Chapter VIII (pages 100-109), “Ethical Controversy”
Does ethics have anything to offer in helping to decide which of two situations is desirable, when both sides have their champions?
Why might people (or groups) hold different opinions? First, they might have shared goals, but differ on the preferred means to achieve those goals. Second, one side, but not the other, might think that a course of action is evil, irrespective of consequences. Third, people might disagree about what ends to pursue. Many political issues are about ends – labor unions favor shorter work weeks, capital owners longer work weeks – but the public discussion will be undertaken under the pretense that the difference is about the means to achieve the highest productivity. When disputes really are about the best means to a shared goal, there is no ethical loading: the right answer is an empirical matter.
Disagreements about whether a course of action is evil cannot be settled via a logical proof. Nevertheless, Russell suggests that evidence of harmful consequences, or lack thereof, from a course of action should have some bearing upon opinion. The Amish think of buttons as evil, but careful historical evidence that no harm has been associated with button-wearing might, and ought to, shake that belief. Likewise, if an Amish person can demonstrate the harm of button-wearing, the rest of us should adopt the opinion that button-wearing is evil.
Nonetheless, Russell makes concessions to irrational beliefs or repugnance. If a person is repulsed by an objectively innocent act, then he would be distressed to witness the act. “If you had a guest who thought it wicked to play cards on Sunday, while the rest of the company had no such scruple, you would be guilty of unkindness if you ignored his feelings [p. 103].” So the belief that an act is wrong might render it wrong – if the rightness of acts is associated with satisfying desires, as Russell has stipulated.
Supporters of slavery in the US and of serfdom in Russia were incapable of seeing how the interests of slaves and serfs should matter. “In both countries, when men could no longer deny that the oppressed had the same capacity for joy and sorrow as their oppressors, the oppressive institution was abolished [p. 103].” The controversy over slavery and serfdom resulted from an empirical matter – the emotional lives of slaves and serfs – and that controversy ended when the empirical matter was resolved.
Other arguments for slavery are that it is essential, or that slaves are means not ends, unworthy of standing in the social cost-benefit calculus. Perhaps in the past slavery really was essential for civilization, but Russell explicitly rejects further pursuit of this topic. Slaveholders who treat slaves as means live in fear and adopt cruel tactics – they cannot achieve contentment or inner peace. The same fear, the same sacrifice of tranquility (and embrace, perhaps, of war and annihilation) is the lot of those who do not grant social standing to people of other nations, or ethnicities, or religions. You needn’t invoke ethics to make a case for treating others as ends in themselves – “enlightened self-interest [p. 106]” often will point you in the right direction. Paradoxically, in these matters of contempt and rivalry people are more persuaded to take socially useful acts by appealing to their altruistic side than to their self-interest: their judgment is so clouded that they will not be able to understand their own interest. [Russell here is very close to Adam Smith’s view in The Theory of Moral Sentiments. Nationalism and faction, according to Smith (see Part VI, Chapter II, "Of the order in which Societies are by nature recommended to our Beneficence"), generally corrupt our impartial spectator, the being we develop inside our breast whose lack of partiality to our own interests is our guide to proper behavior.]
The interests of different people, however, might generally conflict. I might be better off (and you worse off) if I can steal from you, though the opposite might be true if you can steal from me. (Russell is positing a sort of prisoners’ dilemma situation, where the general interest would be well-served by constraints against stealing that bind both of us.) “Law and government are institutions by which it is sought to bring the general interest to bear on the individual; so is public opinion in the form of praise and blame [p. 107].” As a result, in places with effective policing, most individuals see no gain from engaging in crime. But the international arena lacks police officers, so many people have difficulty seeing how restraining their behavior to avoid imposing on the rest of the world is beneficial.
“What a man will consider to constitute his happiness depends upon his passions, and these in turn depend upon his education and social circumstances as well as upon his congenital endowment [p. 107].” Young people can be led to develop interests that harmonize with social utility, and to behave as global citizens; the current practice is to indoctrinate the young to act in their nation’s interests. A world government could be established, with tremendous benefits to humanity, but it requires the solution to the prisoners’ dilemma played out among the powerful nations.
Russell concludes this chapter by returning to the difficulties of a Nietzschean scheme that openly promotes the interests of only a subset of humanity, the supermen. (See Chapter V.) This philosophy will be opposed by all who do not belong to the chosen group, though the oppressed might adopt the philosophy, with themselves as supermen, were they to become sufficiently powerful. “It is obvious that this doctrine of the supremacy of a section of mankind can only breed endless strife, with periodic changes as to which group is to be dominant [p. 108].” The current rulers will be cruel and fearful, like slaveholders. They will be miserable and eventually forcibly usurped – why would anyone choose to live in such a way?
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter VII
Chapter VII (pages 89-99), “Sin”
Even people who proclaim that they are liberated from all traditional sources of shame nevertheless probably do view some behaviors as sinful. The sense of shame is so universal that many people think it is innate, but Russell believes that it is instilled in youth by the threat of punishment or disapproval from respected authority figures. (Disobedience only feels shameful when it is directed against those who really are respected.) This early childhood experience of disapproval leaves a lasting legacy, a vague (or not so vague) sense of sin for acts committed in adulthood. Adults can even feel shame when the only person (or deity) who disapproves of an action is the actor himself. Historically, and today, sin is associated not with acts that harm others, but with acts that are perceived as taboo – and of course sin is a central element in Christian theology.
Even if sin is divorced from a religious context, and is viewed as an act against conscience as opposed to an act against the will of God, it generally is felt to merit punishment. Sometimes the punishment – including everlasting perdition – is seen as justifiable solely on grounds of retribution. Another view, however, is that punishment should be inflicted only to deter socially harmful acts. Further, retribution cannot be sensible if it is inflicted upon people whose choices are not the result of free will. But Russell’s approach to "free will" seems to equate it with a lack of any systematic tendencies in choice, so that standard incentives and disincentives would have unpredictable effects. “If free will were common, all social organization would be impossible, since there would be no way of influencing men’s actions [p. 97].”
