A Moral Defense of Prostitution [1st ed. 2021] 3030758621, 9783030758622

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A Moral Defense of Prostitution Rob Lovering

A Moral Defense of Prostitution “The enjoyment of sexual pleasure can contribute greatly to a person’s happiness. Prostitution, in providing opportunities for such pleasure, should therefore be viewed as an admirable profession that makes a very welcome contribution to human society. Instead, prostitutes are looked down upon, and prostitution is illegal in many countries and most of the United States. Why is this the case? The reason is that many people are in the grip of unsound arguments that lead them to think that prostitution is morally wrong. Rob Lovering’s book is a welcome correction. Not only is it the first book to survey the wide variety of arguments for the immorality of prostitution, it also sets out—in an admirably clear and accurate fashion—each of the important arguments that have been offered for this view, and then shows convincingly in each case why the argument in question is unsound.” —Michael Tooley, Former President, The Australasian Association of Philosophy and The American Philosophical Association (Pacific Division) “The view that prostitution is immoral is taken for granted by most people worldwide. Scholars, policy makers, and the media rarely question prostitution’s moral status, even if they support attempts to legalize it. In his unique book, Rob Lovering offers a tour-de-force analysis of this question. By systematically critiquing the conventional arguments and assumptions, he provides nothing short of a paradigm shift in how we conceptualize prostitution. A ground-breaking book that will help to destigmatize sex work.” —Ronald Weitzer, author of Sex for Sale: Prostitution, Pornography, and the Sex Industry (1999) “Morality politics are wedded to debates about prostitution. This book tackles the arguments against prostitution head on, delving deeply into the intricate yet everyday contestations. Logical arguments that interrogate the moral status of prostitution are important for the sex worker rights movement, and ultimately speaks against the stigmatization of sex workers. This book provides fresh analysis, powerful persuasion and a suite of armor against claims that immorality is intrinsic to prostitution. Useful for activists, policymakers and scholars alike, this extensive coverage of age-old arguments enables critical engagement with ideas which are too often taken for granted.” —Teela Sanders, author of Sex Work: A Risky Business (2004)

“Lovering’s book is an important examination of the moral status of prostitution, apart from its legal or prudential profile. This matters. Social perfectionist arguments are used to advance a range of political agendas. History is rife with examples of moral arguments about prostitution being deployed in the service of temperance, eugenics, and nativism. Lovering elucidates the weaknesses of such arguments.” —Jessica Spector, author of Prostitution and Pornography: Philosophical Debate about the Sex Industry (2006)

Rob Lovering

A Moral Defense of Prostitution

Rob Lovering College of Staten Island City University of New York New York, NY, USA

ISBN 978-3-030-75862-2    ISBN 978-3-030-75863-9 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-75863-9 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: John Foxx / GettyImages This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

For Lucia

Acknowledgments

In 2015, Palgrave Macmillan published my A Moral Defense of Recreational Drug Use. Unlike all of my previous publications, which were written for an academic—particularly philosophical—audience, A Moral Defense of Recreational Drug Use was written for a more general audience, by which I mean that it was written in such a way that educated readers who lacked formal training in philosophy could understand it nevertheless. Despite the similarity in title, this book, A Moral Defense of Prostitution, was written in the vein of the aforementioned previous publications: for an academic—particularly philosophical—audience. This is not to say that it is completely inaccessible to those who lack formal training in philosophy. Indeed, I suspect that many, if not most, educated readers will find it to be rather accessible indeed. It is only to say that the book proceeds as if its average reader will be a professor or graduate student of philosophy. In addition to their titles, there is another way in which A Moral Defense of Recreational Drug Use and A Moral Defense of Prostitution are similar. When I wrote A Moral Defense of Recreational Drug Use, there was not a monograph (in English, at least) that was dedicated to providing an argument for the moral permissibility of recreational drug use and critiquing a wide variety of arguments for its immorality. Because of this, I chose to cast my net wide so as to cover an extensive and varied set of what I took to be the most common and/or plausible arguments for and against the moral permissibility of recreational drug use. And so it is here. As I write this, there is not a monograph (again, in English at any rate) that is vii

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dedicated to providing an argument for the moral permissibility of prostitution and critiquing a wide variety of arguments for its immorality. As with A Moral Defense of Recreational Drug Use, then, I have chosen to cast my net wide here so as to cover an extensive and varied set of what I take to be the most common and/or plausible arguments for and against the moral permissibility of prostitution. As a result of said casting, each of the arguments contained in this book, as well as each of the objections raised against them, could be—and, at some point, should be—isolated and developed even further. After all, and as I write in Chap. 1, the question of prostitution’s moral status is (to borrow a phrase) a “monstrous tangle” of moral, legal, sociological, criminological, psychological, philosophical, logical, economic, and other assorted issues.1 And though I have done what I could to address said issues in the space allotted to me by my publisher, I have not addressed them all. Given this, I welcome and encourage others—especially those from different philosophical (and scholarly, ethnic, gender, socioeconomic, etc.) backgrounds—to pick up where I leave off. I want to thank the following people (listed in no particular order), all of whom played an important role in the development of this book in one way or another: Steve Morris, Greg Tateosian, Stephen Cedars, Christina Latimer, Adam Rzepka, Amanda Rolfe, Ryan Oden, Anthony Hall, Sarah Holyhead, Paul Studtmann, Jeff Reiman, Ed. L. Miller, Pat Keeton, Peter Scheckner, Tayloe Dines, Tessa Dines, Lauren Ralston, Pat Lovering, Heather Lovering, Jennifer Engel, Lennon Lovering, Olana Lovering, Page McConnell, Trey Anastasio, Mike Gordon, Jon Fishman, and three anonymous reviewers. A very special thanks goes to Michael Tooley, who read and commented on early drafts of the first four chapters. Finally, I would like to thank the person to whom this book is dedicated, Lucia Scheckner. Rare is the person who would not only tolerate but celebrate his/her/their spouse’s writing of books with the titles A Moral Defense of Recreational Drug Use and A Moral Defense of Prostitution. For that, and her love, I am very grateful.

Note 1. The phrase comes from James Bakalar and Lester Grinspoon, Cocaine: A Drug and Its Social Evolution (New York: Basic Books, 1976), 176.

Contents

1 Preliminaries  1 Introduction   1 Reasons for Writing About Prostitution’s Moral Status   4 Definitions of Key Terms  12 On “Is Prostitution Immoral?”  25 Types of Argument for the Moral Permissibility or Immorality of Prostitution  29 Methodology  34 Conclusion  40 2 Two Arguments for Prostitution 51 Introduction  51 The Prudential Goods Argument  54 The Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument  61 Personalizing the Arguments  74 Conclusion  77 3 Consequentialist Arguments Against Prostitution 83 Introduction  83 On “Harm”  84 Challenges Facing Consequentialist Arguments Against Prostitution  87 On Argumentative Organization  95 The Squandered Talents Argument  96 ix

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The Sexually Transmitted Diseases Argument 122 The Mental Health Argument 127 The Degradation Argument (Consequentialist Version) 140 The Violence Argument 150 The Premature Death Argument 154 The Public Nuisance Argument 160 The Economic Costs Argument 166 The Undermined Marriage Argument 170 The Crime Argument 182 Conclusion 188 4 Nonconsequentialist Arguments Against Prostitution209 Introduction 209 On Argumentative Organization 210 The Unearned Pleasure Argument 211 The Deception Argument 224 The Viciousness Argument 236 The Blocked Basic Goods Argument 245 The Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version) 264 The Exploitation Argument 291 The Patriarchal Subordination Argument 300 Conclusion 312 5 Religious Arguments Against Prostitution327 Introduction 327 A Challenge Facing Religious Arguments Against Prostitution 328 The Five Religions on Prostitution 329 The Sacred Text Argument 333 The Divine Omniscience Argument 335 The Divine Command Argument 367 Conclusion 373 Afterword383 Bibliography387 Index403

CHAPTER 1

Preliminaries

Introduction Is prostitution immoral? In this book, I defend the claim that it is not. More specifically, I argue that prostitution is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral. And I do so by offering two arguments for prostitution’s ultima facie moral permissibility and critiquing 20 arguments for its immorality. The question of prostitution’s moral status is a monstrous tangle of moral, legal, sociological, criminological, psychological, philosophical, logical, economic, and other assorted issues. Given this, it behooves me to distinguish the central question of this book—“Is prostitution immoral?”— from two other questions that often arise in debates on prostitution, “Is prostitution imprudent?” and “Is prostitution an act that should be illegal?” The former question ought not be confused with either of the latter questions, as the moral status of prostitution is distinct from its prudential and legal statuses, at least in principle.1 Take, for instance, driving a car while not wearing a seatbelt. The moral, prudential, and legal statuses of doing so are, in principle, distinct. It is logically consistent for one to hold that driving a car while not wearing a seatbelt is not immoral though it is imprudent and should be illegal, that it is immoral but not imprudent and should not bse illegal, or some other combination of these statuses. Even if one’s answer to the question of whether it is immoral to drive a car while not wearing a seatbelt is “no,” then, one may still deem it to be © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 R. Lovering, A Moral Defense of Prostitution, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-75863-9_1

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imprudent, an act that should be illegal, or both. And so it is with every other act. From sky diving to fasting, free climbing to using drugs, parkouring to self-flagellating, the moral, prudential, and legal statuses of doing so are distinct in principle. Regarding the act at issue here, prostitution (to be defined shortly), it is logically consistent for one to hold that prostitution is not immoral though it is imprudent and should be illegal, that it is immoral but not imprudent and should not be illegal, or some other combination of these statuses.2 So, similar to before, even if one’s answer to the question of whether prostitution is immoral is “no,” one may still deem it to be imprudent, an act that should be illegal, or both. I raise the distinctions among the moral, prudential, and legal statuses of prostitution so as to ensure that the following is clear: by addressing the question of whether prostitution is immoral, I am not thereby addressing the questions of whether it is imprudent or should be illegal (not directly, at any rate). Having said that, I want to ensure that something else is equally clear: by addressing the question of whether prostitution is immoral, I am thereby addressing the question of whether it should be illegal on the grounds that it is immoral. And if my moral defense of prostitution is sound, then the answer to said question is “no.” Of course, there might be nonmoral grounds—economic or paternalistic, for instance—for legally prohibiting prostitution.3 But whether there are I leave for others to decide. With the preceding in mind, the reader might be wondering why I have chosen to write about the question of whether prostitution is immoral rather than the questions of whether it is imprudent or should be illegal. This brings me to one of the purposes of this chapter: to provide reasons for writing about prostitution’s moral status. The other purposes are to define key terms, specifically those of “prostitution” and “immoral,” present four types of argument that may be invoked for either the moral permissibility or the immorality of prostitution, and discuss the methodology behind my evaluation of particular instances of said types of argument. Each of these things will be done in turn. But before doing so, a word about my choice of terminology—specifically that of “prostitution” and its correlative, “prostitute”—is in order. As the reader may be aware, the terms “prostitution” and “prostitute” carry with them loads of historical, stigmatizing baggage. In response to this, some prostitutes and their defenders prefer to call prostitution “sex work” and prostitutes “sex workers.” Indeed, the erstwhile prostitute who claims to have coined the terms “sex work” and “sex worker,” Carol

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Leigh, did so in order to avoid the “connotations of shame, unworthiness, and wrongdoing” that are seemingly inextricably linked to the words “prostitution” and “prostitute.”4 And though in general I have no problem whatsoever with replacing “prostitution” and “prostitute” with “sex work” and “sex worker,” respectively—indeed, I typically use the latter terms in conversation—for present purposes, it is important for me to retain and employ the words “prostitution” and “prostitute.” The reason for this is twofold. First, and related to Leigh’s rationale for coining the terms, to use “sex worker” and “sex work” would be to stack at least the rhetorical deck, if not the logical deck as well, in favor of the view that I am defending here, namely, that prostitution is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral. After all, given the ubiquity and necessity (among other things) of work and, with it, workers, “work” and “worker” can suggest a moral innocence or, at least, neutrality of sorts (hence Leigh’s adoption of this terminology). As Tracy Quan, a former prostitute, puts it, “In two words [sex work], selling sex is just another occupation. Sex work sidesteps pejorative meanings associated with ‘to prostitute’ (the verb) and ‘prostitute’ (the person). Its blandness suggests that morality is no longer an issue.”5 And to do that would be rhetorically, and perhaps logically, unfair to those who hold antithetical views, as is the view that prostitution is immoral. The second reason it is important for me to retain and employ the words “prostitution” and “prostitute” is that the term “sex work” encompasses much more than just prostitution and, in turn, “sex worker” encompasses much more than just prostitutes. As sociologist Ronald Weitzer writes, “Sex work involves the exchange of sexual services for material compensation as well as the selling of erotic performances or products. It includes acts of direct physical contact between the purchasers and sellers (prostitution, lap dancing) as well as indirect sexual stimulation (pornography, stripping, telephone sex, live sex shows, erotic webcam performances).”6 Since the sex acts that the prostitute typically performs are rather different from those that the stripper, phone-sex operator, and even (albeit to a lesser extent) pornography actor or actress typically perform (among others), it is best, for clarity’s sake, to forego the less precise “sex work” and “sex worker” in favor of the more precise “prostitution” and “prostitute.” By doing so, I am able to ensure that the reader knows exactly what type of sex work and, with it, sex worker I am morally defending.

