil in Earthly Paradise,
where he leaves Dante in the capable hands of Beatrice, who
is to be the pilgrim’s guide from then on (Scott, 2004). While
the guidance of fellow poet Virgil was appropriate as far as
the top of the mountain of Purgatorio, Beatrice must take
over in the final stretch towards heaven. As ever, Dante’s
meaning is allegorical, for human reason, personified by Vir-
gil, cannot lead to the truth without the aid of divine knowl-
edge personified by Beatrice (Dante, 1922). Similarly, in our
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A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues 137
scientific journey, knowledge and curiosity alone, personi-
fied by Ulysses, cannot create good science without the aid
of virtue ethics embodied by Aristotle. Indeed, who could be
more suited to guide us towards the bliss of ethical science
than the pioneer scientist who is also credited with the inven-
tion of ethics (Scott, 2004)? With a wave, Ulysses sails away
into the starry night, towards two towering columns in the
distance.
Aristotle stands up and, quoting his Metaphysics, says,
“All men by nature desire to know (Aristotle, 1957, p. 1).
However,” he adds, “as you yourself will have observed in
the sad place you dwelled in for a time, knowledge alone is
not enough to ensure the practice of good science, for it must
be tempered by ethics.”
With that, Aristotle directs the Scientist to the building be-
fore them.
“The souls you will encounter inside go about their busi-
ness, chasing after fantasies. Unlike the realm you have left
behind, no additional punishments are needed here for sci-
ence as we know it is already suffering,” says Aristotle.
The Scientist nods and follows him in, through revolving
doors. A bright, modern room opens out in front of them.
“Here reside the souls of scientists whose love of science
is misdirected for they are trying to save science by sticking
like limpets to a simple view of a simple scientific method,”
says Aristotle, pointing towards a group of scientists walking
around in circles, reciting Merton’s norms (Merton, 1973)
under their breath, ad infinitum, as a kind of liturgy.
The Scientist recognises those utterings as the norms, or
behaviours, described by American sociologist Robert Mer-
ton (1910–2003) when, during World War II, he sought “in-
stitutional imperatives” that would be crucial to the ethos of
science (Merton, 1973). These are universalism, the notion
that scientific claims should be evaluated irrespective of so-
cial or personal factors; communism, the idea that scientific
findings belong to, and should be shared with, society; dis-
interestedness, the idea that scientists are not motivated by
self-interest; and organised scepticism, the notion that sci-
entists must subject their ideas to careful scrutiny. Aristotle,
that great observer of how things are, cautions us, however,
against the trap of oversimplifying human behaviour just to
make us feel better.
“If only humans could be so pure,” he declares. And then,
“Nowhere in science can so clear a gaze be found!”
And the far-sighted Greek points to Ian Mitroff (1974)’s
portrayal of capricious, ambitious scientists working on the
Apollo lunar missions, all of them “looking both ways”.
Mitroff (1974), confronted by the truly complex paths of con-
temporary scientists, and their abandonment of the “one way
to truth”, duly formulated, for each of Merton’s norms, an
opposing version, a liturgical heresy, the so-called counter-
norms. He argued that both norms and counter-norms ex-
isted in science and had to. For instance, he writes that “if
universalism is rooted in the impersonal nature of science,
an opposing counter-norm is rooted in the personal charac-
ter of science” (Mitroff, 1974, p. 579). He made central then,
to the scientific effort, an unstable and oscillatory ambiva-
lence. Naturally, for scientists unwilling to reflect honestly
on their lives, and facing hard battles for grants and esteem,
the time-consuming and apparently inefficient dynamics of
professional ambivalence become a source of trouble and an-
guish.
“These scientists desperately seek a moral compass,” says
Aristotle.
For each norm they so wistfully whisper, the words of
the scientists interviewed by Mitroff materialise on a giant
whiteboard behind them, and taunt them.
“Science is an intensely personal enterprise – it knows no
simple rules,” the Scientist reads.
Aristotle looks gently at our struggling hero and speaks.
“These scientists seek simple truths but forget the fraught
ways of all professional culture. In running from that truth,
they cast themselves into a place where nothing is as it seems
and where no door leads to the contentment of a flourishing
career. But let us proceed, dear Scientist,” says Aristotle, and
gestures towards a table where a group of scientists work to-
gether.
The Scientist edges towards them.