The usual incentives and disincentives, including praise and blame, do make sense, however, if we reject the Russellian version of free will: then society can reliably direct behavior towards desirable ends. But the notion of sin does not add anything useful. Punishing sane people who murder has a deterrent effect. Criminally insane people cannot be deterred by the threat of execution, however, and hence it is useless to execute them. “Murder is punished, not because it is a sin and it is good that sinners should suffer, but because the community wishes to prevent it, and fear of punishment causes most people to abstain from it [p. 97].”
So the concept of sin is unnecessary or worse than unnecessary: it leads to cruelty towards others, “and a morbid self-abasement when it is ourselves whom we condemn [p. 98].” Punishment as retribution alone is an evil; punishment can be tolerated only on the grounds that it helps to reform or deter malefactors. If the public could be led permanently to believe that criminals were being imprisoned, when in fact they were being sent to live far away in idyllic circumstances, that would be better than actually inflicting punishment. A similar notion applies to the application of blame. That people strive to be praiseworthy and to avoid blame is useful to society. But once a person has done something blameworthy, the actual bestowal of blame has little to be said for it.
Even people who proclaim that they are liberated from all traditional sources of shame nevertheless probably do view some behaviors as sinful. The sense of shame is so universal that many people think it is innate, but Russell believes that it is instilled in youth by the threat of punishment or disapproval from respected authority figures. (Disobedience only feels shameful when it is directed against those who really are respected.) This early childhood experience of disapproval leaves a lasting legacy, a vague (or not so vague) sense of sin for acts committed in adulthood. Adults can even feel shame when the only person (or deity) who disapproves of an action is the actor himself. Historically, and today, sin is associated not with acts that harm others, but with acts that are perceived as taboo – and of course sin is a central element in Christian theology.
Even if sin is divorced from a religious context, and is viewed as an act against conscience as opposed to an act against the will of God, it generally is felt to merit punishment. Sometimes the punishment – including everlasting perdition – is seen as justifiable solely on grounds of retribution. Another view, however, is that punishment should be inflicted only to deter socially harmful acts. Further, retribution cannot be sensible if it is inflicted upon people whose choices are not the result of free will. But Russell’s approach to "free will" seems to equate it with a lack of any systematic tendencies in choice, so that standard incentives and disincentives would have unpredictable effects. “If free will were common, all social organization would be impossible, since there would be no way of influencing men’s actions [p. 97].”
The usual incentives and disincentives, including praise and blame, do make sense, however, if we reject the Russellian version of free will: then society can reliably direct behavior towards desirable ends. But the notion of sin does not add anything useful. Punishing sane people who murder has a deterrent effect. Criminally insane people cannot be deterred by the threat of execution, however, and hence it is useless to execute them. “Murder is punished, not because it is a sin and it is good that sinners should suffer, but because the community wishes to prevent it, and fear of punishment causes most people to abstain from it [p. 97].”
So the concept of sin is unnecessary or worse than unnecessary: it leads to cruelty towards others, “and a morbid self-abasement when it is ourselves whom we condemn [p. 98].” Punishment as retribution alone is an evil; punishment can be tolerated only on the grounds that it helps to reform or deter malefactors. If the public could be led permanently to believe that criminals were being imprisoned, when in fact they were being sent to live far away in idyllic circumstances, that would be better than actually inflicting punishment. A similar notion applies to the application of blame. That people strive to be praiseworthy and to avoid blame is useful to society. But once a person has done something blameworthy, the actual bestowal of blame has little to be said for it.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter VI
Chapter VI (pages 72-88), “Moral Obligation”
So far Russell has promulgated the debatable notion that people should choose in ways to promote the public good. But this principle provides little guidance to someone seeking knowledge of what acts to undertake. Of what, more precisely, does moral obligation consist?
It does not consist of obedience, to God’s will or to some mortal’s will. Even if God’s will is always right, our notion of right takes precedence: if God’s will required murder, it would not be right. That is, we cannot start by defining “right” as “God’s will” – nor can what we “ought” to do be defined by obedience to any divine or mortal will. A similar argument indicates that the approval of others or the approval of a specific person cannot be the rule for moral behavior.
But what about our individual consciences? Should a person “ought” to do what his or her own conscience recommends? The idea that this is a proper moral rule is not contradicted by the fact that different people have consciences that approve vastly different behaviors. Further, though I might prefer that someone’s conscience were different, I can’t convince him of the superiority of my view – conformity of his actions with his conscience is his only (and arguably proper) moral guide. Even if that guide leads to terrible consequences, what of it? Logic cannot overrule the moral appropriateness of obeying one’s own conscience, “for every man who follows his conscience is morally perfect [p. 76].” In fact, as habit tends to dull the pangs of conscience, this approach suggests that the longer you persist in doing sin, the more virtuous your behavior becomes.
In practice, how do people come to believe that certain behaviors are proper? The typical source is the approval or disapproval that various actions meet with in childhood, from parents and others. In adulthood, even if the sense of blame is dissipated, it leaves an impression. Young people also adjust their moral views to their environment. “The boy who has been taught at home that it is wicked to swear, easily loses this belief when he finds that the schoolfellows whom he most admires are addicted to blasphemy [p. 76].”
Nevertheless, moral views are not entirely dependent on praise and blame. People adopt moral views that go against the grain, and those views have some source. What is praised and what is blamed is not random, either. “It would seem that the moral qualities which are most actively admired are courage and self-sacrifice on behalf of one’s own group [p.78].” While the desire for praise and the avoidance of blame motivate much useful behavior, so do other emotions. Conscience is a sort of praise/blame calculus, but directed inward at contemplated actions – and the internal assessment might run afoul of the generally prevailing accounting. Someone who follows the dictates of his own conscience might be said to take subjectively proper actions, though those actions might not be objectively proper.
The problem of defining objectively correct behavior remains. Russell posits that objectively correct behavior is “that which best serves the interest of the group that is regarded as ethically dominant [p. 80].” But what group? (We might even want to take account of the interests of non-human animals.) There doesn’t seem to be any logical reason to prefer one group to another.
Russell returns to the reason for wanting to understand objectively correct behavior in the first place: to serve as a guide to such behavior. So the approach, to be helpful, should be capable of distinguishing correct from incorrect behavior, and provide some motive to take the preferred action.