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Having said that, by morally defending prostitution, I am thereby morally defending many of these other kinds of sex work, arguably. After all, if prostitution—which usually involves sexually penetrative activity and, thus, is typically considered one of, if not the, crudest and, in turn, most objectionable lines of sex work—is morally permissible, then, all else being equal, so are those lines of sex work that do not include any bodily contact whatsoever, let alone sexually penetrative contact (e.g., stripping, phone sex, erotic webcam performance). With this word about my choice of terminology out of the way, let us now turn to the discussion of reasons for writing about the question of prostitution’s moral status.

Reasons for Writing About Prostitution’s Moral Status There are a number of reasons for writing about prostitution’s moral status, particularly about whether it is immoral. First, whereas a great deal has already been written on the questions of whether prostitution is imprudent or should be illegal, relatively little has been written on whether prostitution is immoral. While addressing the alleged immorality of prostitution (which he also refers to as “commercial sex”), David A. J. Richards claims that “there has been little serious critical moral argument attacking the moral judgment of the per se immorality of commercial sex.”7 Similarly, while writing about prostitution and pornography qua topics of scholars, Jessica Spector observes, “A review of the academic literature on both prostitution and pornography reveals a striking difference: while pornography has become a popular topic in the academy, there is still comparatively little written about prostitution per se.”8 And though it has been (as of this writing) 37 and 13 years, respectively, since Richards and Spector made those claims, they are as true today—or nearly so, at any rate—as they were when they were made. Conspicuously, there is not a single monograph (at least, not one of which I am aware) that is dedicated to providing arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution and critiquing a wide variety of arguments for the immorality of prostitution, as this book is.9 To be sure, there are books in which the author critiques arguments for the illegality of prostitution and provides an argument for legalizing or decriminalizing it. And there are monographs and edited volumes in which an author critiques a handful of arguments for the

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immorality of prostitution. But there is not a monograph that is dedicated to providing arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution and critiquing a wide array of arguments for prostitution’s immorality. Indeed, one is hard pressed to find any moral defenses of prostitution whatsoever—direct or indirect in nature, in book or article form. One of the purposes of this book is to provide such a defense. The second reason for writing about the question of whether prostitution is immoral is that there is empirical evidence indicating that up to hundreds of millions of people around the world participate in prostitution, either as a prostitute or as someone who purchases the services of a prostitute—that is, as a client. According to one report, for instance, there are approximately 42 million prostitutes worldwide, roughly 1 million of whom are in the U.S. (a geographical focus of this book, along with other Western societies).10 And, according to another report, the number of clients is estimated to be exponentially greater than the number of prostitutes.11 To wit, Weitzer writes of numerous surveys indicating that 15 percent of American, Australian, and European men (each) claim to have paid for sex at least once in their lifetime. Given their respective male populations, that amounts to roughly 66 million men who have claimed to have paid for sex at least once. And, as Weitzer points out, given the stigma of prostitution, the real number might be significantly higher. (And as I would point out, those are just clients identified as men who reside in the U.S., Australia, and Europe.) That up to hundreds of millions of people across the globe participate in prostitution is reason enough to delve into the issue of whether prostitution is immoral. Add to this that many people believe that it is immoral (according to one poll, 56 percent of Americans believe this) and one has even stronger reason to do so.12 The third reason for writing about the question of whether prostitution is immoral pertains to one of the effects the view that prostitution is immoral and, with it, the individual and societal behaviors that usually accompany adherence to said view has had on prostitutes. It is that of the social ostracization and, in turn, emotional affliction of the prostitute. As sociologist Adele Weiner puts it, being a prostitute makes a woman vulnerable to the loss of social services, removal of her children and termination of parental rights, expulsion from social support systems such as family or church, rape or other violence, and arrest. The stigma associated with being a prostitute may make it impossible for these women to return to more “legitimate” lifestyles. Thus, it is extremely difficult for

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women to identify themselves as prostitutes. Often, those who make this disclosure have lost so much that they have nothing left to lose. The women who are unable to hide their status are often the most vulnerable (that is, they are homeless, abuse drugs, and have serious health problems).13

No doubt the reader will agree that such effects are dreadful, regardless of whatever else he or she might think about prostitution and prostitutes. And, as suggested above, these effects are at least partly a function of the view that prostitution is immoral and, with it, the individual and societal behaviors that typically accompany adherence to it. Given this, one cannot help but wonder whether prostitution is, in fact, immoral. After all, if it is not, then these effects are not only dreadful but, at least in one regard, unwarranted and avoidable. The fourth and final reason for writing about the question of whether prostitution is immoral pertains to related but other effects the view that prostitution is immoral and, with it, the individual and societal behaviors that usually accompany adherence to said view has had on prostitutes. But before presenting it, a little stage setting is required. As the reader undoubtedly is aware, prostitution and prostitution-related activities (e.g., pimping, pandering, etc.) are legally prohibited throughout much of the world. Consequently, hundreds of thousands if not millions of people across the globe are arrested each year in connection with prostitution. In the U.S., for example, tens of thousands of people are arrested each year in connection with prostitution (roughly 80,000 at its peak), the vast majority of whom are the prostitutes themselves.14 Given the deleterious effects of being arrested (let alone imprisoned) for prostitution and prostitution-related activities, one naturally wonders what reasons there are for legally prohibiting prostitution and, more importantly, whether the reasons are any good. What’s more, arrest and imprisonment for its participants are not the only deleterious effects of prostitution’s legal prohibition. As Weitzer notes, the legal prohibition of prostitution is not only costly to the criminal justice system, it puts the prostitutes themselves at risk as they might fear reporting their own or other prostitutes’ victimization to the police. Regarding the latter, he writes, “Many prostitutes are reluctant to report rape, robbery, and assault because they want to conceal their illegal activities or because they believe the police will not take their reports seriously. These are not irrational concerns. American police have a long history of routinely discounting this victimization, seeing prostitutes as somehow deserving of their fate, or exploiting individual workers by demanding sex

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in lieu of an arrest.”15 Indeed, their fear of reporting their own or other prostitutes’ victimization can lead to even more victimization. To wit, many prostitutes and pimps knew who the Green River serial killer—who preyed predominantly on prostitutes—was before he was eventually arrested. But they were afraid to provide the local authorities with that information as they feared arrest for being prostitutes and pimps.16 Given these effects, once again, one naturally wonders what reasons there are for legally prohibiting prostitution and whether they are any good. This brings us to the fourth and final reason for writing about the question of whether prostitution is immoral, as a widely invoked ground for legally prohibiting prostitution is morality-based. Writing of what she considers to be the two most-cited justifications for criminalizing prostitution, professor of women’s studies Lenore Kuo lists the view that prostitution is immoral as one of them.17 As another professor of women’s studies, Donna M. Hughes, writes, “Most existing laws concerning prostitution were formulated on the assumption that prostitution is an immoral act, with women being the most immoral participants.”18 Yet another professor of women’s studies (and medical ethics), Janice G. Raymond, writes that “prostitution is a moral issue that must be addressed within a framework of freedom from exploitation, justice, human dignity, and bodily integrity. People need to hear about this moral framework for why prostitution should be abolished versus normalized in order to make legal and policy judgments.”19 Noting the different kinds of arguments there are for laws against prostitution, Peter de Marneffe writes that one of them is that such laws are “necessary to protect or affirm traditional sexual morality.”20 And of the ten reasons that law professor John Decker identifies for the U.S. prostitution laws, the first is the “protection of conventional morality.”21 As the above suggests, many morality-based defenders of the legal prohibition of prostitution—both past and present—invoke this defense explicitly. Regarding past defenders, writing in the early twentieth century in favor of legally prohibiting prostitution, New York City’s Commission of Fifteen argues that “[e]very modern system of regulation avows the purpose of preventing, as far as possible, the degradation of those who are not yet depraved, and the rescue and restoration to honorable life of fallen women who are still susceptible to moral influences.”22 At that same time, the U.S. Supreme Court summarizes the morality-based reason for legally prohibiting prostitution as follows: “The lives and example of [prostitutes] are in hostility to ‘the idea of the family, as consisting in and springing

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from the union for life of one man and one woman in the holy estate of matrimony; the sure foundation of all that is stable and noble in our civilization, the best guaranty of that reverent morality which is the source of all beneficent progress in social and political improvement.’”23 And also at that time, the Vice Commission of Chicago, in a report supporting prostitution’s legal prohibition, cites “the moral and physical harm which result from vice” and declares that prostitution is one of a number of “practices which are morally and physically debasing and degrading, and which affect the moral and physical welfare of the inhabitants of the city.”24 As for present morality-based defenders of the legal prohibition of prostitution who invoke this defense explicitly, Raymond is one, naturally, as indicated above. Law professor Ranjan Agrawal, arguing for the retention of Canada’s anti-prostitution laws before the Ontario Court of Appeal in 2011, maintains that “[p]rostitution is immoral. It takes the most intimate human act and commodifies it.”25 In his “Legalizing Prostitution Would Do Nothing to Curb Abuse, Degradation of Women,” retired police officer Joe Vargas contends that prostitution is and ought to be illegal “because it is immoral.”26 And, explaining why any prostitute would desire that prostitution be legalized, former prostitute Rachel Moran claims it would be because “she is inured … to the wrong of it.”27 But some morality-based defenders of the legal prohibition of prostitution invoke this type of defense implicitly, or so it seems to me. Consider, for example, individuals who explicitly invoke, not a morality-­ based defense of legally prohibiting prostitution, but a health-based defense of doing so. Some of them hold that prostitution should be legally prohibited on the grounds that it is unhealthy for the prostitute himself or herself. For example, in her “Ten Reasons for Not Legalizing Prostitution and a Legal Response to the Demand for Prostitution,” Raymond lists the following at number five: “Legalization/decriminalization of prostitution does not promote women’s health.”28 In support of this claim, she notes that although systems of legalized prostitution often require health checks and certification, they only do so for the prostitutes themselves and not for their clients and, thus, do not protect the prostitutes from HIV or other sexually transmitted diseases.29 Now, obviously, a health-based defense of legally prohibiting prostitution is not explicitly morality-based. There is reason to believe, however, that it is implicitly morality-based, at least for some of its advocates. For it is safe to say that some of them deem other acts to be unhealthy for those who engage in them as well—eating junk food, for instance, or smoking

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cigarettes, or (most analogously) having promiscuous, unprotected, non-­ prostitutional sex. Yet, they do not believe that these acts should be legally prohibited as well. But if such individuals’ defense of legally prohibiting prostitution were grounded (whether largely or entirely) in the claim that prostitution is unhealthy for the prostitute, then, all else being equal, they ought to hold that eating junk food, smoking cigarettes, or having promiscuous, unprotected, non-prostitutional sex should be legally prohibited too. The fact that they do not hold this indicates that they do not think that all else is, in fact, equal. What, then, do they take to be the difference between prostitution, on the one hand, and eating junk food, smoking cigarettes, and having promiscuous, unprotected, non-­ prostitutional sex, on the other, such that the former should be legally prohibited but the latter should not? They might cite a number of differences, to be sure, but I have little doubt that some of them will cite a moral difference between these acts, deeming the former to be immoral or otherwise morally problematic and the latter to be morally permissible. Igor Primoratz, for one, concurs, writing that arguments for the legal prohibition of prostitution that focus on harm, as are such health-based defenses, “take for granted the condemnation of prostitution by positive morality—and it is this morality that in large measure informs the law that criminalizes prostitution.”30 Whether it is invoked explicitly or implicitly, then, a popular ground for legally prohibiting prostitution is that prostitution is (allegedly) immoral.31 With this morality-based defense of the legal prohibition of prostitution in mind, a question naturally arises: Is prostitution, in fact, immoral? Despite the strong rhetoric from morality-based prohibitionists and other moral critics of prostitution, it can be surprisingly difficult to discern the reasons they have for believing that it is. In some cases, this is due to the fact that no reasons whatsoever are provided; it is simply declared that prostitution is immoral. In his “Top Ten Reasons Prostitution Should Be Illegal,” for instance, blogger Dave Anderson lists “prostitution is wrong” as the number one reason for its legal prohibition. But rather than providing a reason for thinking so, he merely asserts that “some actions are just wrong.”32 In other cases, the difficulty of discerning the reasons moral critics of prostitution have for believing it to be immoral is due to the fact that their arguments against prostitution are interpretively flexible and, as such, not obviously moral arguments. Consider, for instance, when moral critics of prostitution argue against it by offering generic claims such as, “Prostitution

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is bad for you, so you should not engage in it.”33 Whether this set of claims constitutes an argument for the immorality of prostitution is unclear, since the “should” involved in it is ambiguous—it could be a prudential “should” or a moral “should.” As Alan Gewirth puts the distinction, a “should” is prudential “when it serves or upholds the agent’s or the speaker’s own interests or purposes,” while a “should” is moral “when it serves or upholds the interests or purposes of at least some person or persons other than or in addition to the agent or the speaker.”34 More precisely, a prudential “should” depends simply on the agent’s own desires, interests, purposes, or needs; that is, what one should do, prudentially speaking, turns merely on one’s own desires, interests, purposes, or needs. A moral “should,” on the other hand, depends, at least in part if not in whole, on something other than the agent’s own desires, interests, purposes, or needs, including (but certainly not limited to) the desires, interests, purposes, or needs of others.35 That is, what one should do, morally speaking, turns, either partly or wholly, on something other than one’s own desires, interests, purposes, or needs. With the preceding distinction in mind, consider once more the set of claims “Prostitution is bad for you, so you should not engage in it.” Again, whether this set of claims constitutes an argument for the immorality of prostitution is unclear. For the “should” involved in the second claim could be a prudential “should,” in which case the claim is to be understood as that prostitution is imprudent—that it is something you should not do given your own desires, interests, purposes, or needs. Or it could be a moral “should,” in which case the claim is to be understood as that prostitution is immoral—that it is something you should not do regardless of your own desires, interests, purposes, or needs. And moral critics of prostitution who say such things often do not state explicitly which sense of “should” they have in mind. In any case, much more than the preceding is needed if one is to determine whether prostitution is, in fact, immoral. So, to reiterate, a widely invoked ground for legally prohibiting prostitution is morality-based. Not everyone agrees, of course, that prostitution is immoral or should be legally prohibited. Yet, with respect to the former, just as it can be difficult to discern the reasons moral critics of prostitution have for believing that prostitution is immoral, it can be difficult to discern—or, when discernable, accept—the reasons such naysayers have for holding that prostitution is not immoral. In some cases, this is due to the fact that, similar to the aforementioned moral critics of prostitution, no