“These souls are intent on devising new ways to evalu-
ate the success of scientists,” says Aristotle (Curry, 2018;
Wouters et al., 2019). “In an effort to come up with met-
rics that will accurately measure good science, they scribble
formulae and equations on large sheets of paper,” he says.
You can use metrics, but you must do so respon-
sibly. But, there’s a tremendous temptation for the
numbers to take over, and you always have to be
really mindful about how you’re using them and
be open about the fact that you’re using them. [.. .]
Doing a piece of science is not just about good de-
sign but bringing together the right team, establish-
ing the right collaborations, sustaining them over
the years and winning the funding ticket. The final
product of the paper is the result of a very com-
plex set of human activities, and all of those com-
ponents really ought to be considered when you are
evaluating something. (Professor)
Behind the souls, a painting of Francis Bacon (1561–
1626), the English philosopher credited with the invention
of the scientific method (Zagorin, 1998), hangs on the wall.
“These souls worship Bacon’s scientific method, forget-
ting that it is the source of all misery in science,” says Aris-
totle.
Bacon’s principal project was to renew and modernise nat-
ural philosophy, which, at the time, remained heavily in-
fluenced by Plato, Aristotle and their philosophical tradi-
tion (Zagorin, 1998). As he wrote in his 1620 work, the
Novum Organum, people “fall in love with particular pieces
of knowledge and thoughts” and, as such, tend to “distort
and corrupt” any study they undertake “to suit their prior
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138 A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues
fancies”, with Aristotle being the prime example of this ten-
dency (Bacon, 2000, I, LIV).
Bacon believed that the mind is plagued by so-called idols,
fallacies obstructing the progress of knowledge (Zagorin,
1998), and proposed a new method of discovery, based on
induction, which would lead to true progress (Jardine, 2000).
According to Bacon, only rigorous observations coupled
with experimentation, and the formulation of scientific the-
ories – assuming the idols are kept firmly in check – will
lead to new knowledge (Zagorin, 1998).
For Bacon, the Herculean columns which decorate the title
page of the first edition of the Novum Organum mark the lim-
its of the present state of knowledge. In his view, the act of
sailing past the columns towards terrae incognitae (unknown
territories) becomes a symbol of the advancement of knowl-
edge that typified the Renaissance (Poirier, 2016), something
to be sought after rather than feared.
For why should a few received authors stand
up like Hercules’ columns, beyond which there
should be no sailing or discovering [. . . ]? (Bacon,
1973, p. 61)
Our trusted guide Aristotle glances at the painting, and
sighs at the sight of the man who wrote about him with such
scorn, before pointing to a corner of the office where scien-
tists are holding a meeting.
“These souls,” says Aristotle, “are searching for ways of
maximising happiness in science. Focusing on the conse-
quences of scientists’ actions, they believe that utility should
be the main criterion for good science,” he says.
The Scientist listens in on the souls’ conversation and re-
alises she is privy to a meeting of an equality, diversity and
inclusion committee (Nature, 2018). Some scientists discuss
their terms of reference, while others propose enacting quo-
tas to balance gender disparity in the sciences (Woolston,
2019). Eventually, they decide it is necessary to gather fur-
ther data before moving forward (Tzanakou, 2019). At a
nearby table, souls read papers and enter figures into calcu-
lators, while others weigh papers on electronic scales before
stacking them in neat piles.
“These souls,” says Aristotle, “are evaluating funding pro-
posals submitted by other scientists. Using complicated for-
mulae, they try to measure their usefulness to society.”
At a table close by, the Scientist and Aristotle see dozens
of souls editing documents on large screens.
“Never satisfied, they draft and re-draft regulations and
codes of conduct for laboratories, offices and conferences.
In doing so, they serve at the altar of deontology, believing
that rules and regulations will rescue science,” says Aristotle
grimly.
The Scientist peers at their screens. One of the souls is pe-
titioning her university to sign up for policies that promote
free access to research publications (e.g. Else, 2019b), an-
other is reading a list of recommendations around research
assessment (e.g. San Francisco Declaration on Research As-
sessment, 2012), while another is drafting regulations to pro-
tect the environment from the effects of mining (e.g. Nature,
2019c).
Slowly, they walk towards an escalator leading to the top
floor.