A reflective person, seeking to find a rule for determining ethically proper actions, will realize that the rule cannot give himself or some group he belongs to a privileged position – unless the group is strong enough to dominate all others. But two different rules still suggest themselves: (1) Every person should pursue his own good; or (2) every person should pursue the general good. (Recall that Russell has defined “good” as satisfying a desire.) If my most intense selfish preference is to promote the general good, then the two rules produce identical results -- likewise, if my selfish preference doesn’t refer directly to the general good, but nevertheless leads to acts that simultaneously serve the public interest.
Can we differentiate good from bad desires, without asking what the likely consequences are of acting upon those desires? Russell suggests that the reason we think more highly of love than of hate as a motivation is because of the consequences that tend to stem from actions motivated from those two emotions. Any rule of behavior that we support through ethical intuition is one that also leads to desirable consequences. We do not need ethical intuition: we can generate guidance for actions simply by following the principle that it is objectively right to act to promote the general good.
People will pursue their own good. How can it be that telling then to pursue the general good will actually provide them with motivation to do so? Of course, the carrots and sticks of law and society can be used to align individual and social incentives. But of the many possible desires that I might hold, some of them intrinsically are more in line with the social good than are others. These desires might be considered “good” or “right,” and are worthy of “more moral respect than those [desires] that run counter to the general interests of the community [p. 85].”
A possible rule that indicates moral correctness cannot involve a specific individual. Even if that person is all wise, the rule needn’t name him: the rule could be to follow the all-wise individual, who might be someone else tomorrow. Alternatively, perhaps we ought to like one type of person and hate another type. Then, satisfaction of the desires of those whom we hate would not be good. One reason to reject this approach is consequential: hate will breed hate. In addition, we might possess an emotional commitment to neutrality or universal benevolence. Still, in searching for a rule of moral obligation, the dividing up of mankind into a good group and a bad group cannot be ruled out on logical grounds.
Russell concludes the chapter with a summary (pages 87-88), and I for one am glad, because I found the chapter itself to be nonlinear and hard to follow. What to make of the notion, “’A right act is one which aims at the greatest possible satisfaction of the desires of sentient beings [p. 88]’”? By this statement, Russell intends to imply that (1) he experiences a feeling of emotional approval of such acts; (2) he has an emotional commitment to equality such that the desires of every person count the same; (3) his approach could be universally adopted, which non-egalitarian alternatives would have a hard time with; and (4) he would like his view to be adopted by everyone. Russell postpones discussing whether ethical argument admits an impersonal standard of truth.
So far Russell has promulgated the debatable notion that people should choose in ways to promote the public good. But this principle provides little guidance to someone seeking knowledge of what acts to undertake. Of what, more precisely, does moral obligation consist?
It does not consist of obedience, to God’s will or to some mortal’s will. Even if God’s will is always right, our notion of right takes precedence: if God’s will required murder, it would not be right. That is, we cannot start by defining “right” as “God’s will” – nor can what we “ought” to do be defined by obedience to any divine or mortal will. A similar argument indicates that the approval of others or the approval of a specific person cannot be the rule for moral behavior.
But what about our individual consciences? Should a person “ought” to do what his or her own conscience recommends? The idea that this is a proper moral rule is not contradicted by the fact that different people have consciences that approve vastly different behaviors. Further, though I might prefer that someone’s conscience were different, I can’t convince him of the superiority of my view – conformity of his actions with his conscience is his only (and arguably proper) moral guide. Even if that guide leads to terrible consequences, what of it? Logic cannot overrule the moral appropriateness of obeying one’s own conscience, “for every man who follows his conscience is morally perfect [p. 76].” In fact, as habit tends to dull the pangs of conscience, this approach suggests that the longer you persist in doing sin, the more virtuous your behavior becomes.
In practice, how do people come to believe that certain behaviors are proper? The typical source is the approval or disapproval that various actions meet with in childhood, from parents and others. In adulthood, even if the sense of blame is dissipated, it leaves an impression. Young people also adjust their moral views to their environment. “The boy who has been taught at home that it is wicked to swear, easily loses this belief when he finds that the schoolfellows whom he most admires are addicted to blasphemy [p. 76].”
Nevertheless, moral views are not entirely dependent on praise and blame. People adopt moral views that go against the grain, and those views have some source. What is praised and what is blamed is not random, either. “It would seem that the moral qualities which are most actively admired are courage and self-sacrifice on behalf of one’s own group [p.78].” While the desire for praise and the avoidance of blame motivate much useful behavior, so do other emotions. Conscience is a sort of praise/blame calculus, but directed inward at contemplated actions – and the internal assessment might run afoul of the generally prevailing accounting. Someone who follows the dictates of his own conscience might be said to take subjectively proper actions, though those actions might not be objectively proper.
The problem of defining objectively correct behavior remains. Russell posits that objectively correct behavior is “that which best serves the interest of the group that is regarded as ethically dominant [p. 80].” But what group? (We might even want to take account of the interests of non-human animals.) There doesn’t seem to be any logical reason to prefer one group to another.
Russell returns to the reason for wanting to understand objectively correct behavior in the first place: to serve as a guide to such behavior. So the approach, to be helpful, should be capable of distinguishing correct from incorrect behavior, and provide some motive to take the preferred action.
A reflective person, seeking to find a rule for determining ethically proper actions, will realize that the rule cannot give himself or some group he belongs to a privileged position – unless the group is strong enough to dominate all others. But two different rules still suggest themselves: (1) Every person should pursue his own good; or (2) every person should pursue the general good. (Recall that Russell has defined “good” as satisfying a desire.) If my most intense selfish preference is to promote the general good, then the two rules produce identical results -- likewise, if my selfish preference doesn’t refer directly to the general good, but nevertheless leads to acts that simultaneously serve the public interest.
Can we differentiate good from bad desires, without asking what the likely consequences are of acting upon those desires? Russell suggests that the reason we think more highly of love than of hate as a motivation is because of the consequences that tend to stem from actions motivated from those two emotions. Any rule of behavior that we support through ethical intuition is one that also leads to desirable consequences. We do not need ethical intuition: we can generate guidance for actions simply by following the principle that it is objectively right to act to promote the general good.