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reasons whatsoever are provided for believing that prostitution is morally permissible. Instead, it is simply taken for granted that it is. As Quan writes, “I move in circles where prostitution is taken for granted as a normal human act. We refuse to debate whether prostitution is politically or morally acceptable.”36 In a similar vein, another former prostitute, Melissa Gira Grant, says of the plethora of debates on prostitution (“sex work,” to put it in her preferred terminology), “We should, in fact, refuse to debate. Sex work itself, and inseparable from it, the lives of sex workers are not up for debate—or they shouldn’t be.”37 In other cases, the difficulty of discerning or accepting the reasons such naysayers have for holding that prostitution is not immoral is due to the fact that their moral defenses of prostitution are underdeveloped. Consider, for instance, Kuo’s take on whether prostitution is intrinsically immoral. After acknowledging that “[b]arter in a capitalistically organized economy is often morally problematic because it creates significant power differentials that can be, and often are, used exploitatively” and that prostitution is contaminated by this phenomenon, she goes on to argue that, in many instances of prostitution, this difference in power is reversed and, what’s more, that prostitution has not only existed in other kinds of economies but can exist in seemingly every kind of economy.38 In turn, she rejects the view that prostitution is intrinsically immoral on the grounds that a morally problematic power relationship—one often found in capitalistic economies—is not intrinsic to prostitution.39 As Kuo presents it, then, whether prostitution is intrinsically immoral is simply a matter of whether it intrinsically involves a power relationship that is morally problematic. But this is an oversimplification, or so many moral philosophers (this one included) would contend. As they see it, whether prostitution is intrinsically immoral is also a matter of whether it is intrinsically harmful, deceptive, vicious, objectifying, instrumentalizing, commodifying, unnatural, sexist, racist, classist, or something else that they deem intrinsically immoral-making. Both sides of the debate on whether prostitution is immoral, then, call for more and better developed argumentation. With respect to not everyone agreeing that prostitution should be legally prohibited, Amnesty International endorsed its decriminalization not long ago, for instance, a move supported by a multitude of other organizations, such as the World Health Organization, UNAIDS, International Labour Organization, the Global Alliance Against Trafficking in Women, the Global Network of Sex Work Projects, the Global Commission on HIV and the Law, Human Rights Watch, the Open Society Foundations,

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and Anti-Slavery International, among others. The move has also been supported by numerous scholars, including philosophers such as Peter Singer, Philip Pettit, and Patricia Marino.40 Hence recent (as of this writing) issues of New York Magazine and The New York Times Magazine, the respective cover stories of which were “Is Prostitution Just Another Job?” and “Should Prostitution Be a Crime?” Despite the fact that not everyone agrees that prostitution is immoral or should be legally prohibited, however, prostitution is legally prohibited in many places across the globe and, importantly, a common ground for legally prohibiting it is that it is (purportedly) immoral. As a result of these things—specifically, that there is no monograph that is dedicated to providing arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution and critiquing a wide variety of arguments for the immorality of prostitution, that one is hard pressed to find any moral defenses of prostitution whatsoever, that prostitution is an act in which up to hundreds of millions of people participate and do so despite its supposed immorality, and that a popular ground for legally prohibiting prostitution has been and continues to be morality-based—there is ample reason to write about the question of whether prostitution is immoral. Hence my doing so here. But in order to do so effectively, I need to define some key terms. This brings me to the next purpose for this chapter.

Definitions of Key Terms Answering the question “Is prostitution immoral?” requires understanding what is meant by both “prostitution” and “immoral.” We need, then, to define these terms. I begin with the former. On “Prostitution” Defining “prostitution”—defining it uncontroversially, at any rate—can be more challenging than one might initially think.41 To see this, consider the following definition: “the act or practice of engaging in promiscuous sexual relations especially for money.”42 There are at least two problems with this definition. First, its inclusion of the word “promiscuous” suggests that, say, a single act of engaging in sexual relations with someone primarily and explicitly for his or her money does not count as prostitution. And this seems incorrect. Simply put, it is hard to believe that whether an act counts as prostitution turns, in part, on the number of times one

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engages in sexual relations with another primarily and explicitly for the other’s money. If, just once, a woman engages in sexual relations with a complete stranger primarily and explicitly for his money—that is, she would not have engaged in sexual relations with him were it not for the money he offered her to do so—it is hard to believe that her doing so does not count as prostitution merely because she did not engage in sexual relations primarily and explicitly for another’s money enough times over the course of her life (whatever “enough times” amounts to).43 To be sure, her engaging in such sexual relations might not count as prostitution in the occupational sense of the word. But the occupational sense of the word is not the only sense of the word, just as the occupational sense of “musician” or “painter” is not the only sense of these words.44 In turn, that the woman’s engaging in such sexual relations might not count as prostitution in the occupational sense of the word does not entail that her doing so does not count as prostitution in some other, non-occupational sense of the word. And that it counts as prostitution in the latter sense of the word strikes me (and others—see the following endnote) as rather obvious.45 (Indeed, by my lights, the film in which the actress Demi Moore’s character has sex with a stranger primarily and explicitly for his money, Indecent Proposal, might have been plausibly [though less subtly] called Prostitute for a Night.) Second, the term “sexual relations” is vague. Are such relations limited to acts that virtually everyone agrees are sexual in nature, such as oral, anal, coital, and manual sex? If so, might this render this definition of “prostitution” too narrow? Some people would say so.46 If not—more specifically, if such relations are not limited to acts that virtually everyone agrees are sexual in nature but, instead, include acts such as kissing, caressing, nibbling, or even cuddling (à la the “professional cuddling” industry)—might this render this definition of “prostitution” too broad?47 Once again, some people would say so.48 Consider another definition: “the act or practice of engaging in sexual intercourse for money.”49 As with the previous definition, there are at least two problems with this one. First, its inclusion of the word “intercourse” suggests that having manual sex with another person primarily and explicitly for his or her money (and perhaps even oral and anal sex, depending on what, exactly, is meant by “intercourse”) does not count as prostitution. And this, too, seems incorrect. If a woman has manual sex with a complete stranger primarily and explicitly for his money—as above (and hereafter), she would not have had manual sex with him were it not for the

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money he offered her to do so—it is very hard to believe that her doing so does not count as prostitution. Second, that the act or practice of engaging in sexual intercourse must be done for money if it is to count as prostitution appears incorrect as well. If the aforementioned woman has manual sex with the stranger, not primarily and explicitly for his money, but for his food, clothing, or some other asset, it seems that her doing so counts as prostitution nevertheless. Melissa Farley, a clinical psychologist whose research focuses on prostitution, agrees, writing, “Prostitution is the sale of a sex act or the exchange of a sex act for goods such as food, shelter, or drugs.”50 To be sure, in practice, the most common reason that prostitutional acts are performed is for money. (As Kuo observes, “In study after study, the top reason prostitutes give for entering the profession is financial.”)51 But that they must be performed for money if they are to be, in fact, prostitutional acts strikes me as false. Of course, one might think that an uncontroversial definition can be found in the work of scholars who specialize in prostitution and issues thereof. So, take retired philosophy professor (and former prostitute, incidentally) Yolanda Estes’s definition—more precisely, her analysis—of prostitution, according to which prostitution “requires two elements: one person (the prostitute) willing to exchange sexual service for money, or its tangible equivalent, and another person (the client) willing to exchange money, or its equivalent, for sex. In each act of prostitution, money is the prostitute’s primary motivation … Sexual gratification is the client’s primary motivation.”52 This is an improvement on the preceding definitions, to be sure. For instance, according to this analysis, the prostitute’s sexual service need not be done for money; rather, it may be done for money’s “tangible equivalent,” and plausibly so. This is even more plausible when it is understood in light of Estes’s view that money, or its tangible equivalent, is the prostitute’s primary motivation. Yet, even Estes’s analysis has its problems. For example, similar to “sexual relations,” the term “sexual service” is vague and, as such, subject to the kinds of concerns raised against the former. A comparable concern may be raised regarding the client’s exchanging money for “sex.” What counts as sex? If a man pays a complete stranger to strip and masturbate herself while he, in turn, strips, watches, and masturbates himself to the point of ejaculation, is he exchanging money for sex? It is difficult to say. In certain ways, it seems that he is: each participant is completely nude in the other’s presence and intentionally so; each is stimulating his or her own genitals; as a result of her nudity and masturbating herself, his penis

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is erect and brought to ejaculation; and so forth. (If phone “sex” is just that, sex, shouldn’t this be as well?) In other ways, however, it seems that he is not: most notably, no physical contact between them occurs. (In turn, perhaps phone sex isn’t sex.) The difficulty of defining prostitution uncontroversially notwithstanding, a definition of the word to serve as a touchstone for the rest of the book is required if we are to get anywhere. With the preceding discussion and concerns expressed therein in mind, then, by “prostitution,” I mean the providing of oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex by one mentally competent adult human being (hereafter, simply “adult”) to at least one other mentally competent adult primarily and explicitly for his or her money. (By a “mentally competent” adult human being, I mean someone whose mental faculties are not affected either from birth, disease, injury, or by a disorder to such an extent that he or she is incapable of thinking rationally, both epistemically and instrumentally speaking.)53 There are a number of reasons for defining prostitution in this way, as well as (alas) a number of reasons for not defining it in this way. I will address these reasons in turn. With respect to the reasons for defining prostitution in this way (a handful of them, at any rate), the first is that this definition captures all the features possessed by what is arguably the paradigmatic instance of prostitution. Ask someone at random what prostitution is, and she is likely to say that it is to have sex with someone for money. Ask her what she means by “have sex” with someone, and she is likely to say that it is to have intercourse with, go down on, give a hand job to, and/or have anal sex with him or her—in other words, to provide oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex to him or her. (Hence Cecile Fabre’s observation that it is “the body, hands, and mouth of the prostitute [the client] wants … otherwise he would simply masturbate on his own, or be content to use an inflatable doll.”)54 Ask her what she means by “for money,” and she is likely to say that the one who has such sex would not do so were it not for the money— more precisely, that he or she does so primarily and explicitly for the other’s money. From the high-priced call girl to the window worker, the street walker to the brothel worker, the sugar baby to the massage parlor worker, each typically engages in one or more of the preceding sex acts with at least one other adult primarily and explicitly for the other adult’s money. And each of the participating adults is usually mentally competent, as defined above. Second, this definition construes prostitution neutrally with respect to sex and gender (among other relevant demographics), and credibly so.55

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After all, whether one can be a prostitute does not depend on one’s sex or gender, some historical definitions notwithstanding.56 Given this, in terms of both sex and gender, prostitutes may be male, female, transsexual, transgender, non-binary, and so forth. That said, in order to simplify things, I will generally limit myself to two sets of sex/gender-specific pronouns and verb or preposition objects: she, her, hers, and herself for the prostitute; and he, him, his, and himself for the client. The selection of female sex/gender-specific pronouns and verb or preposition objects for the prostitute, and male sex/gender-specific pronouns and verb or preposition objects for the client, is not without cause, as studies indicate that, at least in sex if not also in gender, the vast majority of the world’s prostitutes are female, and the vast majority of the world’s clients are male.57 Third, though this definition overlaps with other definitions in that it understands prostitution to be an act that involves two individuals (the prostitute and the client), it makes clear that prostitution can involve more than two individuals—specifically, it can involve multiple clients at a time. (In her Paid For: My Journey Through Prostitution, Moran tells the story of a fellow prostitute servicing 12 clients during single appointment.)58 This is not to say that this is what prostitution usually involves. But it is to say that, both in principle and in practice, prostitution can, and sometimes does, involve more than one client at a time—hence my construing it accordingly. Fourth, this definition avoids the philosophically muddy waters of determining whether kissing, caressing, nibbling, cuddling, and the like primarily and explicitly for another’s money count as prostitution. These are interesting questions, to be sure, and I can understand why someone might desire to wade into such waters. But any time spent determining whether these acts count as prostitution is time not spent determining whether, say, providing coital sex to someone primarily and explicitly for his money is immoral. And there are at least two reasons to be much more interested in questions like the latter. The first is that if providing coital sex to someone primarily and explicitly for his money is not immoral, then, all else being equal, neither is kissing, caressing, nibbling, or cuddling primarily and explicitly for someone’s money either, presumably (even if doing so counts, in fact, as prostitution). The second is that, unlike with kissing, caressing, nibbling, and cuddling, the beliefs people have with respect to the question of whether providing coital (or oral, or anal, or manual) sex to someone primarily and explicitly for his money is immoral