“As we ascend, look around you. The souls on each floor
are closer and closer to living in accordance with the virtues,”
says Aristotle, before pointing towards a meeting room with
glass walls around it. “Over there, senior scientists are dis-
cussing how best to mentor students and develop a good
working atmosphere in their laboratory. The talk animat-
edly and trustingly of their own experience of science, and
they share their stories and their anxieties willingly with
no thought of fear or penalty. In doing so”, says Aristotle
warmly, “they are learning to practice the virtues (e.g. Pow-
ell, 2018). Their efforts will bear fruit.”
Yet Aristotle also motions to a sadder sight: in offices just
down the corridor, scientists are working with policy officers,
huddled over lists and protocols, as they try to develop new
ways of evaluating scientists. “They know they must move
away from metrics, to avoid the most egregious injustices”
he says, “but, alas, they still rely on new regulations and HR
formulations. And so they miss the vital point that good sci-
ence comes from scientists’ freedom to find their way and
develop their virtues.”
It’s a global reflection that we ask from our pro-
fessors instead of quantified objectives [.. . ]. It’s
not about listing all the outputs, it’s about reflect-
ing on a global perspective on their major achieve-
ments. It’s much more qualitative than quantita-
tive. [.. . ]. We wanted to support people by giving
them the chance to reflect on their own strengths
and talents and preferences, and what they wanted
to do most in their career, and if they are good at
it, then it’s fine for the university. [. . . ] We very
quickly came up with a completely revised regula-
tory framework, what we called our regulations for
professorial staff, in which we, as clearly as pos-
sible, stipulated the framework in which the new
evaluation method would be handled in the future.
(University Policy Officer)
At this point, Aristotle takes a seat by the window and in-
vites the Scientist to sit down beside him.
“My friend, though well-intentioned, the attempts of these
souls to create ethical science are an exercise in futility,” he
says. “Clearly, those who focus on the consequences of par-
ticular actions and weigh them up, trying to decide which
will maximise happiness in science, are faced with an im-
practical and, ultimately, impossible calculation.” Aristotle
pauses, before adding, “And those who focus on rules forget
that rules are dependent on convention, and how can some-
thing dependent on convention be universally true?”
“Yes, I see,” says the Scientist.
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A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues 139
“What the law prescribes, though just, is so only in an ac-
quired or accidental way. It does not answer the vital ques-
tion of how actions are to be performed and distributions to
be made in order to be just,” says Aristotle, reading from his
Ethics (Nic. V, 9). He points to a note on the margin.
Do we need a set of rules, a set of scientific com-
mandments to actually behave properly? I don’t
think it does any harm. But I really do think that
a lot of people know and have a strong sense of
what’s right because, ultimately, that’s what we’re
searching for. (PI)
“The reality of science is a terrifying one, which codes of
conduct and regulations can do little to assuage,” says Aristo-
tle, before standing up. “Furthermore, to focus on regulating
the actions of scientists or on the consequences of those ac-
tions, is to miss the mark. Dear Scientist, the only way for
science to thrive is to put the focus on scientists themselves
as moral agents,” he says, pointing to a large scrawling on
the wall.
(Auerbach, 1961)
(A man’s character is his fate)
This phrase, known as the maxim of Heraclitus (Auerbach,
1961), is intended to remind the scientists in purgatory to
redirect their focus from action to character.
They stare at the scrawling for a time, until Aristotle
breaks the silence. “Walk with me, my friend. The purpose
of human beings is to exercise their reason, and a good life is
one in which reason is exercised well,” says Aristotle. “Thus,
in order to be happy, which must be our ultimate goal in life,
we must act in accordance with reason. And in the right and
able exercise of reason, my friend, is where virtue resides,”
he says.
“What do you mean by virtue, exactly?” asks the Scientist.
“Virtues are dispositions or settled habits of acting wisely,
which we praise in others,” replies Aristotle (Nic. I, 13).
“Think of it this way – virtues are midpoints between ex-
tremes of excess and deficiency,” he adds (Rachels, 2010).
“For example, courage is the midpoint between rashness and
cowardice. To be good, we must choose the mean, avoiding
both the too much and the too little (Nic. VI, 1). My friend,
the virtues should be our guide in all matters, including sci-
ence. Hence, as you look at the souls around you, remember
this – although rules are useful, they must be guided by the
virtues,” says Aristotle. “Only by making a habit of cultivat-
ing the virtues, will a person flourish and fulfil his or her
destiny,” he explains.
“I think I understand – scientists who practise the scien-
tific virtues will necessarily do good science and be good
scientists. Is that right?” the Scientist asks.
