Some recent work (short response papers)
September 20, 2009
Response to Ayer:
In the sixth chapter of Ayer’s Language, Truth and Logic, he attempts to provide a novel critique of ethics and theology that stands to support the radical empiricist doctrine to which he subscribes. Specifically, Ayer is concerned with constructing an acceptable account of ‘judgments of value’ that is “consistent with [his] general empiricist principles”(Ayer 104). Ayer’s thesis is that normative ethical statements are unverifiable and serve merely as possible means of emotional expression with regard to particular issues, events, or states of affairs. Simply, the statement ‘Stealing is wrong,’ on Ayer’s view, is equivalent to something like: ‘Stealing L.’
Before Ayer begins to explicitly argue in favor of this position, he first examines what he interprets as flaws in the common arguments for naturalist positions like utilitarianism and subjectivism. These views hold that ethical statements are statements grounded in empirical fact. For utilitarians, whether an act is right or wrong consists in its potential to maximize pleasure and/or happiness. For subjectivists, an act is right or wrong based on whether it is generally met with approval by particular individuals and/or communities. Ayer believes that these accounts are unacceptable insofar as it would be perfectly consistent and without self-contradiction to assert that an action that causes the most happiness could also be wrong and, with regard to the typical subjectivist position, that it would be similarly reasonable to disagree that an action favored by most people is unquestionably the right one.
After deeming these popular naturalist arguments ineffective, Ayer goes on to address absolutist ethical views and asserts that they are similarly unacceptable. Ayer’s argument against the general absolutist view is that the moral principles that are posited to be absolute are not subject to empirical verification. Given that moral propositions are synthetic ones, and that, within the logical positivist paradigm, synthetic propositions can only be recognized as being significant if they are empirically verifiable, Ayer concludes that propositions of the kind that are typically put forth by ethical absolutists are necessarily meaningless.
By detracting from the plausibility of both naturalistic and absolutist ethical theories, Ayer paves the way for a new kind of moral theory that better suits his radical empiricism. Essentially, Ayer claims that the inclusion of an ethical term in a particular proposition yields no additional content to the proposition such that it could be subjected to verification. To say that ‘It was wrong of you to kick that puppy’ is to simply say that ‘You kicked that puppy.’ Of course, Ayer concedes that the latter sentence would likely be accompanied by some kind of indicator of disapproval such as, as he puts it, “a peculiar tone of horror, or written with the addition of some special exclamation marks”(Ayer 110). It is important to note here that Ayer is quite careful to distinguish his theory from one that would assert that saying ‘Kicking puppies is wrong’ is indicative of a particular belief held by the speaker, namely the belief that kicking puppies is wrong. This is an important distinction, as a propositional attitude report of this kind may be subjected to empirical verification and thus has a definite truth-value. Simply, it is empirically verifiable whether one holds a particular belief and in virtue of this, if the statement ‘Kicking puppies is wrong’ really equates to saying ‘I believe kicking puppies is wrong,’ the former proposition would have a truth value on the basis that its synonymous analogue exists as a synthetic proposition that is subject to verification. To put this distinction in terms of the typical subjectivist position versus that of the positivist; the subjectivist maintains that to assert ‘x is good’ is to assert that ‘I approve of x.’ Given that this is a kind of propositional attitude report, expressed in terms of approval, such a proposition would be subject to verification and thus unacceptable to radical empiricists. Instead, Ayer holds that to express a particular sentiment is not to have that sentiment in a strict sense – that is, to express a particular sentiment is not to admit a corresponding belief that exists in firm conjunction with the expression of the sentiment in question.
It is clear that Ayer is unwilling to concede that ethical statements can be subjected to verification. As such, he rejects the supposed question as to whether ethical terms are properly classified as definable or indefinable and, resultantly, asserts that these terms, and also all statements in which they are relevantly included are, by their very nature, meaningless. Given this, if one were to place Ayer’s position in regard to the potential nature of ethical terms outlined in Moore’s trilemma, one would unquestionably recognize Ayer’s view as one that stands to classify ethical terms as meaningless.