People will pursue their own good. How can it be that telling then to pursue the general good will actually provide them with motivation to do so? Of course, the carrots and sticks of law and society can be used to align individual and social incentives. But of the many possible desires that I might hold, some of them intrinsically are more in line with the social good than are others. These desires might be considered “good” or “right,” and are worthy of “more moral respect than those [desires] that run counter to the general interests of the community [p. 85].”
A possible rule that indicates moral correctness cannot involve a specific individual. Even if that person is all wise, the rule needn’t name him: the rule could be to follow the all-wise individual, who might be someone else tomorrow. Alternatively, perhaps we ought to like one type of person and hate another type. Then, satisfaction of the desires of those whom we hate would not be good. One reason to reject this approach is consequential: hate will breed hate. In addition, we might possess an emotional commitment to neutrality or universal benevolence. Still, in searching for a rule of moral obligation, the dividing up of mankind into a good group and a bad group cannot be ruled out on logical grounds.
Russell concludes the chapter with a summary (pages 87-88), and I for one am glad, because I found the chapter itself to be nonlinear and hard to follow. What to make of the notion, “’A right act is one which aims at the greatest possible satisfaction of the desires of sentient beings [p. 88]’”? By this statement, Russell intends to imply that (1) he experiences a feeling of emotional approval of such acts; (2) he has an emotional commitment to equality such that the desires of every person count the same; (3) his approach could be universally adopted, which non-egalitarian alternatives would have a hard time with; and (4) he would like his view to be adopted by everyone. Russell postpones discussing whether ethical argument admits an impersonal standard of truth.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter V
Chapter V (pages 60-71), “Partial and General Goods”
The general good is the overall satisfaction of desires in a society. In a competition for a political post, only one candidate will win, so his satisfaction (and his supporters’) comes at the expense of the satisfaction of the opposed party. This is inevitable – laws and ethics can mitigate such conflicts, but not eliminate them.
Love your neighbor-type precepts aim to make individuals care about the general good; nationalism tends to restrict the society whose interests you want to promote to be that of your country, and racism to those who share your race. Class connections, whether aristocratic or proletarian, also can serve as the border for whose preferences are deemed worthy of regard. Some philosophers limit the in-group still further, to family, perhaps, or even, in the case of psychological hedonists, oneself. This latter group (the psychological hedonists), which includes the early utilitarians, believes that people necessarily choose to promote their own interests or pleasure, so that it is society’s duty to make those interests coincide as closely as possible to the public good – perhaps even invoking divine rewards and punishments for the purpose.
People do not desire only their own pleasure, however, though it is easy to think they do, since people enjoy meeting their desires and the pleasure they take from preference satisfaction can be mistaken for the object of their behavior. The desire for food, which all humans and animals have, can be distinguished from the desire for the pleasure of food that gourmands display.
The pleasure of satisfying a desire comes in two forms; one form arises simply from meeting your goal, while the second is the pleasure that inheres in the goal itself. “If you chase round the town in search of oranges, and at last obtain some, you have not only the pleasure that the oranges would have given you if you had obtained them without difficulty, but also the pleasure or success [p. 63].”
People desire things beyond their own pleasure; further, they often desire things beyond their own lifetime, beyond their own capacity for pleasure, such as the future prosperity of their family or friends. (Russell echoes (page 64) his thoughts in The Conquest of Happiness by noting how a zest for life can be maintained into old age through broad interests.) To some extent this is the common condition: most people on the brink of death would be rendered still more unhappy if they learned that mankind would shortly annihilate itself in a nuclear catastrophe. Interests beyond one’s own pleasure can lack compossibility just as much as hedonistic interests can. People who desire that the whole world share their religion will find little fellow-feeling on that score with people who actually do feel similarly, but are of a different religion.
What positions can be adopted by people who have a limited view of what group’s interests are to be served, whether that group be religious or national or class-based or whatever? How can they justify ignoring the preferences of the rest of humanity? One possibility is to believe that the interests of all of mankind are indeed equivalent to the interests of the chosen group, even though those outside the group do not understand this. (Russell subsequently (p. 65) terms this position “enlightened imperialism.”) Second, a person might believe that the preferred group possesses a special quality that gives them standing, while people outside the group can be used as means to serving the ends of the special ones. Third, a person might believe that all groups have standing, but that it is admissible for a member of a group to advocate only for his group’s interests, that is, to be openly biased, and to contend with the advocates of other groups.
The ancient Greeks and Romans were enlightened imperialists, believing that their way of life was better than those of the barbarians they conquered. Christians and Muslims feel similarly, as did many proponents of the British Empire. Hegel and Marx both provide theoretical underpinnings for related views, where selected nations or classes are vehicles of global progress.
The second belief, that the interests of those outside the chosen group do not have any ethical standing, is the way most people feel about animals, which serve either as means to human ends or as obstacles to be overcome. With respect to humans, the theory of Christianity argues for good treatment of all people, though Christianity in practice generally falls short of this ideal. White men in North America have not regarded the interests of blacks or Native Americans as worthy of much respect -- a view now in decline. Nietzsche is a spokesperson for the idea that the mass of humanity is unimportant, and should be enlisted to serve the purposes of the handful of enlightened people. Who is enlightened? Here, Nietzsche’s approach is less obvious than that of those who use race or nationality or class to distinguish the chosen few; it seems to come down to people “whom Nietzsche admires [p. 68].” One could imagine, however, a more precise Nietzschean standard, based, for instance, on an IQ threshold.
The third view, that one should advocate for one's own group even while recognizing that the interests of others have more or less equal ethical weight, is quite commonly held. In matters of foreign relations and war, for instance, it is thought right that people should serve their own government’s policy – even if it is a bad policy when the interests of the world at large are considered. People often do not respect traitors from enemy countries, though those traitors might be betraying an evil government, one that has earned betrayal. Similarly, people can be sympathetic towards those who serve their family’s interest at society’s expense. This third view separates the general good from a view of “right” conduct: behavior can be considered “right” even when it is not “good,” that is, when the behavior does not promote the interests of people overall. There is a certain fragility to this approach, since once it is accepted that all groups have ethical standing, there isn’t a strong argument for choosing to ignore the interests of other groups in evaluating the propriety of your own conduct, or for selecting one partition of people into groups over another.