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often strongly influences their view on whether prostitution should be legally prohibited. Fifth, this definition distinguishes prostitution from another type of sex work that overlaps with, but in many ways is distinct from, prostitution, namely, acting in pornographic films.59 Like the prostitute, the pornography actress in (for instance) a heterosexual pornographic film provides oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex to at least one other adult primarily and explicitly for money. So, what differentiates the prostitute from the pornography actress? Among many things, two stand out: their respective sources of money and their means of acquiring it. The prostitute’s usual source of money is the adult with whom she engages in said acts—that is, the client—and her typical means of acquiring it is by providing said acts to him. The pornography actress’s source of money, on the other hand, is the adult, not with whom she engages in said acts, but who finances the production of the pornographic film itself. And her means of acquiring it is not by providing said acts to the film’s financier, but by providing said acts to at least one other actor while performing in a pornographic film. (Unless, of course, the film’s financier is also an actor in the film and, in turn, someone with whom she engages in said sex acts. In such a case, the line between prostitution and pornography acting is, at the very least, blurred.) Last, but certainly not least, this definition distinguishes the act that I am defending morally here from two other acts that I am not and have absolutely no intention of defending here—morally or otherwise—namely, child prostitution and sex trafficking. Given the frequency with which child prostitution and sex trafficking are conflated with prostitution in public and even scholarly debates on the latter (more on this shortly), the significance of defining “prostitution” here in a way that unequivocally distinguishes it from these other acts cannot be overemphasized.60 To be clear, then, child prostitution involves children (naturally) and, as such, does not match the description of the act that I am morally defending here. For, according to that description, the providing of oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex is by one mentally competent adult and received by another mentally competent adult. (Indeed, my definition’s construal of said adults as “mentally competent” is meant to avoid issues similar to those raised by child prostitution, such as the lack of ability to voluntarily and informedly consent to performing the aforementioned sex acts.) Sex trafficking involves acts beyond that of providing of oral, anal, coital, and/ or manual sex, including the recruiting, obtaining, harboring,

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transporting, and providing of someone for the purpose of sex—usually through force, fraud, or coercion—and, as a result, it also fails to match the description of the act that I am morally defending here. In fact, given their use of children, force, fraud, and coercion, child prostitution and sex trafficking strike me as very strongly immoral and, thus, I will simply take it for granted hereafter that they are. Having said that, and lest there be any confusion, it should be noted that the view that child prostitution and sex trafficking are very strongly immoral is consistent with the view that I am defending here, namely, that prostitution—as I have defined it—is morally permissible. To be sure, as with the other definitions discussed and rejected above, my definition of prostitution has its own problems. This brings us to the reasons for not defining prostitution in this way. As I have already acknowledged, providing one of the aforementioned sex acts (oral sex, anal sex, etc.) to another for something other than his money does not seem to preclude doing so from counting as prostitution. Additionally, it might be that kissing, caressing, nibbling, cuddling (and the like) another individual primarily and explicitly for his money counts as prostitution. That said, as mentioned previously, providing one or more of the aforementioned sex acts to another primarily and explicitly for his money is not only the paradigmatic instance of prostitution, it is typically taken to be the crudest and, as such, most objectionable form of it as well. Given this, it is reasonable to think that if prostitution, as defined here, is morally defensible, then so is providing one or more of the aforementioned sex acts to another primarily and explicitly for something other than his money, everything else being equal. Relatedly, if prostitution is morally defensible as it is defined here, then presumably so is prostitution when it is defined to include kissing, caressing, nibbling, cuddling another primarily and explicitly for his money—again, everything else being equal. Yet another problem with the definition of prostitution that I will be using here is that it implies that acts which many people do not usually count as prostitution do, in fact, count as prostitution. Take, for instance, the so-­called gold digger—someone who enters into a sexual relationship with a gold possessor (as it were) primarily and explicitly for the latter’s money. According to the definition at hand, when the gold digger provides, say, oral sex to the gold possessor primarily and explicitly for his or her money, his or her doing so counts as prostitution (when both the gold digger and the gold possessor are both mentally competent adults, at any rate). Though I am not entirely convinced that this implication does, in

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fact, render this definition problematic, I am also aware that others might be. One could attempt to circumvent it by supplementing the definition of prostitution on which I will be relying here with an ostensive definition (e.g., the oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex that street walkers, window workers, sugar babies, brothel workers, call girls [among others] provide to their clients primarily and explicitly for their client’s money are the sort of acts that count as prostitution for present purposes). Attempts at circumvention are not necessary, however, since even if the definition of prostitution on which I will be relying here is, in fact, too inclusive, its being so does not adversely affect my arguments for the view that prostitution, as I define it, is morally defensible. And, in any case, despite the aforementioned problems with the definition of prostitution that I will be employing, I trust it is clear enough what I mean by “prostitution.” Without further ado, then, let us now define “immoral.” On “Immoral” By an act that is “immoral,” I mean an act that is morally impermissible (i.e., morally forbidden).61 For present purposes, an act that is morally impermissible is an act that one has no moral right to perform—that is, an act in which one is not morally entitled to engage. As such, it is an act that someone has a valid claim against one’s performing and, as result, could be morally justified in preventing (non-legally, at least) one from performing, or, if one performs such an act, in punishing (again, non-legally, at least) one for having performed it. (Accordingly [and conversely], an act that is morally permissible is an act that one has moral right to perform— that is, an act in which one is morally entitled to engage. As such, it is an act that no one has a valid claim against one’s performing, let alone could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such an act, in punishing one for having performed it.) Of course, not all moral philosophers embrace the concept of a moral right. Misgivings with my use of this concept will be addressed shortly. Acts that are morally impermissible are to be contrasted with acts that are morally criticizable. An act that is morally criticizable is an act that is morally permissible (i.e., an act that one has a moral right to perform) but, nevertheless, should not be performed, morally speaking. As morally permissible, a morally criticizable act is an act that someone would not have a valid claim against one’s performing and, accordingly, could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such an

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act, in punishing one for having performed it. David Boonin motivates the distinction between moral impermissibility and moral criticizability well as follows: Consider an imaginary billionaire named Donald who has just unexpectedly won a million dollars from a one-dollar lottery ticket. He is trying to decide what to do with the money and has limited himself to the following options: (1) donating the money to several worthy charities, (2) putting it in his savings account, (3) purchasing a gold-plated Rolls Royce, (4) putting up billboards across the country that read “I hate Ivana,” and (5) hiring a hitman to kill Ivana. One thing we are likely to say about this list is that there is a morally relevant sense in which the choices become progressively worse. We would be entitled to aim more moral criticism at Donald for choosing (4), for example, than for choosing (3). This is what I mean by calling an action morally criticizable. But most of us will be inclined to say something more than this: It isn’t just that (5) is worse than (4), which is worse than (3), which is worse than (2), which is worse than (1); it is that there is a difference in kind between (5) and the others. The difference might be put like this: Even though it is his money, and so there is some sense in which he is entitled to spend it in any way he wants, still he is not entitled to spend it in that way. This is the distinction I have in mind in saying (5) is impermissible while (1)–(4) are permissible.62

So though (3) is morally worse than (2), (4) is morally worse than (3), and (5) is morally worse than (4), there is a significant moral difference between (2)–(4), on the one hand, and (5), on the other: the former, though morally criticizable, are nevertheless morally permissible, while the latter is morally impermissible—an act one has no moral right to perform.63 Although the concept of moral impermissibility is familiar to most moral philosophers, the concept of moral criticizability is not—at least, it is not as familiar as the former concept. Accordingly, I would like to provide further motivation for the latter concept by revisiting the distinction between a prudential “should” and a moral “should.” Suppose Donald decides to do (3) and, thus, purchases a gold-plated Rolls Royce. By deeming his doing so morally criticizable (as opposed to morally impermissible), one holds that Donald does something he is morally permitted to do but, nevertheless, should not do, morally speaking. Whereas, by deeming his doing so morally criticizable (as opposed to prudentially criticizable), one holds that Donald does something he should not do regardless of his own desires, interests, purposes, or needs. Tying these two

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things together, to deem Donald’s purchasing a gold-plated Rolls Royce morally criticizable is to deem it something he is morally permitted to do but should not do regardless of his own desires, interests, purposes, or needs. There may be many reasons for why one thinks that Donald should not, morally speaking, purchase a gold-plated Rolls Royce, of course. But, whatever they might be, one thing is certain: they extend beyond his own desires, interests, purposes, and needs. This is due to the fact that Donald’s purchasing a gold-plated Rolls Royce is deemed morally, not simply prudentially, criticizable. (Two of my real-life, go-to examples involving this conceptual distinction are gossiping and slandering: doing so is usually considered morally permissible—that is, not morally forbidden—but morally criticizable nevertheless. Hence exchanges of the following form: After being chastised for gossiping, the gossiper says, “I’ll gossip if I want to—I have a right to do it!” to which the chastiser replies, “Even so, you shouldn’t.”) The distinction between morally impermissible and morally criticizable acts is important for at least three reasons, the first of which is that, as indicated above, many people hold that prostitution is morally impermissible. Granted, some people accept the moral defenses of prostitution that have been offered by others, and some people simply take it for granted that prostitution is morally permissible. But others do neither of these things, and rightly so as I see it. Regarding the former, as addressed above, moral defenses of prostitution are rather rare, and those that exist are often underdeveloped. As for the latter, merely taking it for granted that prostitution is morally permissible is no way to settle whether prostitution is, in fact, morally permissible. A sensible starting point, then, is that of the question of whether prostitution is morally impermissible. Hence my understanding “immoral” in terms of moral impermissibility and, in turn, my moral defense of prostitution being directed first and foremost at the claim that prostitution is morally impermissible. Having said that, it should be noted that my moral defense of prostitution is also directed at the claim that prostitution is morally criticizable, at least on occasion. For some of my criticisms of arguments for the moral impermissibility of prostitution can be applied to arguments for the moral criticizability of prostitution as well. In addition to stating explicitly when I think arguments for the moral impermissibility of prostitution fail, then, I also state explicitly when I think arguments for the moral criticizability of prostitution do not succeed. The second reason that the distinction between morally impermissible and morally criticizable acts is important is that the morality-based defense

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of the legal prohibition of prostitution usually involves the claim (whether explicitly or implicitly) that prostitution is morally impermissible. Anderson’s claim above that “some actions are just wrong”—by which, given his support of legally prohibiting prostitution and his inclusion of “just,” I take him to mean that some actions are morally impermissible—is a case in point. That the morality-based defense of the legal prohibition of prostitution usually involves the claim that prostitution is morally impermissible is, to be sure, understandable, since arguing that prostitution should be illegal on the grounds that it is morally criticizable is unlikely to persuade anyone. Donald’s purchasing a gold-plated Rolls Royce might be morally criticizable, for instance, but hardly anyone (in the Western world, at any rate) would be persuaded by the argument that it should therefore be legally prohibited, let alone criminalized. Or, to use the aforementioned real-life example, gossiping might be morally criticizable, but hardly anyone would be persuaded by the argument that it should therefore be legally prohibited, much less criminalized. And so it is with most other acts that people tend to deem morally criticizable, such as ridiculing, boasting, slandering, insulting, teasing, and so on. Hardly anyone would be persuaded by the argument that these acts are morally criticizable and should therefore be legally prohibited. All this to say, if individuals who embrace the morality-based defense of the legal prohibition of prostitution were to agree that prostitution is not morally impermissible but, at worst, morally criticizable, they would thereby weaken, if not completely undermine, their case for legally prohibiting prostitution. The third and final reason, one related to the first, that the distinction between morally impermissible and morally criticizable acts is important has to do with something to which I alluded previously: this book is likely the first of its kind. Again, one is hard pressed to find any moral defenses of prostitution whatsoever, and I am not aware of one in book form. Given this, it would make little sense to bypass the question of whether prostitution is ever morally impermissible and focus exclusively on the question of whether it is ever morally criticizable. To motivate this, imagine that the first book ever written on whether, say, human cloning is immoral bypassed the question of whether human cloning is morally impermissible and focused exclusively on the question of whether it is morally criticizable. This would be not just a regrettable oversight but a fatal flaw, as I see it, as it would involve taking for granted that human cloning is, at the very least, morally permissible. And so it would be here were I to bypass the question

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of whether prostitution is morally impermissible and focus exclusively on the question of whether prostitution is morally criticizable. Of course, some moral philosophers—foremost, some consequentialists—will object to my construal of “immoral” given that it involves the concept of a moral right. Whether the concept of a moral right should be rejected is, of course, a meta- and normative ethical issue, one that is worthy of book-length treatment unto itself. Rather than attempting to decide this issue here, then, I will simply say the following. First, the concept of a moral right is—or, at least, can be—compatible with consequentialism. Briefly, and as I will discuss in greater detail in Chap. 3, so long as moral claims involving the concept of a moral right are understood to be derived from or otherwise secondary to moral claims about moral-making (read: morally permissible making) or immoral-making consequences, the concept of a moral right is compatible with consequentialism. (One of the foremost consequentialists, Mill, claims that moral rights protect an “extraordinarily important and impressive kind of utility,” for example.)64 Second, and relatedly, as understood here, the concept of a moral right is, in fact, compatible with consequentialism. Again, an act that one has no moral right to perform is an act that someone has a valid claim against one’s performing and, as result, could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such an act, in punishing one for having performed it. An act that that one has moral right to perform, on the other hand, is an act that no one has a valid claim against one’s performing and, in turn, could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such an act, in punishing one for having performed it. And, as one can see, this perfectly consistent with consequentialism, as they make no claims whatsoever, either explicitly or implicitly, that are incompatible with it. (Lest there be any confusion, punishing someone for having done something is consistent with consequentialism. It is just that, unlike with the typical nonconsequentialist moral justifications for punishing someone, a consequentialist moral justification for punishing someone would not be retributive or otherwise backward-­ looking but, instead, preventative or otherwise forward-looking.) Finally, my moral defense of prostitution would not suffer at all if “immoral” were stripped of entirely of the concept of a moral right and understood merely as a property that admits of degrees, ranging from the very strongly immoral to the very weakly immoral (for more on this, see the following endnote).65