Response to Harman:
Gilbert Harman, in the first chapter of The Nature of Morality, argues that there are significant distinctions to be made between the roles of observation in ethics and the sciences. Broadly, Harman is interested in determining whether “moral principles [can] be tested and confirmed in the way scientific principles can”(Harman 119). Harman’s thesis is that moral principles cannot be tested and confirmed in such a way.
While Harman acknowledges the plausibility of performing thought experiments as a means of (at least superficially) testing both scientific and ethical principles, he cites the important difference that, scientific hypotheses, unlike ethical hypotheses, can also be tested against empirical facts. Simply, it is possible for one to conduct a real experiment – that is, an experiment “out in the world” – if one is interested in testing the validity of a given scientific hypothesis. The possibility of conducting a similarly real experiment does not, however, exist for one who is interested in testing an ethical hypothesis. In order to clarify this distinction, Harman examines what is involved in making an observation. Harman’s claim is that all observations are necessarily “theory laden.” That is, as Harman puts it, “What you perceive depends to some extent on the theory you hold, consciously or unconsciously”(Harman 120). In other words, in order for one to make an observation in the sense that it is commonly understood, one must have a great deal of theoretical information that serves to establish significant and comprehensible conceptual relationships between the perceived objects that ultimately constitute the observation. In this way, an observer observes what she does depending on the particular theories and/or general conceptualizations to which she subscribes. As such, Harman concedes that, given this understanding of what constitutes an observation, it is entirely appropriate to describe particular situations or events as being just, unjust, right, or wrong. It follows from this that observations might be rightly characterized as performing similar roles in both science and ethics, at least in the way discussed thus far. However, Harman maintains that there remains a significant difference between the roles of observation in science and ethics that cannot be ignored.
While one may, and in fact must, appeal to facts about the world in explaining particular observations that stand to support a scientific theory, this is not necessarily the case with observations of a moral kind. In scientific cases, not only must an observer have certain psychological dispositions in order to apprehend an observation as being relevant to a particular theory, but also, the observer must be able to assert that the physical objects of perception that qualify her observation as supporting the theory in question do actually exist – that is, that the facts about the world upon which the observation ultimately relies are, in fact, the case. Simply, any given observation, if it is to qualify as supporting a scientific theory, must cohere not only with the psychological particulars of the observer, but also with the relevant facts about the world. Such a requirement does not seem necessary in moral cases. It is sufficient to make reference only to an observer’s psychological dispositions in order to substantiate and/or qualify their ethical observations. If I observe a bank robbery taking place and make the ethical judgment that the activity is wrong, I would not need to appeal to any facts about the world, specifically ones that are moral in nature, in order to substantiate my judgment. Rather, I need only reference my moral sense about such activities. As such, moral observations cannot reasonably be said to qualify as objective evidence in support of, or against, any given moral theory. Moral observations do not provide evidence for facts other than those about the psychological disposition or moral inclinations of the observer.
While the moral principles held by an observer might help to explain why she tends to classify certain situations as being wrong, her moral principles cannot help to explain why she thinks to think that situations of this kind are wrong. In other words, if an observer recognizes that the nature of an ongoing activity is such that it violates one of her moral principles, she would likely recognize that activity as being wrong. However, she need not, and very likely could not, reference any moral facts that would further substantiate her observation. As Harman puts it, “moral principles do not seem to help explain your observing what you observe”(Harman 123).
It is primarily in this sense that Harman feels that the roles of observation in ethics and the sciences are significantly distinct. Given this proposed distinction, Harman concludes that moral principles cannot be tested and confirmed in the way scientific principles can.