The three views outlined above, in which only the interests of a specific sub-group of humanity are directly attended to, are not very compelling. There is no theoretical reason to believe that enlightened imperialism really does serve the long-term interests of the unenlightened: it is an empirical matter. The Nietzschean approach presents the prickly problem of identifying the supermen. “In practice, vanity and conceit furnish the definition: I am, of course, a superman, and I must admit enough people of approximately equal merit to give the group a chance of surviving the indignation and ridicule of the rest [p. 70].” The idea that one should work exclusively for one’s own group has practical utility, as I am better informed about, and more able to promote, the interests of my group than the interests of distant others. Nevertheless, ignoring foreign countries, as the world becomes more interconnected, can lead to acts that impose much suffering elsewhere. The principle of promoting the general good seems to survive the challenge posed by alternatives that focus on the interests of specific subgroups of humanity.
The general good is the overall satisfaction of desires in a society. In a competition for a political post, only one candidate will win, so his satisfaction (and his supporters’) comes at the expense of the satisfaction of the opposed party. This is inevitable – laws and ethics can mitigate such conflicts, but not eliminate them.
Love your neighbor-type precepts aim to make individuals care about the general good; nationalism tends to restrict the society whose interests you want to promote to be that of your country, and racism to those who share your race. Class connections, whether aristocratic or proletarian, also can serve as the border for whose preferences are deemed worthy of regard. Some philosophers limit the in-group still further, to family, perhaps, or even, in the case of psychological hedonists, oneself. This latter group (the psychological hedonists), which includes the early utilitarians, believes that people necessarily choose to promote their own interests or pleasure, so that it is society’s duty to make those interests coincide as closely as possible to the public good – perhaps even invoking divine rewards and punishments for the purpose.
People do not desire only their own pleasure, however, though it is easy to think they do, since people enjoy meeting their desires and the pleasure they take from preference satisfaction can be mistaken for the object of their behavior. The desire for food, which all humans and animals have, can be distinguished from the desire for the pleasure of food that gourmands display.
The pleasure of satisfying a desire comes in two forms; one form arises simply from meeting your goal, while the second is the pleasure that inheres in the goal itself. “If you chase round the town in search of oranges, and at last obtain some, you have not only the pleasure that the oranges would have given you if you had obtained them without difficulty, but also the pleasure or success [p. 63].”
People desire things beyond their own pleasure; further, they often desire things beyond their own lifetime, beyond their own capacity for pleasure, such as the future prosperity of their family or friends. (Russell echoes (page 64) his thoughts in The Conquest of Happiness by noting how a zest for life can be maintained into old age through broad interests.) To some extent this is the common condition: most people on the brink of death would be rendered still more unhappy if they learned that mankind would shortly annihilate itself in a nuclear catastrophe. Interests beyond one’s own pleasure can lack compossibility just as much as hedonistic interests can. People who desire that the whole world share their religion will find little fellow-feeling on that score with people who actually do feel similarly, but are of a different religion.
What positions can be adopted by people who have a limited view of what group’s interests are to be served, whether that group be religious or national or class-based or whatever? How can they justify ignoring the preferences of the rest of humanity? One possibility is to believe that the interests of all of mankind are indeed equivalent to the interests of the chosen group, even though those outside the group do not understand this. (Russell subsequently (p. 65) terms this position “enlightened imperialism.”) Second, a person might believe that the preferred group possesses a special quality that gives them standing, while people outside the group can be used as means to serving the ends of the special ones. Third, a person might believe that all groups have standing, but that it is admissible for a member of a group to advocate only for his group’s interests, that is, to be openly biased, and to contend with the advocates of other groups.
The ancient Greeks and Romans were enlightened imperialists, believing that their way of life was better than those of the barbarians they conquered. Christians and Muslims feel similarly, as did many proponents of the British Empire. Hegel and Marx both provide theoretical underpinnings for related views, where selected nations or classes are vehicles of global progress.
The second belief, that the interests of those outside the chosen group do not have any ethical standing, is the way most people feel about animals, which serve either as means to human ends or as obstacles to be overcome. With respect to humans, the theory of Christianity argues for good treatment of all people, though Christianity in practice generally falls short of this ideal. White men in North America have not regarded the interests of blacks or Native Americans as worthy of much respect -- a view now in decline. Nietzsche is a spokesperson for the idea that the mass of humanity is unimportant, and should be enlisted to serve the purposes of the handful of enlightened people. Who is enlightened? Here, Nietzsche’s approach is less obvious than that of those who use race or nationality or class to distinguish the chosen few; it seems to come down to people “whom Nietzsche admires [p. 68].” One could imagine, however, a more precise Nietzschean standard, based, for instance, on an IQ threshold.
The third view, that one should advocate for one's own group even while recognizing that the interests of others have more or less equal ethical weight, is quite commonly held. In matters of foreign relations and war, for instance, it is thought right that people should serve their own government’s policy – even if it is a bad policy when the interests of the world at large are considered. People often do not respect traitors from enemy countries, though those traitors might be betraying an evil government, one that has earned betrayal. Similarly, people can be sympathetic towards those who serve their family’s interest at society’s expense. This third view separates the general good from a view of “right” conduct: behavior can be considered “right” even when it is not “good,” that is, when the behavior does not promote the interests of people overall. There is a certain fragility to this approach, since once it is accepted that all groups have ethical standing, there isn’t a strong argument for choosing to ignore the interests of other groups in evaluating the propriety of your own conduct, or for selecting one partition of people into groups over another.