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In sum, by an act that is “immoral,” I mean an act that is morally impermissible—an act that one has no moral right to perform and, as such, someone could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such an act, in punishing one for having performed it. Accordingly, my moral defense of prostitution is directed first and foremost at the claim that prostitution is morally impermissible. That said, as addressed above, it is also directed periodically at the claim that prostitution is morally criticizable. Another word about “immoral” is in order. Though moral critics of prostitution often claim that prostitution is immoral (as defined here), they frequently do not state explicitly whether they mean by this that prostitution is intrinsically immoral or extrinsically immoral. By an act that is “intrinsically immoral,” I mean an act that is immoral in and of itself; that is, immoral independent of any immoral-making factors there might be beyond the act itself, such as the consequences of the act (whatever they may turn out to be). Take, for example, murder. Even if the consequences of, and every other factor beyond, a given murder were moral-making (perhaps the person murdered made everyone around her completely miserable), many would consider the murder immoral nevertheless. In doing so, they would thereby deem the murder intrinsically immoral. By an act that is “extrinsically immoral,” on the other hand, I mean an act that is immoral, not in and of itself, but due to one or more immoral-­ making factors beyond the act itself. Consider, for instance, Steve, a father who, rather than getting out of bed to feed his starving children, decides to stay in bed and rest for the remainder of the day. Now, it is safe to say that resting in bed all day is not intrinsically immoral; it is not immoral in and of itself. However, the consequences of Steve’s doing so—namely, his starving children going unfed—render his resting in bed all day immoral, or so many people would likely maintain. In doing so, they would thereby deem his resting in bed all day extrinsically immoral. To be sure, an act that is intrinsically immoral might also be immoral due to one or more immoral-making factors beyond the act itself. But its immorality does not depend on the existence of such factors. An act that is intrinsically immoral is so even when there are no immoral-making factors beyond the act itself. (Indeed, an act that is intrinsically immoral is so even when every factor beyond the act itself is moral-making.) The immorality of an extrinsically immoral act, on the other hand, depends on the existence of one or more immoral-making factors beyond the act itself.

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So, again, moral critics of prostitution often do not state explicitly whether they are claiming that prostitution is intrinsically immoral or extrinsically immoral. As a result, while critiquing arguments for the immorality of prostitution below, I employ both meanings (not simultaneously, naturally—which is at work at will be stated explicitly when necessary). My criticisms of the arguments are reflective of this, with some criticisms being directed at the former understanding and others being directed at the latter understanding. With the preceding discussion of what I mean by “immoral” in mind, one might wonder what makes morally impermissible acts morally impermissible, morally criticizable acts morally criticizable, intrinsically immoral acts intrinsically immoral, and extrinsically immoral acts extrinsically immoral. These are, of course, deep and difficult questions of meta- and normative ethical theory. As such, they are beyond the scope of this work and, consequently, I do not attempt to answer them here. That said, I do what is perhaps the next best thing: I rely upon what I take to be paradigmatic cases of each of these kinds of acts. As paradigmatic (assuming they are), these cases are likely to be accepted by most people (as before, most Westerners at any rate) as genuine instances of each of these kinds of acts and, perhaps more importantly, deemed compatible with any number of meta- and normative ethical theories. To be sure, one is free to hold that no act is morally impermissible, morally criticizable, intrinsically immoral, extrinsically immoral, or even all of the above and, in turn, deduce the moral status of prostitution rather easily. To take just one example, one may hold that no act is morally impermissible à la moral skepticism and, in turn, deduce that prostitution is not morally impermissible. One is also free to reject what I take to be paradigmatic cases of each of these kinds of acts. If one chooses to do any of these things, however, then the issue at hand shifts from the question of whether prostitution is immoral to that of which meta- and normative ethical theories are correct. The latter issue is tremendously important, to be sure. But given its enormity and complexity, it is also an issue that is best addressed elsewhere.

On “Is Prostitution Immoral?” Now that we have defined the key terms of the question “Is prostitution immoral?” let us unpack it a little more. With the preceding definitions of “prostitution” and “immoral” in mind, this question may be stated

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more specifically as follows: Is it morally impermissible for one mentally competent adult to provide oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex to at least one other mentally competent adult primarily and explicitly for his money? In another words, is the providing of oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex by one mentally competent adult to at least one other mentally competent adult primarily and explicitly for his money an act that one has no moral right to perform? Since the “it” of the question (whether it is morally impermissible for one adult …) regards the act of the prostitute—that of providing oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex to at least one other adult primarily and explicitly for his money—one can see that what I am morally defending here is just the prostitute’s act. It is especially important to keep this in mind while reading Chaps. 3 and 4. For some of the arguments critiqued therein employ language (e.g., degrade, exploit, subordinate) that is often used to describe what the client does through prostitution rather than what the prostitute does through it. Even so, none—not even those that employ said language—is an argument for the immorality of what the client, or anyone else not identified with the prostitute, does through prostitution. Each is an argument for the immorality of only what the prostitute does. This bears emphasizing since, given that what the prostitute does through prostitution is not one and the same as what the client does through it, the moral statuses of what they do are distinct, at least in principle. It is possible, then, that what the client does is immoral but what the prostitute does is not, that what the client does is morally permissible but what the prostitute does is not, that what both the client and the prostitute do is immoral, and so on. I have various reasons for morally defending merely the prostitute’s act, some of which are as follows. First, much has already been written on the moral status of the client’s act, that of purchasing the prostitute’s sexual services. Indeed, this tends to be the focus of both moral and legal critiques of prostitution, the predominant argument being that, at least as it is currently practiced, purchasing the prostitute’s sexual services is often deceptive, sexist, oppressive, objectifying, demeaning, exploitative, abusive, and/or violent, is so contrary to the prostitute’s will, and thereby immoral. What’s more—and I implore the reader to pay particular attention to this—I agree that this so. Given this, as well as that much has already been written on the moral status of purchasing the prostitute’s sexual services, there is reason to write about the moral

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status of the prostitute’s selling of her prostitutional services. Hence my doing so here. Second, at least in practice if not also in principle, the act of selling per se seems to be more fundamental than the act of purchasing per se. That is, it seems that, both practically and logically speaking, one cannot purchase something—whether an object, a service, or what have you—unless someone is selling it. To clarify, I am not saying that one cannot acquire something unless someone is selling it; obviously, one can—by stealing it, for example. Rather, I am saying that, ostensibly, one cannot acquire something in a particular way, by purchasing it, unless someone is selling it. This is reflected in practice in a type of interchange that occurs all too often. A would-be purchaser of, say, a car tells its owner, “I would like to purchase your car.” The owner responds, “My car is not for sale,” thereby informing the would-be purchaser that he cannot, at least in practice if not also in principle, purchase the car. The selling, then, appears to more fundamental than the purchasing, since the latter cannot occur without the former occurring. This is also reflected in principle in the logical incoherence of purchasing something that no one is selling. If it were possible to purchase something that no one was selling, then the following claim would be intelligible: “No one was selling X, but I purchased X anyway.” Yet, such a claim is scarcely intelligible. All this to say, the act of selling seems to be more fundamental, both in principle and in practice, than the act of purchasing. If this is so, then, all else being equal, the act of selling sex is more fundamental than the act of purchasing sex.66 And since philosophy in general, and moral philosophy in particular, is keen on discovering and understanding fundamentals—be they moral, metaphysical, epistemological, logical, conceptual, or other—the moral status of selling sex is a natural starting point. Third, and perhaps a function of the preceding, the moral status of selling sex seems to be more fundamental than the moral status of purchasing sex. To put it another way, the moral status of purchasing sex seems to hinge, at least in part, on the moral status of selling sex. To wit, if selling sex is perfectly morally permissible, then it is very difficult to see how purchasing sex could be immoral nevertheless—intrinsically so, at any rate (e.g., even if selling sex is perfectly morally permissible, it may be extrinsically immoral to purchase sex when one has promised sexual fidelity to someone other than the seller of sex). If, on the other hand, selling sex is very strongly immoral, then it is very hard to see how purchasing sex

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could be morally permissible nonetheless—again, intrinsically so, in any case. Such a relation between the moral status of selling something and the moral status of purchasing it is reflected in our moral assessments of the selling and purchasing of numerous objects and services. Take commonly sold objects (bicycles, computers, shoes, guitars, etc.) and services (painting, cooking, teaching, cleaning, etc.). Most of us think that it is morally permissible to sell such objects and services and, seemingly as a result, most of us also think it is morally permissible to purchase them. In contrast, consider not-­so-­commonly sold objects (human infants) and services (contract killings). Most of us think that it is immoral to sell such objects and services and, seemingly as a result, most of us also think it is immoral to purchase them. It appears, then, that the moral status of selling such objects and services is more fundamental than the moral status of purchasing such objects and services. And so it is, ostensibly, with the relation between the moral status of selling sex and the moral status of purchasing sex—the moral status of selling sex seems to be more fundamental than the moral status of purchasing sex. (This might explain Hughes’s observation that, historically, the prostitutes themselves were often considered prostitution’s most immoral participants.) And, once again, since both philosophy in general, and moral philosophy in particular, are keen on discovering and understanding fundamentals, the moral status of selling sex is an obvious starting point.67 Finally, as sociologists Teela Sanders, Maggie O’Neill, and Jane Pitcher observe, most efforts at controlling prostitution criminalize the selling of sex in a way that the purchasing of sex is not.68 In doing so, such efforts at least characterize, if not regard, the selling of sex as somehow more problematic than the purchasing of sex. There might be numerous reasons for why they do so, of course, undoubtedly one of which is the existence and influence of patriarchy (to be discussed in Chap. 4). But another is that prostitution is considered immoral and that the prostitutes themselves are taken to be the most immoral participants. This is one more reason—and a rather pressing one at that—to write about the moral status of selling, rather than purchasing, sex. Having defined key terms, we may now turn to the next purpose of this chapter: to present four types of argument that may be invoked for either the moral permissibility or the immorality of prostitution.

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Types of Argument for the Moral Permissibility or Immorality of Prostitution Arguments for the moral permissibility or immorality of an act—be it prostitution or any other—may be divided into at least four different types: religious, nonreligious, consequentialist, and nonconsequentialist. Taking each in turn, by “religious arguments,” I mean arguments wherein a claim regarding the moral permissibility or immorality of an act is derived from at least one religious claim. (What, exactly, makes a religious claim a religious claim is an interesting and challenging question. Rather than attempting to answer it here, however, I will simply rely upon standard examples of religious claims, such as “The Creator loves us,” “The gods will punish the wicked,” “God commands us to refrain from lying,” and so on.) The principal differences between one religious argument and another, then, are the act that is concluded to be morally permissible or immoral as well as the religious claim(s) from which that conclusion is said to be derived. With this in mind, consider the following argument from Chap. 5: P1:

Prostitution involves the violation of the commands of sacred text T’s author, D. P2: Being a violation of the commands of sacred text T’s author, D, is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. (“D” stands for a deity of one sort or another. Why P1 and P2 are stated formally is addressed in Chap. 5.) In this case, the act that is concluded to be immoral is prostitution and the religious claims from which that conclusion is said to be derived are “prostitution involves the violation of the commands of sacred text T’s author, D” and “being a violation of the commands of sacred text T’s author, D, is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property.” (The latter is also a moral claim, naturally.) By “nonreligious arguments,” I mean arguments wherein a claim regarding the moral permissibility or immorality of an act is derived from at least one nonreligious claim and no religious claims whatsoever. (For

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present purposes, what makes a nonreligious claim a nonreligious claim is simply the fact that it is not a religious claim.) The principal differences between one nonreligious argument and another, then, are the act that is concluded to be morally permissible or immoral as well as the nonreligious claim(s) from which that conclusion is said to be derived. Take the following argument from Chap. 3: P1: P2: C1: P3:

Prostitution involves the degradation of oneself. The degradation of oneself is an immoral-making consequence. Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. In this case, the act that is concluded to be immoral is prostitution and the nonreligious claims from which that conclusion is said to be derived are “prostitution involves the degradation of oneself,” “the degradation of oneself is an immoral-making consequence,” “prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence,” and “if prostitution involves an immoral-­ making consequence, then prostitution is immoral.”69 By “consequentialist arguments,” I mean arguments wherein a claim regarding the moral permissibility or immorality of an act is derived from at least one consequentialist moral claim and no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever. By a “consequentialist moral claim,” I mean a claim that understands the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act to be wholly a function of a supposed moral-making or immoral-­ making consequence the act is said to involve, whether intrinsically or typically.70 (The intention behind the act, for example, is morally irrelevant, all else being equal.) By a “moral-making consequence,” I mean a consequence that renders the act that produces it morally permissible. Similarly, by an “immoral-making consequence,” I mean a consequence that renders the act that produces it morally impermissible. And by “consequence,” I mean an empirical consequence (e.g., harm) as opposed to a logical consequence (e.g., contradiction). (I will discuss what I mean by a “nonconsequentialist moral claim” shortly.) The principal differences between one consequentialist argument and another, then, are the act that is concluded to be morally permissible or immoral, the subject(s) affected by the purported moral-making or immoral-making consequence, and the