Aristotle nods and adds, “Moreover, the life of people who
practice the virtues is inherently pleasant.”
Indeed, according to Aristotle, a person, in order to
achieve , the ancient Greek word that can be
Figure 1. The scientific virtues that emerged from interviews with
scientists.
roughly translated as happiness, should cultivate the virtues.
But it is worth noting that he made a distinction between in-
tellectual virtues, which relate to the activity of reasoning
and are born from and cultivated through teaching, and moral
virtues, which are not innate but acquired by habit (Aristotle,
1953; Darwall, 2003; MacIntyre, 1998). Intellectual virtues
include scientific knowledge, artistic or technical knowledge,
intuitive reason, practical wisdom, and philosophic wisdom,
while moral virtues include courage, temperance and justice
(Darwall, 2003).
“Dear Scientist, the logic of science cannot save science,
only the virtues have this power,” says Aristotle.
“Tell me, wise guide, which virtues are most appropriate
for science?” asks the Scientist.
Aristotle points to a marble staircase leading out into a
sunny gallery.
6Paradiso – a flourish of virtues
As we end our journey where Dante ended his, in heaven,
we will glimpse at virtues that pertain to the life scientific
(Fig. 1). The overwhelming brightness of the virtues makes
the Scientist squint. Just as Virgil shielded Dante’s eyes from
the gaze of Medusa at the gates of Hell (Inf. IX, 58–60),
Aristotle covers the Scientist’s eyes with his hand, as they
slowly adjust to their virtuous surroundings. What the Scien-
tist starts to make out is a vision crafted by the imagination
of modern-day scientists.
Some souls walk around aimlessly, while others tend to
the plants in the courtyard.
“Here,” says Aristotle, “the virtues are fully realised, and
signs of are everywhere. Take note, for the words
of present-day scientists are scripted upon the clouds.”
I like to think about things. To my mind, that’s the
essence of science – not to spew it out. (PI)
https://doi.org/10.5194/gc-4-129-2021 Geosci. Commun., 4, 129–145, 2021

140 A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues
These words herald our first scientific virtue, reticence, in
the sense of taking the time to reflect and pausing before
diving into scientific undertakings (Webster, 2019). Among
scientists, Florentine polymath Leonardo da Vinci (1452–
1519) was well-practised in this virtue, given his “habit
of sometimes spending half a day at a time contemplating
what he had done so far” (Vasari, 1965, p. 12). Another
is Charles Darwin (1809–1881), whose legendary delays
in publication were occasioned by a desire to think things
through and find forms of expression best able to represent
the complex paths of nature (Webster, 2016).
Next on our list of scientific virtues comes generosity, de-
fined by Aristotle (Nic. IV, 1) as a mean between the extremes
of stinginess and extravagance (Rachels, 2010). In science, it
applies to time, data, power and funding, commodities which
need to be shared for good science to take place. This virtue
is further elucidated in the words of scientists scrawled on
the clouds.
You do need people who are willing to share and
be generous with their ideas, and that’s not just in
terms of the relationship between the lab manager
and the postdocs or students but among lab mem-
bers themselves. (Professor)
Our third scientific virtue is inspired by philosopher of sci-
ence Paul Feyerabend (1924–1994), who famously argued
that science should be free from the constraints of rules or
“method” (Feyerabend, 1993), with “anything goes” being
“the only principle that does not inhibit progress” (Feyer-
abend, 1993, p. 14). A fierce advocate of openness and di-
versity in science (Feyerabend, 1987), Feyerabend sought to
dismantle the walls that keep science closed and stewing in
its prejudice. “There is no idea, however ancient and absurd,
that is not capable of improving our knowledge,” he wrote
(Feyerabend, 1993, p. 33). Feyerabend championed a kind of
innocent science, where non-scientists contribute to knowl-
edge as much as scientists (e.g. Vera, 2018) and where se-
crecy and competition have no place. Innocence, then, in the
sense of being open to others and to new ideas, is the name
of this virtue (Webster, 2019), which incorporates trust and
communication in its practice.