Response to Gibbard:
I attempt to show in what follows that Gibbard’s notions of rationality and reasoning are inherently mistaken and misrepresentative of the actual meanings of the terms (or at least partially so). First, I will argue that Gibbard’s characterization of that which is “warranted” or “makes sense” as being rational is fallacious and relies on a problematic conception of rationality. Next, I will argue against Gibbard’s idea that “Reasoning is to be explained naturalistically, and one can intelligibly be against it.”[1]
Gibbard claims that, in reference to his Cleopatra example, it would be rational for the involved courtier to be angry and, at the same time, rational for him not to want to be angry. I believe that Gibbard is correct to say that it would be rational for the courtier to not want to be angry, however, it is with the idea that it would be ‘rational’ for the courtier to be angry that I take issue. This claims rests on the presupposition that the courtier has come to accept a given norm and that his acting against this norm would suggest that he has acted irrationally. But why is acting against a given norm evidence for irrational conduct? Is there something special about the norm in question such that in order to be ‘rational,’ one must abide by it? In order for this to be the case, the norm, in of itself, would have to be rational. Simply, if one is to be called rational because he abides by a certain norm, it must be the case that that norm is a rational one. However, a norm can only be rational if it is rational for an individual to follow it.[2] To return to Gibbard’s Cleopatra example, it is rational for the courtier to be angry if and only if it is rational for the courtier to abide by the norm that prescribes anger in such circumstances. For this reason, it is clear to see why it is rational for the courtier not to want to be angry. Given the courtier’s supposed end – that is, to ingratiate himself with the queen – it is rational for him not to want to be angry as, if he were to become visibly angry, he would not be effectively pursuing his end of ingratiation. Rationality cannot be broadly construed as that which “makes sense” in a given situation if the intent is not to make reference to what “makes sense” for an individual given his particular ends. Simply, what “makes sense” for an individual cannot be explained by reference to a particular norm unless the acceptance of the norm facilitates the pursuit of one of the individual’s ends. As such, Gibbard’s claim that it is appropriate to refer to that which “makes sense” or is “warranted” as being rational, without the further stipulation outlined above, is flawed.
Gibbard proposes that it is possible to “avoid” the activity of reasoning by “act[ing] from whim or unreasoned passion.” To speak of reasoning in this way is to speak of it superficially. It is true that people often refer to acts of passion as being unreasonable. However, such usage is almost always an appeal to the speaker’s disapproval of the passionate act. Are we to take this expressed disapproval as having significant weight? That is, are we to go so far as to assume that we have acted outside the boundaries of reason if one of our acts is superficially deemed “unreasonable?” It seems to me that the notion of acting outside of the boundaries of reason is unintelligible. No matter how passionate my act, it is always performed with a particular end in mind. If I have neglected one of my ends in pursuit of another, it is not the case that I have acted unreasonably. Rather, I have adjusted the weight of my various ends such that one has come to trump another. For instance, if, while en route to a conference on German Idealism, I decide to turn around on the interstate in order to attend a rock concert, it cannot be rightly said that I have acted unreasonably. On the contrary, I have effectively employed my ability to reason by setting a new end and performing the appropriate means in order to achieve that end. That is, I have decided to go to the rock concert and, as such, adjusted my course. Gibbard suggests that one can reject “acts one thinks rational” as “‘That would be the rational thing to do’ can be said in a sour tone of voice.”[3] All this really means, however, is that the sour toned speaker has an end in mind whose pursuit would conflict with one of the hearer’s ends. The speaker takes a sour tone in order to coax the hearer into giving more weight to the speaker’s end such that it could be pursued cooperatively and without conflict. It is not that the speaker is asking the hearer to act outside the boundaries of reason. Rather, the speaker is hoping that the hearer will abandon one of his own ends and adopt one of the speaker’s. In this situation, neither party is operating outside the boundaries of reason. No matter how passionate the speaker’s end or how noble the hearer’s, they are both ends that can be reasonably pursued by performing the separate means that will lead to their achievement.
[1] Gibbard, pg. 49
[2] In order for an action to be a rational one, it must be that it either directly or indirectly serves to promote an end of the actor. Simply, if I desire to f and know that by j-ing, I will f, then it is rational for me to desire to j. This presupposes, of course, that by j-ing I will not be interfering with the attainment of another one of my ends, in which case, I would have to deliberate further in order to decide whether I actually ought to j.
[3] Gibbard, pg. 50