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alleged moral-making or immoral-making consequence the act is said to involve. With this in mind, consider another argument from Chap. 3: P1: Prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to violence. P2: The subjection of oneself to violence is an immoral-making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. In this case, the act that is concluded to be immoral is prostitution, the subject affected by the supposed immoral-making consequence is the prostitute herself, and the purported immoral-making consequence that prostitution is said to involve is that of the subjection of oneself to violence. Before moving on to nonconsequentialist arguments, a further word about consequentialist arguments is in order. Since the latter are understood here as arguments that derive a claim regarding the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act from at least one consequentialist moral claim and, significantly, no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever, one might think that consequentialist arguments cannot, logically speaking, involve claims that invoke the concept of a moral right.71 After all, said concept is usually constitutive of nonconsequentialist moral claims and, in turn, nonconsequentialist arguments for the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act. Though this is an understandable thought, it is, in the present context, mistaken. For, as defined here, consequentialist arguments can indeed involve claims that invoke the concept of a moral right. Simply put, and related to a previous discussion, so long as the claims in which the concept of a moral right is invoked are understood to be derived from or otherwise secondary to claims about moral-­making or immoral-making consequences, they compatible with consequentialist arguments. (“Moderate deontology,” as Shelly Kagan calls it, is an example of a normative ethical theory according to which one could submit consequentialist arguments containing claims involving moral rights.)72 To be sure, there might be other understandings of “consequentialist argument” that are logically incompatible with claims that invoke the concept of a moral right. But such is not the case here. (It is especially important that this be kept in mind while reading Chap. 3, since it is dedicated to consequentialist arguments for the

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immorality of prostitution, all of which are understood to be logically compatible with moral-rights claims.) This brings us to the last type of argument, namely, nonconsequentialist arguments. By them I mean arguments wherein a claim regarding the moral permissibility or immorality of an act is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever. By a “nonconsequentialist moral claim,” I mean a claim that understands the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act to be a function, not of a purported moral-making or immoral-making consequence the act is said to involve, but of some other alleged moral-­making or immoral-making property—a “nonconsequentialist moral-making immoral-making property,” for present purposes. By a “nonconsequentialist moral-making property,” I mean a property, other than that of being a consequence of an act, that renders the act that involves it morally permissible. Similarly, by a “nonconsequentialist immoral-making property,” I mean a property, other than that of being a consequence of an act, that renders the act that involves it morally impermissible. It is important to make very clear the difference between consequentialist and nonconsequentialist arguments. With the former, the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act is wholly a function of a supposed moral-making or immoral-making consequence the act is said to involve—again, whether intrinsically or typically. With the latter, the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act is a function of something other than a supposed moral-making or immoral-making consequence the act is said to involve. To be sure, it might be that an act possessing a nonconsequentialist moral-making or immoral-making property also involves a consequence that, via a consequentialist argument, one could claim renders the act morally permissible or morally impermissible. But the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of the act does not depend on its doing so as it does with consequentialist arguments. The act allegedly possessing the nonconsequentialist moral-making or immoral-­ making property would still be morally permissible or morally impermissible even if it did not involve such a consequence. The principal differences between one nonconsequentialist argument and another, then, are the act that is concluded to be morally permissible or immoral as well as the purported nonconsequentialist moral-making or immoral-making property that the act is alleged to involve. Take the following argument from Chap. 4:

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P1: Prostitution involves the subordination of oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts. P2: Being a subordination of oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. (Why this is construed as a nonconsequentialist argument is explained in Chap. 4.) In this argument, the act that is concluded to be immoral is prostitution and the supposed nonconsequentialist immoral-making property is that of being a subordination of oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts. As one can see, these types of argument for the moral permissibility or immorality of an act may be conjoined in various ways. For example, one could conjoin religious arguments and consequentialist arguments, religious arguments and nonconsequentialist arguments, nonreligious arguments and consequentialist arguments, and nonreligious arguments and nonconsequentialist arguments. Indeed, arguments for the moral permissibility or immorality of an act that are rooted in standard Western normative ethical theories (e.g., utilitarianism, deontology, virtue ethics, contractarianism, natural law theory, the divine command theory) do just that. To wit, an argument for the moral permissibility or immorality of an act that is rooted in classical utilitarianism conjoins nonreligious arguments and consequentialist arguments (the moral-making and immoral-­ making consequences in question being those of being the greatest total net pleasure and not being the greatest total net pleasure, respectively). An argument for the moral permissibility or immorality of an act that is rooted in Kantian deontology conjoins nonreligious arguments and nonconsequentialist arguments (the nonconsequentialist moral-making and immoral-making properties in question being those of being a compliance with the Categorical Imperative and being a violation of the Categorical Imperative, respectively). An argument for the moral permissibility or immorality of an act that is rooted in the divine command theory conjoins religious arguments and nonconsequentialist arguments (the nonconsequentialist moral-making and immoral-making properties in question

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being those of being a compliance with God’s commands and being a violation of God’s commands, respectively). And so on. In the chapters to come, I offer and evaluate various combinations of these types of argument. To wit, in Chap. 2, I offer a nonreligious consequentialist argument for the moral permissibility of prostitution as well as a nonreligious nonconsequentialist argument for the moral permissibility of prostitution. In Chap. 3, I evaluate nonreligious consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution. In Chap. 4, I evaluate nonreligious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution. And in Chap. 5, I evaluate religious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution.73 (It is worth emphasizing here that, in evaluating these types of arguments, I thereby address arguments for the immorality of prostitution that are rooted in the aforementioned standard Western normative ethical theories, both directly and indirectly.) With the preceding types of argument for the moral permissibility or immorality of prostitution in mind, a question naturally arises: What is the methodology behind my evaluation of particular instances of them? This brings us to the next purpose of this chapter, namely, to discuss said methodology.

Methodology When it comes to discussing what my method for evaluating particular instances of the aforementioned four types of arguments involves, a good place to start is with what it does not involve. Perhaps most significantly, my method does not involve explicitly adopting some standard Western normative ethical theory and applying it to prostitution. There are a number of reasons why it does not involve this, the foremost of which is that none of these theories strikes me as plausible enough to rely on it exclusively. Having said that, each of these theories is represented in one way or another in the chapters to come—as was just mentioned, in evaluating the aforementioned types of arguments, I thereby address arguments for the immorality of prostitution that are rooted in said theories, both directly and indirectly. Despite the fact that I do not adopt any one of these theories, then, they get their day in court, as it were. But if my method does not involve explicitly adopting some standard Western normative ethical theory and applying said theory to prostitution, what does it involve? Guided by the ideals of argumentation, clarity, and rigor, my method is perhaps best described by way of illustration. Suppose,

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then, someone (Joe) submits the following argument for the immorality of prostitution: P1: P2: C:

Prostitution involves the degradation of oneself. The degradation of oneself is immoral. Therefore, prostitution is immoral.

The first methodological step for evaluating this argument involves checking the logic. More specifically, it involves determining whether (i) the conclusion follows from the premises and (ii) if so, in what way: necessarily or probably? As the reader can see, in Joe’s argument, the conclusion does indeed follow from the premises and does so necessarily. The next five steps involve examining the premises and determining which, if any, is (iii) a moral claim, (iv) a nonmoral claim, (v) a basic moral claim, (vi) a derived moral claim, and (vii) true (or, at least, justified). Regarding steps (iii) and (iv), by a “moral claim,” I mean a claim about the moral status of an act, person, or state of affairs. In the case of an act, it is a claim about an act being morally impermissible, morally neutral, morally permissible but criticizable, morally permissible, or morally required.74 In the case of a person or state of affairs, it is a claim about the person or the state of affairs being morally bad, morally neutral, morally satisfactory, morally good, or morally exemplary. In Joe’s argument, P2—the degradation of oneself is immoral—is, of course, a moral claim. By a “nonmoral claim,” on the other hand, I mean simply a claim that is not about the moral status of an act, person, or state of affairs. (Given this analysis, what a nonmoral claim is about varies from one nonmoral claim to the next, naturally.) In Joe’s argument, P1 is probably a nonmoral claim. I write “probably,” since the word “degradation” is unclear; some senses of “degradation” are nonmoral in nature, while others are moral in nature.75 Thus, in order to be confident that P1 is, in fact, a nonmoral claim, one would need to establish what Joe means by “degradation.” (Hereafter, I will simply assume that P1 is indeed a nonmoral claim.) As for steps (v) and (vi), since I cannot improve upon Michael Tooley’s articulation of the distinction between basic and derived moral claims, I will quote it here. But before doing so, it should be noted that Tooley writes in terms of moral principles rather than moral claims. This difference, however, is insignificant for present purposes. For Tooley’s moral “principles” and my moral “claims” function equivalently in the relevant respect: they both function as statements of what is believed to be a moral

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truth. That said, Tooley’s description of the distinction between basic and derived moral claims is as follows: “A moral principle is basic if its acceptability is not dependent upon any nonmoral facts. It is a derived moral principle if it is acceptable only because it is entailed by one or more basic moral principles together with propositions expressing some nonmoral facts.”76 (Notice that, so construed, this distinction allows for one basic moral claim to be derived from another—I will have more to say about this in a moment.) Given that a moral claim is basic if its acceptability is not dependent upon any nonmoral facts, a moral claim is basic for an individual if no conceivable changes to nonmoral assumptions or beliefs can make him revise the claim. And given that a moral claim is derived if it is acceptable only because it is entailed by one or more basic moral claims together with claims expressing some nonmoral facts, a moral claim is derived for an individual if changes to nonmoral assumptions or beliefs can make him revise the claim. In other words, a basic moral claim is a claim that is believed to be true in all conceivable nonmoral factual circumstances, while a derived moral claim is a claim that is believed to be true “in the actual world because it is entailed by the combination of some basic moral principle … together with some nonmoral principle that is contingently true in the actual world,” as Tooley puts it.77 The acceptability of basic moral claims, then, is not contingent upon nonmoral assumptions or beliefs as is the acceptability of derived moral claims. With the preceding distinction in mind, let us consider P2 of Joe’s argument: The degradation of oneself is immoral. If it turns out that Joe will revise this moral claim under certain nonmoral factual circumstances— say, when the degradation of oneself in a given circumstance will prevent an even greater degree of one’s own degradation—then the moral claim is not basic for Joe but, instead, derived. Now, suppose Joe does revise the original moral claim so that it becomes: The unnecessary degradation of oneself is immoral. If it turns out that Joe will not revise this moral claim under any nonmoral factual circumstances—even when, say, the one degrading herself is just like an adult human being in every way save for the fact that she belongs to an extraterrestrial species—then the moral claim is basic for him. The importance of determining which moral claims are basic and which are derived pertains (in part) to what is involved when attempting to establish whether a moral claim is true. If the moral claim is derived, then establishing whether it is true involves establishing whether the claims

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from which it is said to be derived (both moral and nonmoral) are themselves true. If the moral claim is basic, however, then establishing whether it is true does not involve the preceding, as basic moral claims are not derived from sets of moral and nonmoral claims. Instead, establishing whether a basic moral claim is true involves considering its logical implications, employing thought experiments, raising possible counterexamples, appealing to intuition, and more. To wit, since a false claim (moral or nonmoral) cannot be deduced from a set of all and only true claims, establishing whether a basic moral claim is true involves determining whether a false moral claim can be deduced from it, and so involves considering the basic moral claim’s logical implications. And since a basic moral claim is taken to be true regardless of changes to one’s nonmoral assumptions or beliefs, establishing whether it is true involves applying it to cases wherein changes have been made to nonmoral assumptions and beliefs. Hence the employment of thought experiments and, with them, the raising of possible counterexamples, appealing to intuition, and so on. Finally, regarding step (vii), determining whether nonmoral claims are true (or, again, justified) is rather straightforward. In some cases, it is simply a matter of establishing whether the nonmoral claim corresponds to reality (or coheres to one’s set of beliefs, or whatever one’s theory of truth dictates): if it does then it is true, and if it does not then it is false. In other cases, it is a matter of establishing whether the nonmoral claim follows (necessarily or probably) from at least one other nonmoral claim that corresponds to reality (or coheres to one’s set of beliefs, etc.): if it does then it is true or likely to be true, and if it does not then it is false or likely to be false. In Joe’s argument, the presumed nonmoral claim, P1, might be true, depending on whether the prostitute does, in fact, degrade herself through prostitution. When determining whether moral claims are true, however, things are not so straightforward, as the discussion above regarding the importance of distinguishing basic moral claims from derived moral claims (which I will not repeat here) indicates. In Joe’s argument, the moral claim, P2, might be true, depending on whether degrading oneself is, in fact, immoral. On Intuition and Its Role in Moral Reasoning Before bringing this section on methodology to a close, I would be remiss not to say a little more about one of the previously listed truth-testing