The PI has to trust the people who are actually do-
ing the experiments. [. . . ] You have to trust that
they will do them in a way that you have agreed,
so if you say a particular dose or a particular time,
then that’s the experiment that they will do, or they
will come back and say, “I think that I’ve made a
mistake in the dose or I didn’t have enough cells,”
or “I’ve only got three time points instead of four,”
[and] they will discuss that. They have to know that
I’ll treat them all fairly and [. . . ] if I say I’m go-
ing to do something then I’ll do it, and I won’t be
snapping at them or getting cross if they screw up,
because that’s just human. (PI)
There’s no solution [to co-authorship disputes]
other than people should talk to one another from
the beginning and throughout projects and make
it clear – is this going to be co-authorship or
not? [. . . ] It’s really [about] just communicat-
ing clearly what constitutes authorship and what
doesn’t. (Technical Officer)
Naturally, by practicing the virtue of innocence, scien-
tists will open up to and take part in the pursuits of their
wider communities. This is in line with Dante’s admiration
of civic life, which, he believed, necessitates active partic-
ipation and communication from all community members
(Honess, 2006). Through the virtue of innocence, scientists
are able to listen attentively to lay people, gauge and benefit
from their views and find the right response to societal pres-
sures. The virtuous clinical researcher consults their patients
and adjusts the research questions and the protocols accord-
ingly.
The fourth scientific virtue is philia, or friendship, which
was treated by Cicero (106–43 BC) as being inextricably
linked to goodness.
No one can be a friend unless he is a good man.
But next to goodness itself, I entreat you to regard
friendship as the finest thing in all the world. (Ci-
cero, 1971, p. 227)
Cicero wrote that “it is from love, amor, that the word for
friendship, amicitia, is derived” (Cicero, 1971, p. 191). Thus,
in being loving and caring towards one another and towards
non-human beings as well as to the planet, we exercise philia.
In our heavenly terrace of science, these words of modern-
day scientists confirm philia to be an important ingredient
for the good life scientific.
You might just feel a bit down and having some-
body in the lab can help you get over that, and
that’s really good. If someone is having a hard
time, I think that we need to recognise that and be
kind to them and just think that they may need a bit
more help. (PI)
On another cloud, the scientific virtue of humility is con-
jured up by these words:
I’m reasonably happy with the role I have right
now – providing a lot of research support. [.. . ] You
do not just need the shining professor stars; these
people can only shine with a good support cast, and
I’m reasonably happy with my role in this support
cast now. (Technical Officer)
Humility in science, taken to stand in opposition to pride
or hubris, can be understood in light of Aristotle’s treatment
of self-love.
It is right for the good man to be self-loving, be-
cause he will thereby himself be benefited by per-
forming fine actions; and by the same process he
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A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues 141
will be helpful to others. [. . . ] For intelligence
never fails to choose the course that is best for it-
self, and the good man obeys his intelligence. (Nic.
IX, 8)
According to Aristotle, the “good man” stands “ready to
sacrifice wealth, honours, all the prizes of life in his eager-
ness to play a noble part” (Nic. IX, 8). Humility, then, is
properly dosed self-love, accompanied by a “tempered de-
sire for excellence” (Boyd, 2014), standing in opposition to
hubris and self-aggrandisement. For instance, when senior
scientists undergo training on how to mentor students and
manage employees, they are learning to practice humility.
Honesty is the scientific virtue shining brightest among the
clouds. It can be understood in the sense of truthfulness, both
towards others, as Aristotle defines it (Nic. IV, 7), and to-
wards oneself. Aristotle’s treatment of truthfulness applies
to the situations in which people present their accomplish-
ments and commitments to others (Nic. IV, 7). This defini-
tion, which can be applied to scholarly communication and
publishing, does not, per se, provide a satisfactory account of
scientific honesty, for scientists must also direct truthfulness
towards themselves if they are to practice good science, as
these words testify.
Honesty, [is the] number one [virtue]. It’s a belief
that, even though you may be absolutely convinced
that you’re right, you may be wrong. It’s very im-
portant to accept that the frame in which you’re
operating is not the total frame. (Emeritus Profes-
sor)
Further guidance on this virtue comes from Dante himself,
whose divine journey is one of self-consciousness (Shaw,
2014; Wilson, 2011). In fact, only once the pilgrim has been
honest with himself about his sins, can he reach God (l’Amor
che move il sole e l’altre stelle; the Love which moves the
Sun and the other stars; Par. XXXIII, 145).
“Dear Scientist, let us take heed,” says Aristotle. “The six
virtues we have contemplated are reticence, generosity, in-
nocence, philia, humility and honesty. These are the habits
that a good, well-balanced scientist must practice and learn
to embody.”