The three views outlined above, in which only the interests of a specific sub-group of humanity are directly attended to, are not very compelling. There is no theoretical reason to believe that enlightened imperialism really does serve the long-term interests of the unenlightened: it is an empirical matter. The Nietzschean approach presents the prickly problem of identifying the supermen. “In practice, vanity and conceit furnish the definition: I am, of course, a superman, and I must admit enough people of approximately equal merit to give the group a chance of surviving the indignation and ridicule of the rest [p. 70].” The idea that one should work exclusively for one’s own group has practical utility, as I am better informed about, and more able to promote, the interests of my group than the interests of distant others. Nevertheless, ignoring foreign countries, as the world becomes more interconnected, can lead to acts that impose much suffering elsewhere. The principle of promoting the general good seems to survive the challenge posed by alternatives that focus on the interests of specific subgroups of humanity.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter IV
Chapter IV (pages 51-59), “Good and Bad”
Russell posits that something is good if it is valued for itself, and not solely as a means to some desirable consequences. Painful behaviors that promote health are useful but not good. Pleasures such as wine that perhaps undermine health are good but not useful. [There seems to be an immediate issue of reductio here – why cannot it be said that the pleasure afforded by wine is the consequence sought, and that wine consumption is but a means to that end? – RBR] Without endorsing utilitarianism, Russell nonetheless maintains that most pleasures are good in his accounting, and most pains bad.
We think that the pleasure that accompanies the taking of a beneficent act is good, while the pleasure that accompanies taking a cruel act is bad. But this view reflects a means/end confusion. Imagine that we could experience the pleasure of behaving cruelly in a manner that brought no harm to anyone else – then that pleasure in cruelty might be fine, no? Intoxicants that brought no hangovers or family troubles, even to over-indulgers, might be all to the good as well. We can’t value something as a means unless we already have placed a value on the end to which it serves as a means. “It follows that intrinsic value is logically prior to value as means [p. 52].”
Forethought, and the willingness to make present sacrifices for future gains, is what distinguishes the civilized from savages, and adults from children. Moralists put great stress on these sacrifices, sometimes even divorcing their inherent goodness from the value of the subsequent reward. Excessive devotion to means and not ends takes the joy out of life; this is recognized in extreme cases such as that of misers, but the malady is common and even celebrated in less pronounced forms. Suppression of the enjoyment of ends leads to its eruption in negative contexts, “in war or cruelty or intrigue or some other destructive activity [p. 53].”
Capitalists preoccupied with means, not ends, will engage in deceptive practices if it brings higher profits – and will be esteemed for their acumen. Workers view their jobs and pay as more important than the value of what they produce, and will try to suppress new methods that reduce the need for labor in manufacturing. An economic view of the productive system might look at tractors as an input to produce food to keep men alive to produce still more tractors, and so on, without considering ultimate ends. The teaching of mathematics is approached the same way at university, to train people who can teach math to more people… (The case for state support escapes this logic by focusing on the military advantages that can be achieved through mathematics.) A concern with ends relaxes the focus on production for its own sake, and rather asks, “what has there been in the lives of consumers and producers to make them glad to be alive [pp. 54-55]?”
If we had no desire for pleasure or for the avoidance of pain, we would think of nothing as either good or bad. So a definition of the “good” must implicate human desires, and Russell suggests that indeed, good may be defined as “‘satisfaction of desire [p. 55].’” One state of affairs is better than another if the first “satisfies more desires or a more intense desire [p. 55].” These definitions seem to accord well with common ethical understandings (and though Russell does not say so, again his approach jibes well with utilitarianism). People act in ways to satisfy their own desires, but their acts might not be good, because the acts might not serve well the desires of others. To act in a manner to satisfy your desires does not imply selfishness, as your desires can include the welfare of your family, friends, or nation, for example. “But though my wishes may be unselfish, they must be mine if they are to affect my actions [p. 56].” Given the reality of diminishing marginal utility, a benevolent disposition (that leads to sharing of a windfall of chocolates, for instance), leads to a better outcome than arises from a more self-centered personality.
An action is right, then, if it tends to promote the general good. There is be little to be said for expressing the grand sentiment that one should take such right actions, in the absence of some incentive to do so. These incentives can come in many forms, including legal sanctions, popular approval, or the development of a generous nature. A statement that one should promote the general good, if it is to have meaning, implies that social pressures to provide inducements to right behavior are themselves good, and should be applied.
(Instead of defining “good” and then defining “right,” as Russell is doing, we could go the other way around. But societies greatly differ on what they think of as right, partly because, as in the case of taboos, differing beliefs exist about the consequences of various types of conduct.)
What about a desire for cruelty? Is satisfaction of such a desire good? Russell argues (page 58) that if one person’s desire for cruelty could be considered in isolation, and could be satisfied without actually involving the suffering of someone else, then even satisfying such a desire would add to overall happiness.
Sometimes the desires of different people are compatible – Russell, citing Leibniz, employs the term “compossible” – and sometimes the satisfaction of one person’s desire implies that someone else’s desire cannot be satisfied. Overall satisfaction is greater with compossible desires, as opposed to incompatible wants. As means, therefore, compossible desires are preferable: mutual love is better than enmity, peace is better than war, and so on. Desires themselves can be judged to be good or bad (or right or wrong) in this fashion. Generally speaking, right desires are those that largely are compossible: that is, the satisfaction of such desires does not require the thwarting of the desires of others.
Russell posits that something is good if it is valued for itself, and not solely as a means to some desirable consequences. Painful behaviors that promote health are useful but not good. Pleasures such as wine that perhaps undermine health are good but not useful. [There seems to be an immediate issue of reductio here – why cannot it be said that the pleasure afforded by wine is the consequence sought, and that wine consumption is but a means to that end? – RBR] Without endorsing utilitarianism, Russell nonetheless maintains that most pleasures are good in his accounting, and most pains bad.
We think that the pleasure that accompanies the taking of a beneficent act is good, while the pleasure that accompanies taking a cruel act is bad. But this view reflects a means/end confusion. Imagine that we could experience the pleasure of behaving cruelly in a manner that brought no harm to anyone else – then that pleasure in cruelty might be fine, no? Intoxicants that brought no hangovers or family troubles, even to over-indulgers, might be all to the good as well. We can’t value something as a means unless we already have placed a value on the end to which it serves as a means. “It follows that intrinsic value is logically prior to value as means [p. 52].”