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considerations—intuition—as its role in moral and, indeed, philosophical reasoning has been and continues to be of considerable debate. Specifically, I would like to state very briefly what I take intuition’s role in moral reasoning to be. There are, of course, numerous understandings of “intuition.”78 Following Michael Huemer (among others), “intuition” will be understood here as a state of its seeming to one that a claim—moral or nonmoral—is true wherein its seeming so is the result, not of having inferred the claim from other claims, but merely of having reflected upon the claim itself.79 With this meaning of “intuition” in mind, I am inclined to think that intuition serves a twofold purpose, that of (i) a heuristic device and (ii) prima facie epistemic justification for accepting basic moral claims, at least when the intuition arises foremost from the claim’s intrinsic features (rather than, say, from a religious belief system or worldview) and is shared by most people.80 Beginning with the former, by serving as a starting point from which we may reason about moral issues, intuition helps us discover new moral terrain, as it were—new questions, concepts, and arguments of moral import. From ancient philosophy (Plato’s ring of Gyges) to contemporary philosophy (Judith Jarvis Thomson’s violinist) the history of moral philosophy is replete with examples of new moral terrain being discovered by way of an intuitive point of departure—even if (it is important to note) that which is initially intuited is later deemed false after much reflection. As for intuition serving as prima facie epistemic justification for accepting basic moral claims, consider first that rejecting basic moral claims can be done on any number of grounds, such as those of the aforementioned truth-testing considerations. For example, a basic moral claim can be rejected on the grounds that a false moral claim can be deduced from it or that it is subject to counterexample. But accepting basic moral claims cannot be done simply on the basis of such considerations. For even if a basic moral claim is not open to counterexample and a false moral claim cannot be deduced from it, it still might be false. Furthermore, that it is not vulnerable to counterexample and a false moral claim cannot be deduced from it may increase the probability that the basic moral claim is true, the mere combination of these things does not do so to the point where the basic moral claim is more likely than not to be true. On what grounds, then, is one to accept basic moral claims? One might think that it can be done on the basis of a derivation. Specifically, one might think that a basic moral claim can be derived from another basic

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moral claim. But this just pushes the problem back, as the question arises: On what grounds is one to accept the other basic moral claim from which the basic moral claim under consideration is said to be derived? Or, one might think that, similar to some logical truths (e.g., the law of identity), a basic moral claim can be accepted on the basis of the obviousness of its truth.81 But one is hard pressed to find a basic moral claim that is so obviously true, if one is to be found at all. Take, for example, the following basic moral claims, each of which is associated with a standard Western normative ethical theory: “One ought to produce the greatest total net pleasure” (classical utilitarianism), “One ought always to treat humanity as an end in itself and never simply as a means” (Kantian deontology), “One ought to do what a virtuous agent would characteristically do in the circumstances” (virtue ethics), and “One ought to act according to one’s nature” (natural law theory). Not one of these basic moral claims has struck even a bare majority of moral philosophers as obviously true, as is evidenced by the plethora of articles and books that have been written in defense of and against them. Or, one might think that a basic moral claim can be accepted on the basis of its explanatory power or its practicality.82 But both of these possibilities are subject to a problem similar to a problem raised above: even if a basic moral claim has great explanatory power and is very practical, it still might be false. What’s more, and more to the point, it seems at least logically possible that a basic moral claim can have great explanatory power, be very practical, and yet be counterintuitive as well. (“One ought to do whatever God commands,” at least under certain analyses, would be a case in point for some philosophers.) With this in mind, take two basic moral claims, one of which has great explanatory power, is very practical, and where most people’s intuition—arising foremost from the claim’s intrinsic features—is that it is true, whereas the other has great explanatory power, is very practical, but most people’s intuition—again, arising foremost from the claim’s intrinsic features—is that it is false. If intuition provides no epistemic justification whatsoever for accepting basic moral claims, then that the former basic moral claim is intuitive and the latter basic moral claim is counterintuitive, particularly in the ways that they are so, does not provide any epistemic reason whatsoever to accept the former basic moral claim over the latter basic moral claim. But this strikes me as incorrect. That the former is intuitive and the latter is counterintuitive in the ways that they are seems to provide at least some prima facie epistemic reason for accepting the former over the latter. (Admittedly, I am relying on

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intuition here. For what it’s worth, I am inclined to think that, ultimately, relying on intuition is inevitable, not just in moral reasoning, but in reasoning in general.)83 If this is correct, then intuition does, in fact, provide prima facie epistemic justification for accepting basic moral claims, at least when it arises foremost from the claim’s intrinsic features and is shared by most people.84 To be sure, it may be that basic moral claims are not to be accepted at all since there is no epistemic justification whatsoever for doing so, as moral skeptics would have us believe. But, for present purposes, I will be assuming that there is some justification for doing so. So, again, I am inclined to think that intuition serves, not only as a heuristic device, but as prima facie epistemic justification for accepting basic moral claims under certain conditions. Accordingly, I rely on intuition in these ways here. And though I am aware that not everyone agrees that intuition plays this twofold role—especially that of providing epistemic justification for accepting basic moral claims—I am also aware that many of my appeals to intuition do not require that they be understood in terms of the latter in order to be useful. In many cases, if my appeals to intuition are understood to function merely as heuristic devices, they will have served their purpose.

Conclusion In this chapter, I covered some preliminaries that will serve as the backdrop against which the rest of the book is to be understood and evaluated. Specifically, I provided reasons for writing about prostitution’s moral status, defined the key terms of “prostitution” and “immoral,” described four types of argument that may be invoked for the moral permissibility or immorality of an act, and discussed the methodology behind my evaluation of particular instances of said types of argument. Having done so, I may now begin my moral defense of prostitution, starting with two arguments for prostitution’s ultima facie moral permissibility.

Notes 1. Unless, of course, an act’s moral status is identified with its prudential or legal status. For more on the former possibility, see Stephen Darwall (ed.), Contractarianism/Contractualism (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2003). See also Philippa Foot, “Does Moral Subjectivism Rest on a Mistake?” Oxford Journal of Legal Studies Vol. 15 (1995): 1–14.

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2. Hence, for example, Debra Satz’s claim that “[i]t is important to distinguish between prostitution’s wrongness and the legal response that we are entitled to make to that wrongness. Even if prostitution is wrong, we may not be justified in prohibiting it if that prohibition makes the facts in virtue of which it is wrong worse, or if its costs are too great for other important values, such as autonomy and privacy” (Debra Satz, “Markets in Women’s Sexual Labor,” in Prostitution and Pornography: Philosophical Debate about the Sex Industry, edited by Jessica Spector [Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006], 414). See also Igor Primoratz, “Prostitution,” in Sex from Plato to Paglia: A Philosophical Encyclopedia, Vol. 2, edited by Alan Soble (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2006), 848. 3. For a paternalistic reason for legally prohibiting prostitution, see Peter de Marneffe, Liberalism and Prostitution (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010). 4. Elizabeth Bernstein, “What’s Wrong with Prostitution? What’s Right with Sex Work? Comparing Markets in Female Sexual Labor,” Hastings Women’s Law Journal Vol. 10, No. 1 (1999): 91. See also Carol Leigh, “Inventing Sex Work,” in Whores and Other Feminists, edited by Jill Nagle (New York: Routledge, 1997), 225. 5. Tracy Quan, “The Name of the Pose: A Sex Worker by Any Other Name?” in Prostitution and Pornography: Philosophical Debate about the Sex Industry, 344, 2006. 6. Ronald Weitzer, Legalizing Prostitution: From Illicit Vice to Lawful Business (New York: New York University Press, 2012), 3. 7. David A. J. Richards, Sex, Drugs, Death, and the Law: An Essay on Human Rights and Overcriminalization (Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Littlefield, 1982), 86. 8. Jessica Spector, “Obscene Division: Feminist Liberal Assessments of Prostitution Versus Feminist Liberal Defense of Pornography,” in Prostitution and Pornography, 419, 2006. 9. It may go without saying that, in this internet age, my lack of awareness of such a book is a strong indication that it does not exist. 10. Gus Lubin, “There Are 42 Million Prostitutes in the World, And Here’s Where They Live,” Business Insider, available at http://www.businessinsider.com/there-­a re-­4 2-­m illion-­p rostitutes-­i n-­t he-­w orld-­a nd-­h eres-­ where-­they-­live-­2012-­1, accessed 2012. It is important to note that this is just one report on the matter and that some scholars (e.g., Teela Sanders and Lenore Kuo) question the reliability of any such report. See, for example, Teela Sanders, Maggie O’Neill, and Jane Pitcher, Prostitution: Sex Work, Policy and Politics (Los Angeles: SAGE Publications, 2009), 34, and Lenore Kuo Prostitution Policy: Revolutionizing Practice through a Gendered Perspective (New York: New York University Press, 2002), 67.

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11. As Priscilla Alexander writes, “Although it is true that most prostitutes are women (70–80 percent), there are five to eight times as many clients as prostitutes on any given day, most of them male” (Priscilla Alexander, “Feminism, Sex Workers, and Human Rights,” in Whores and Other Feminists, 86, 1997. See also “Percentage of Men (by Country) Who Paid for Sex at Least Once: The Johns Chart,” ProCon.org, available at http:// prostitution.procon.org/view.resource.php?resourceID=004119, accessed 2017. 12. Peter Moore, “Significant Gender Gap On Legalizing Prostitution,” YouGov, available at https://today.yougov.com/news/2016/03/10/ prostitution/?utm_content=buffer99ecd&utm_medium=social&utm_ source=twitter.com&utm_campaign=buffer, accessed 2017. See also Ronald Weitzer, “The Politics of Prostitution in America,” in Sex for Sale: Prostitution, Pornography, and the Sex Industry, edited by Ronald Weitzer (New York: Routledge, 2000), 163. 13. Adele Weiner, “Understanding the Social Needs of Streetwalking Prostitutes,” Social Work Vol. 41, No. 1 (January 1996): 100. Communication studies professor Sarah Jane Blithe, organizational communication professor Anna Wiederhold Wolfe, and graduate student and prostitute Breanna Mohr agree, writing, “The moral judgments about a woman who enters this profession [prostitution] are so pervasive that many women have a difficult time engaging in their communities (such as volunteering), conducting everyday business (such as paying taxes or purchasing cars), and transitioning out of prostitution” (Sarah Jane Blithe, Anna Wiederhold Wolfe, and Breanna Mohr, Sex and Stigma: Stories of Everyday Life in Nevada’s Legal Brothels [New York: New York University Press, 2019], 6). 14. “Prostitution in the United States,” HG.org, available at https://www. hg.org/article.asp?id=30997, accessed 2017. See also Satz, 416, 2006. 15. Weitzer, 49, 2012. 16. Alison Bass, Getting Screwed: Sex Workers and the Law (Lebanon, NH: ForeEdge, 2015), 113. 17. Kuo, 125, 2002. 18. Donna M.  Hughes, “Legalizing Prostitution Will Not Stop the Harm,” Making the Harm Visible, available at http://www.uri.edu/artsci/wms/ hughes/mhvlegal.htm, accessed 2016. In this vein, Sanders et  al. argue that “the social attitudes and values established during the nineteenthcentury Victorian period created the framework in which the problem of prostitution as a crime against morality is organized, perceived and regulated today” (Sanders et al., 112, 2009). 19. Janice G.  Raymond, Not A Choice, Not A Job: Exposing the Myths About Prostitution and the Global Sex Trade (Washington, DC: Potomac Books,

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2013), 17. Elsewhere, and in a similar vein, Raymond contends, “When legal barriers disappear, so too do the social and ethical barriers to treating women as sexual merchandise. Legalization of prostitution sends the message to new generations of men and boys that women are sexual commodities and that prostitution is harmless fun” (Janice Raymond, “Ten Reasons for Not Legalizing Prostitution and a Legal Response to the Demand for Prostitution,” in Journal of Trauma Practice Vol. 2 (2003): 322). 20. De Marneffe, 3, 2010. 21. John Decker, Prostitution: Regulation and Control (Littleton, CO: Rothman, 1979), 20. 22. Edwin R. A. Seligman, The Social Evil (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, [1900] 1912), 21, citation to 1912 edition. 23. United States v. Bitty, 208 U.  S. 393, 401 (1908), found in David A. J. Richards, Sex, Drugs, Death, and the Law: An Essay on Human Rights and Overcriminalization (Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Littlefield, 1982), 94. 24. Vice Commission of Chicago, The Social Evil in Chicago (New York: Arno Press, [1911] 1970), 6, citation to 1970 edition. 25. Sheila Dabu Nonato, “Prostitution Is Immoral and Exploitative, Court Hears,” The Catholic Register, available at https://www.catholicregister. org/item/5689-­p rostitution-­i mmoral-­a nd-­e xploitative-­c ourt-­h ears, accessed 2017. 26. Joe Vargas, “Legalizing Prostitution Would Do Nothing to Curb Abuse, Degradation of Women,” Behind the Badge, available at http://behindthebadgeoc.com/cities//vargas-­legalizing-­prostitution-­nothing-­curb-­abuse-­ degradation-­women, accessed Feb. 2018. 27. Rachel Moran, “Should Prostitution Be Legal? Let’s Try Listening to the Real Experts,” Independent, available at http://www.independent.co.uk/ voices/comment/should-­prostitution-­be-­legal-­lets-­try-­listening-­to-­the-­ real-­experts-­8829716.html, accessed Feb. 2018. 28. Raymond, 323, 2003. 29. Raymond, 323, 2003. 30. Primoratz, 850, 2006. 31. Indeed, the morality-based defense of legally prohibiting prostitution was recently acknowledged by former U.S.  Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia. In his dissenting opinion to the court’s decision to overturn Texas’s state sodomy laws in Lawrence v. Texas, Scalia argues that “[t]his effectively decrees the end of all morals legislation,” since “[s]tate laws against bigamy, same-sex marriage, adult incest, prostitution, masturbation, adultery, fornication, bestiality, and obscenity are … sustainable only in light of Bowers’ validation of laws based on moral choices” (Antonin Scalia, dissenting opinion, available at https://www.law.cornell.edu/supct/ html/02-­102.ZD.html, accessed 2018, emphasis mine). In so arguing,