With tears in her eyes, the Scientist turns to her guide who
says, “Now that we have observed the conditions necessary
for science to flourish, I must leave you here. I trust that you
will treat what you have seen as a modern code of conduct
for science.”
The Scientist wakes up with a start. Realising that her
malaise had arisen from the state of the world around her,
she knows what to do. She must put the focus on human
relationships. Her mission henceforth will be to restore the
virtues by living according to them. Success in science will
ensue. Keen to communicate what she has seen, she leaves
the lab with a confident stride.
7 Conclusions
In this work, we have argued that virtue ethics provides an
effective antidote for the ailments affecting modern science.
Using the narrative structure of Dante’s Commedia, we ex-
plored six scientific virtues, their corresponding vices and
various ethical approaches in science, some of which we con-
sider to be misdirected. We have argued that, by practicing
these virtues and nurturing them as character traits, scien-
tists will naturally be successful in their work. They will be
good scientists in all senses. Specifically, we propose that
neither utilitarian ethics (Mill, 2002) nor duty-based ethics
(Rachels, 2010) alone can rescue science. Moreover, rather
than suggesting that utilitarian or duty-based ethics should
complement virtue-based ethics (e.g. Resnik, 2012), we have
made the case, through Aristotle’s words, for the virtues to
be the guides in all matters scientific, including the creation
of rules.
Our interview quotes demonstrate that the scientists in our
sample are deeply concerned with power dynamics and hu-
man relationships. On these aspects, codes of conduct and
regulations say very little. Conversely, the narrative frame-
work of Dante’s Commedia and its moral universe, where
humans have moral agency as individuals, provide a more
personal, evocative and direct means of discussing ethical
matters concerning character.
In addition to those identified during our interviews, fur-
ther virtues remain to be explored. It is our hope that Dante’s
narrative and its characters, from Ulysses to Aristotle, will
inspire future enquiries into matters of virtue ethics – should
one wish to embark upon the journey.
https://doi.org/10.5194/gc-4-129-2021 Geosci. Commun., 4, 129–145, 2021

142 A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues
Appendix A
Table A1. Structure of the narrative.
Inferno Purgatorio Paradiso
Sins Virtues
↑Dishonesty Honesty ↑
(fraud; corruption)
Pride (hubris) Humility
Severity increase and Violence (including Misdirected love of science Philia Increase in brightness
narrative direction cruelty and power (method of science – deontology of the virtues and
abuse) and utilitarianism) narrative direction
Fear, secrecy and Innocence (openness,
competition communication and trust)
↑Greed (power, Generosity ↑
fame and money)
Unrestrained Reticence
curiosity
Appendix B: Abbreviations
Commedia Divina Commedia
Comedy The Divine Comedy
Inf. Inferno
Purg.Purgatorio
Par.Paradiso
E.g. (Inf. IV, 33–34, Singleton, 1989) Fourth canto of Dante’s Inferno, from The Divine Comedy; verses 33 to 34;
English translation by Singleton (1989); full reference in bibliography.
Met. Ovid’s Metamorphoses
Nic. Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics
E.g. (Nic. V, 9) Nicomachean Ethics, fifth book, ninth chapter
Translations are my own, unless otherwise stated.
Geosci. Commun., 4, 129–145, 2021 https://doi.org/10.5194/gc-4-129-2021

A. R. Lacchia and S. Webster: La Commedia Scientifica – Dante and the scientific virtues 143
Data availability. All data underlying the results are available in
the paper. Additional data around this project are available from the
corresponding author. Transcripts of interviews are not provided to
preserve anonymity of interviewees.
Author contributions. ARL and SW conceived and planned the
study. ARL conducted the interviews and drafted the paper, and SW
and ARL worked on the paper.
Competing interests. The authors declare that they have no con-
flict of interest.
Acknowledgements. Ethical approval for the study was obtained
by Imperial College London. We warmly thank all the people
who spoke with us about ethics in science and who inspired this
work. This includes our interviewees and the Dublin Dante Summer
School participants and mentors. Warmest thanks go to our editor,
Rebecca Priestley, and to our referee, Fabien Medvecky, for their
valuable feedback on this paper. We also wish to thank William Sta-
pleton, for his assistance with interview transcription, and Alexan-
dra Fitzsimmons, for her encouraging feedback on this work.
Review statement. This paper was edited by Rebecca Priestley
and reviewed by Fabien Medvecky and one anonymous referee.
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