Forethought, and the willingness to make present sacrifices for future gains, is what distinguishes the civilized from savages, and adults from children. Moralists put great stress on these sacrifices, sometimes even divorcing their inherent goodness from the value of the subsequent reward. Excessive devotion to means and not ends takes the joy out of life; this is recognized in extreme cases such as that of misers, but the malady is common and even celebrated in less pronounced forms. Suppression of the enjoyment of ends leads to its eruption in negative contexts, “in war or cruelty or intrigue or some other destructive activity [p. 53].”
Capitalists preoccupied with means, not ends, will engage in deceptive practices if it brings higher profits – and will be esteemed for their acumen. Workers view their jobs and pay as more important than the value of what they produce, and will try to suppress new methods that reduce the need for labor in manufacturing. An economic view of the productive system might look at tractors as an input to produce food to keep men alive to produce still more tractors, and so on, without considering ultimate ends. The teaching of mathematics is approached the same way at university, to train people who can teach math to more people… (The case for state support escapes this logic by focusing on the military advantages that can be achieved through mathematics.) A concern with ends relaxes the focus on production for its own sake, and rather asks, “what has there been in the lives of consumers and producers to make them glad to be alive [pp. 54-55]?”
If we had no desire for pleasure or for the avoidance of pain, we would think of nothing as either good or bad. So a definition of the “good” must implicate human desires, and Russell suggests that indeed, good may be defined as “‘satisfaction of desire [p. 55].’” One state of affairs is better than another if the first “satisfies more desires or a more intense desire [p. 55].” These definitions seem to accord well with common ethical understandings (and though Russell does not say so, again his approach jibes well with utilitarianism). People act in ways to satisfy their own desires, but their acts might not be good, because the acts might not serve well the desires of others. To act in a manner to satisfy your desires does not imply selfishness, as your desires can include the welfare of your family, friends, or nation, for example. “But though my wishes may be unselfish, they must be mine if they are to affect my actions [p. 56].” Given the reality of diminishing marginal utility, a benevolent disposition (that leads to sharing of a windfall of chocolates, for instance), leads to a better outcome than arises from a more self-centered personality.
An action is right, then, if it tends to promote the general good. There is be little to be said for expressing the grand sentiment that one should take such right actions, in the absence of some incentive to do so. These incentives can come in many forms, including legal sanctions, popular approval, or the development of a generous nature. A statement that one should promote the general good, if it is to have meaning, implies that social pressures to provide inducements to right behavior are themselves good, and should be applied.
(Instead of defining “good” and then defining “right,” as Russell is doing, we could go the other way around. But societies greatly differ on what they think of as right, partly because, as in the case of taboos, differing beliefs exist about the consequences of various types of conduct.)
What about a desire for cruelty? Is satisfaction of such a desire good? Russell argues (page 58) that if one person’s desire for cruelty could be considered in isolation, and could be satisfied without actually involving the suffering of someone else, then even satisfying such a desire would add to overall happiness.
Sometimes the desires of different people are compatible – Russell, citing Leibniz, employs the term “compossible” – and sometimes the satisfaction of one person’s desire implies that someone else’s desire cannot be satisfied. Overall satisfaction is greater with compossible desires, as opposed to incompatible wants. As means, therefore, compossible desires are preferable: mutual love is better than enmity, peace is better than war, and so on. Desires themselves can be judged to be good or bad (or right or wrong) in this fashion. Generally speaking, right desires are those that largely are compossible: that is, the satisfaction of such desires does not require the thwarting of the desires of others.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter III
Chapter III (pages 44-50), “Morality as a Means”
Though there are various ethical codes, people do not believe that one is just as good as another. Ethics cannot be reduced to the admonition to do what the ethical code of your community recommends. This realization does not rule out the view that ethics consists of (everywhere) following the moral code of my community – many of the theologically inclined take this approach. There are conflicting theologies, however, so philosophically minded people still need a reason (beyond proclaimed revelation) to prefer one moral code to another. An appeal to the priority of individual conscience suffers from the same detriment, given that consciences vary.
Rules such as “thou shalt not kill” are very coarse, and admit some exceptions – though people might disagree about when homicide is justifiable. It seems that the only resolution is to posit some end that behavior should serve. Behavior that serves a good end is then proper behavior. The utilitarians take this approach, where good behavior is that which serves a useful end; further, for the utilitarians, the useful end is the greatest happiness. But their consequentialist approach can be adopted even if the goal of happiness is replaced with some alternative criterion. Most ethical codes, perhaps implicitly, are of this nature. Breaking a taboo is wrong because bad consequences will ensue. (Later [p. 50], Russell notes that some taboos [such as that against masturbation] outlive the belief in the dreaded consequences that once were associated with their violation.) Being meek will lead to inheriting the earth. Even those codes that assert divine revelation as their basis often provide additional consequential arguments. If not, the codes could state the opposite, requiring murder as much as prohibiting it. Theologians assert that divine decrees are good, and this assertion indicates that goodness is a more primitive concept for them than is divine promulgation. “God could not have enjoined [required] murder, since such a decree would have had evil consequences [p. 48].” Aquinas (consequently!) defends Christian morality through utilitarian arguments.
The Stoics and Kant both argued that virtue was an end in itself, and not desirable only because it served other desirable ends. For the Stoics, adverse conditions were those best suited to promoting virtue. Nevertheless, Stoic leaders such as Marcus Aurelius did not seek out adverse circumstances for their subjects. Instead, Aurelius, for instance, labored intensely to ensure his subjects’ happiness, even though his philosophy claimed that happiness was immaterial. Kant thought that a good deed done to promote some end (other than being virtuous itself) was not praiseworthy. Helping someone because you like him is morally indifferent, but helping someone you despise because the virtuous act consists of such help is laudable. Nevertheless, Kant holds out the prospect of an eternal afterlife where good people will be rewarded with happiness. “If he really believed what he thinks he believes, he would not regard heaven as a place where the good are happy, but as a place where they have never-ending opportunities of doing kindnesses to people whom they dislike [p. 49].”
Russell concludes by adopting (somewhat less-than-wholeheartedly) the consequentialist approach. Some ends are good, others are bad. Proper behavior is that which promotes, on net, desirable consequences. “If this view is accepted, the next step must be to investigate what can be meant by ‘good’ and ‘bad’ [p. 50].”
Though there are various ethical codes, people do not believe that one is just as good as another. Ethics cannot be reduced to the admonition to do what the ethical code of your community recommends. This realization does not rule out the view that ethics consists of (everywhere) following the moral code of my community – many of the theologically inclined take this approach. There are conflicting theologies, however, so philosophically minded people still need a reason (beyond proclaimed revelation) to prefer one moral code to another. An appeal to the priority of individual conscience suffers from the same detriment, given that consciences vary.
Rules such as “thou shalt not kill” are very coarse, and admit some exceptions – though people might disagree about when homicide is justifiable. It seems that the only resolution is to posit some end that behavior should serve. Behavior that serves a good end is then proper behavior. The utilitarians take this approach, where good behavior is that which serves a useful end; further, for the utilitarians, the useful end is the greatest happiness. But their consequentialist approach can be adopted even if the goal of happiness is replaced with some alternative criterion. Most ethical codes, perhaps implicitly, are of this nature. Breaking a taboo is wrong because bad consequences will ensue. (Later [p. 50], Russell notes that some taboos [such as that against masturbation] outlive the belief in the dreaded consequences that once were associated with their violation.) Being meek will lead to inheriting the earth. Even those codes that assert divine revelation as their basis often provide additional consequential arguments. If not, the codes could state the opposite, requiring murder as much as prohibiting it. Theologians assert that divine decrees are good, and this assertion indicates that goodness is a more primitive concept for them than is divine promulgation. “God could not have enjoined [required] murder, since such a decree would have had evil consequences [p. 48].” Aquinas (consequently!) defends Christian morality through utilitarian arguments.
The Stoics and Kant both argued that virtue was an end in itself, and not desirable only because it served other desirable ends. For the Stoics, adverse conditions were those best suited to promoting virtue. Nevertheless, Stoic leaders such as Marcus Aurelius did not seek out adverse circumstances for their subjects. Instead, Aurelius, for instance, labored intensely to ensure his subjects’ happiness, even though his philosophy claimed that happiness was immaterial. Kant thought that a good deed done to promote some end (other than being virtuous itself) was not praiseworthy. Helping someone because you like him is morally indifferent, but helping someone you despise because the virtuous act consists of such help is laudable. Nevertheless, Kant holds out the prospect of an eternal afterlife where good people will be rewarded with happiness. “If he really believed what he thinks he believes, he would not regard heaven as a place where the good are happy, but as a place where they have never-ending opportunities of doing kindnesses to people whom they dislike [p. 49].”
Russell concludes by adopting (somewhat less-than-wholeheartedly) the consequentialist approach. Some ends are good, others are bad. Proper behavior is that which promotes, on net, desirable consequences. “If this view is accepted, the next step must be to investigate what can be meant by ‘good’ and ‘bad’ [p. 50].”
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter II
Chapter II (pages 38-43), “Moral Codes”
Most acts, especially those that are self-regarding, are morally neutral. Nevertheless, in every society there are certain behaviors that are required and others that are forbidden. Individuals who violate these social precepts bring scorn upon themselves, though rich people are given more scope to choose without incurring disapproval. The moral codes that are active in different societies vary greatly. "In view of this diversity of moral codes, we cannot say that acts of one kind are right or acts of another kind wrong, unless we have first found a way of deciding that some codes are better than others [p. 39].” Most people make their decision about the relative value of a moral code based on a highly parochial viewpoint.
Perhaps people cannot be blamed for following their local moral code, but surely it often is praiseworthy to deviate from it. Many social advances, such as the abolition of cannibalism or slavery, have emanated from moral reformers who rejected part of their received code. While it is admitted that such disobedience was helpful in other times and places, the general feeling is that our current moral code is essentially perfect.
For the most part, avoiding sin is all that is required to be reputed a moral man – you needn’t take actions that are positively kind or beneficial to others. The fears of sinning that are inculcated in people lead to excessive self-centeredness and timidity. Great lives are made of sterner stuff. Positive duties are imposed in each profession, however, from king to firefighter; occupations develop their own morality, which sometimes is codified in law.
Two ethical codes can both be current, though they are contradictory. Christian non-violence long coexisted with codes of honour that required dueling (and hence homicide) over insults among gentlemen. Despite the absurdities and the tragedies that have been connected with it, the ethic of honour also roused people to a higher regard for others and a distaste for betrayal. “When the conception of honour is freed from aristocratic insolence and from proneness to violence, something remains which helps to preserve personal integrity and to promote mutual trust in social relations [p. 43].”
Most acts, especially those that are self-regarding, are morally neutral. Nevertheless, in every society there are certain behaviors that are required and others that are forbidden. Individuals who violate these social precepts bring scorn upon themselves, though rich people are given more scope to choose without incurring disapproval. The moral codes that are active in different societies vary greatly. "In view of this diversity of moral codes, we cannot say that acts of one kind are right or acts of another kind wrong, unless we have first found a way of deciding that some codes are better than others [p. 39].” Most people make their decision about the relative value of a moral code based on a highly parochial viewpoint.
Perhaps people cannot be blamed for following their local moral code, but surely it often is praiseworthy to deviate from it. Many social advances, such as the abolition of cannibalism or slavery, have emanated from moral reformers who rejected part of their received code. While it is admitted that such disobedience was helpful in other times and places, the general feeling is that our current moral code is essentially perfect.
For the most part, avoiding sin is all that is required to be reputed a moral man – you needn’t take actions that are positively kind or beneficial to others. The fears of sinning that are inculcated in people lead to excessive self-centeredness and timidity. Great lives are made of sterner stuff. Positive duties are imposed in each profession, however, from king to firefighter; occupations develop their own morality, which sometimes is codified in law.
Two ethical codes can both be current, though they are contradictory. Christian non-violence long coexisted with codes of honour that required dueling (and hence homicide) over insults among gentlemen. Despite the absurdities and the tragedies that have been connected with it, the ethic of honour also roused people to a higher regard for others and a distaste for betrayal. “When the conception of honour is freed from aristocratic insolence and from proneness to violence, something remains which helps to preserve personal integrity and to promote mutual trust in social relations [p. 43].”
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