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Scalia recognizes the morality-based defense of legally prohibiting prostitution. 32. Dave Anderson, “Top 10 Reasons Prostitution Should Be Illegal,” List Land, available at https://www.listland.com/top-­10-­reasons-­prostitution-­ should-­be-­illegal/, accessed 2017. 33. From de Marneffe: “Consider here how one prostitute describes her reaction to feminists who oppose prostitution: ‘When they tell me, “You shouldn’t do it, it’s bad for you,” I hear, “You shouldn’t do it, it’s bad”’” (de Marneffe, 56, 2010). See also Kate Millet, “Prostitution: A Quartet for Female Voices,” in Woman in Sexist Society: Studies in Power and Powerlessness, edited by Vivian Gornick and Barbara K. Moran (New York: Basic Books, 1971), 68. 34. Alan Gewirth, “From the Prudential to the Moral: Reply to Singer,” Ethics Vol. 95, No. 2 (Jan., 1985): 302. 35. One would be correct to point out that there are other senses of “should”— such as the legal “should”—that, like the moral “should,” do not depend simply on the agent’s desires, interests, purposes, or needs. One thing that distinguishes the moral “should” from the legal “should” pertains to what is logically required in order for them to exist: the legal “should” cannot exist without the prior existence of a legislative body, while the moral “should” can exist even without the prior existence of a legislative body. 36. Quan, 341, 2006. 37. Melissa Gira Grant, Playing the Whore: The Work of Sex Work (New York: Verso, 2014), 36. 38. Kuo, 50, 2002. 39. Kuo, 50, 2002. 40. Catherine Murphy, “Sex Workers’ Rights Are Human Rights,” available at https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2015/08/sex-­w orkers-­ rights-­are-­human-­rights/, accessed 2016. 41. I am not the first to observe this—see, for example, Cécile Fabre, Whose Body is it Anyway? Justice and the Integrity of the Person (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 154. 42. “Prostitution,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/prostitution, accessed 2017. 43. For a contrasting position, in 1605, Johannes Teutonicus suggested that a woman must have sex with a minimum of 23,000 men before she can be called a prostitute (elsewhere, he reduced the number to a mere 40). See Bonnie Bullough and Vern L.  Bullough, “Female Prostitution: Current Research and Changing Interpretations,” in Prostitution: On Whores, Hustlers, and Johns, edited by James E.  Elias et  al. (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books), 25.

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44. To wit, after invoking a British survey in which 18 percent of women and 36 percent of men responded said they would “consider having sex for money if the amount offered was enough,” Weitzer employs (implicitly if not explicitly) both senses of the word: “This does not imply that they would consider a career in prostitution, but it is clear that a sizeable number of people would be amenable to engaging in an act of prostitution” (see Weitzer, 4, 2012). 45. See, for example, Lena Edlund and Evelyn Korn, “A Theory of Prostitution,” Journal of Political Economy Vol. 110, No. 1 (February 2002): 182. 46. See, for example, Kuo, 42, 2002. 47. Samantha Grossman, “Snuggle with a ‘Professional Cuddler’ for $60 an Hour,” Time (November 5, 2012), available at http://newsfeed.time. com/2012/11/05/for-­j ust-­6 0-­a n-­h our-­y ou-­c an-­s nuggle-­w ith-­a -­ professional-­cuddler/, accessed 2017. 48. See Alan Soble, The Philosophy of Sex and Love (St. Paul, MN: Paragon House: 2008), 49ff. 49. Dictionary.com, “Prostitution,” available at http://www.dictionary.com/ browse/prostitution, accessed 2017. 50. Melissa Farley, “Risks of Prostitution: When the Person Is the Product,” Journal of the Association for Consumer Research Vol. 3, No. 1 (December 17, 2017): 100. 51. Carol Leigh, “The Continuing Saga of Scarlot Harlot I,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, edited by Frédérique Delacoste and Prinscilla Alexander (Pittsburgh, PA: Cleis Press, 1987), 42. 52. Yolanda Estes, “Prostitution: A Subjective Position,” in The Philosophy of Sex: Contemporary Readings, 5th edition, edited by Alan Soble and Nicolas Power (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2008), 354. For another definition from another scholar, see Kuo, 42, 2002. 53. Epistemic rationality consists in forming and/or acquiring beliefs in truthindicative or conducive ways. Instrumental rationality, on the other hand, consists in choosing the correct means of fulfilling one’s desires, acquiring one’s needs, achieving one’s goals, etc. 54. Fabre, 159. 2006. Hence also two former prostitutes’ (Vednita Carter and Evelina Giobbe) claim that “the mouth, the genitals, anus” are essential to prostitution (Vednita Carter and Evelina Giobbe, “Duet: Prostitution, Racism, and Feminist Discourse,” in Prostitution and Pornography, 27, 2006). 55. Others include sexual orientation, race, and class. 56. In the aforementioned 1908 U.S.  Supreme Court decision, the court defines “prostitution” as “women who hire or without hire offer their bodies to indiscriminate PIV sex with men.”

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57. De Marneffe, 12, 2010; Fabre, 176, 2006; Satz, 405–406, 2006. 58. Rachel Moran, Paid For: My Journey Through Prostitution (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2013), 127–128. 59. For more on the overlap between the work of prostitutes and pornography actors and actresses, see Norma Jean Almodovar, “Porn Stars, Radical Feminists, Cops and Outlaw Whores: The Battle Between Feminist Theory and Reality, Free Speech and Free Spirits,” in Prostitution and Pornography, 149–174. For arguments that prostitution and pornography are, at bottom, one and the same, see Rebecca Whisnant, “Confronting Pornography: Some Conceptual Basics,” in Not for Sale: Feminists Resisting Prostitution and Pornography, edited by Christine Stark and Rebecca Whisnant (Australia: Spinifex Press, 2004), 19ff, and Diana Russell, Against Pornography: The Evidence of Harm (Berkeley, CA: Russell Publications, 1993). As Russell motivates her view, “Does it really make sense that an act of prostitution in front of a camera is more acceptable than the same act performed in private? … These women are not simulating sex. They are literally being fucked, tied up, spread-eagled, having ejaculate sprayed over their faces and bodies, having anal, oral, and vaginal sex with three different men at the same time, being urinated on, and so on” (Russell, Against Pornography, 18, 1993). 60. As sociologist Ronald Weitzer writes, But scholars have been less cognizant of the increasing conflation of trafficking with commercial sex, a theme explored here. Over the past decade, the trafficking issue has driven policy debates and enforcement practices regarding the entire sex industry in the United States and in some other nations. What began in the mid-1990s as a campaign against trafficking has steadily expanded over time. Prohibitionists now associate sex trafficking with all sexual commerce—prostitution, pornography, and commercial stripping. Such “domain expansion” is common in social movements: once they achieve their original goals, many movements turn to other issues (Weitzer, Legalizing Prostitution, 63, 2012). 61. This distinction is presented in David Boonin, A Defense of Abortion (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 4–5. 62. Boonin, 4–5, 2003. 63. For other philosophers who embrace this distinction, see Fabre, 24ff, 2006; Ronald Dworkin, Taking Rights Seriously (London: Duckworth, 1978), 88; David Enoch, “A Right to Violate One’s Duty,” Law and Philosophy Vol. 21 (2002): 355–394; Joseph Raz, The Authority of Law: Essays on Law and Morality (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 274; Jeremy Waldron, “A Right to Do Wrong,” Ethics Vol. 92 (1981): 21–39.

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64. See John Stuart Mill, The Collected Works of John Stuart Mill, Vol. 10, edited by John M.  Robson (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1963–1991), 250–251. 65. Stripped of said concept, the claim “prostitution is immoral” could be understood in a number of ways, including “prostitution is very strongly immoral,” “prostitution is very weakly immoral,” “prostitution is moderately immoral,” and so on. But this change would have no negative effect on my moral defense of prostitution. To wit, it would have no effect on my two arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution. For on any of these understandings of “immoral” (and, with it, “morally permissible”), my arguments would still establish their conclusions. And it would have no effect on my critiques of arguments for the immorality of prostitution. For said critiques would still succeed in demonstrating that said arguments fail to establish that prostitution is very strongly, moderately, or even weakly immoral. Of course, for the reader to agree with me, he or she needs to finish the book. Let it suffice to say, then, that, as I see it, even if “immoral” were stripped of the concept of a moral right and understood merely as a property that admits of degrees, my moral defense of prostitution would not be the worse for it. 66. This is not to say that the prostitute herself must be the one who is responsible for the selling of sex with her. Someone else—say, her pimp—might have that responsibility. But it is to say that sex with her cannot, logically speaking, be purchased unless someone is selling sex with her. 67. Lest I be accused of overlooking the obvious, I should note that a similar argument might be given for the inverse view: that the moral status of purchasing sex seems to be more fundamental than the moral status of selling sex. To wit, one might argue that, if purchasing sex is perfectly morally permissible, then it is very difficult to see how selling sex could be immoral nevertheless, all else being equal. And if purchasing sex is very strongly immoral, then it is very hard to see how selling sex could be morally permissible nonetheless, again, all else being equal. Whether this counterargument is just as powerful as the preceding argument, I will not attempt to resolve here. Instead, I will simply say that, even if this counterargument were just as powerful as the preceding argument, I would be inclined to conclude that the moral status of purchasing sex and the moral status of sex are, for all intents and purposes, equally fundamental—that they are two sides of the same coin, if you will. Given this, as well as that much has already been written on the moral status of purchasing sex, there would still be reason to write about the moral status of selling sex rather than the moral status of purchasing sex here. 68. Sanders et al., Prostitution, 87, 2009.

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69. There is a sense in which this latter claim—“prostitution is immoral”— could be understood as a religious claim. If the divine command theory is true, and if it entails that moral claims are reducible to claims about some divine being’s commands, then the claim “prostitution is immoral” is ­fundamentally a religious claim. Whether the divine command theory is true will be addressed in Chap. 5. 70. This understanding of consequentialist moral claims is inspired by Stephen Darwall’s understanding of consequentialist moral theories, according to which “[a] fundamental tenet on which all consequentialist moral theories agree is that the moral rightness and wrongness of acts is determined by the nonmoral value of relevant consequences” (Stephen Darwall [ed.], “Introduction,” in Consequentialism [Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2, emphasis his). 71. I have borrowed the language of “entitlements” from John Arthur (see John Arthur, “World Hunger and Moral Obligation: The Case Against Singer,” in What’s Wrong? Applied Ethicists and Their Critics, 2nd edition, edited by David Boonin and Graham Oddie (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 142–145. 72. Shelly Kagan, Normative Ethics (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), 79–84. 73. For those who hold that the immorality of prostitution is to be grounded in religious claims, if it is to be grounded at all, they may want to read Chap. 5 before reading Chaps. 3 and 4. Though Chap. 5 depends in part on claims made in Chaps. 3 and 4, it is sufficiently intelligible even if one has not read those chapters. 74. Marianne Talbot construes this tripartite distinction is as follows. Morally required acts are those that are good to do and bad not to do. Morally permissible acts are those that are neither good to do nor bad not to do. And morally forbidden acts are those that are bad to do and good not to do. See Marianne Talbot Bioethics: An Introduction (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 189. 75. See, for example, “Degrade,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www.merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/degrade, accessed Feb. 2020. 76. Michael Tooley, Abortion and Infanticide (New York: Oxford University Press, 1983), 17 and 63. In a more recent work, Tooley defines these a little more precisely as follows: “M is a basic moral principle = def. M is a moral proposition that is a necessary truth—that is, such as is true in all logically possible worlds. M is a derived moral principle = def. M is a proposition that is not itself a basic moral principle, but that is true in the actual world because it is entailed by the combination of some basic moral principle N together with some nonmoral proposition that is contingently true

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in the actual world” (Michael Tooley, “Abortion: Why a Liberal View Is Correct,” in Abortion: Three Perspectives, Michael Tooley et al. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 24–25. 77. Tooley, “Abortion: Why the Liberal View is Correct,” 24–25, 2009. 78. See Philip Stratton-Lake, “Intuitionism in Ethics,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/intuitionism-­ ethics/, accessed 2015. 79. Michael Huemer, Ethical Intuitionism (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 102. 80. To be sure, intuition is said to serve as prima facie epistemic justification for accepting derived moral claims as well. But I agree with Tooley that, in such cases, intuition is best understood to be serving as justification for accepting the basic moral claim that underlies the derived moral claim, if it is serving as justification at all. See Tooley, Abortion and Infanticide, 29, 1983. 81. Granted, self-evidence and intuition are often linked: claims that are taken to be self-evident often seem to one to be true as a result of one’s thinking about them and independent of inference from other beliefs. But the two need not go hand in hand. A claim can seem to one to be true as a result of one’s thinking about it and independent of inference from other beliefs without being self-evidently true. See Stratton-Lake’s “Intuitionism in Ethics” for more on this issue. 82. Explanatory power pertains to the extent to which the basic moral claim is capable of explaining relevantly related claims. And practicality pertains to the degree to which the basic moral claim is capable of being lived by. 83. For a defense of this view, see Timothy Williamson, Doing Philosophy: From Common Curiosity to Logical Reasoning (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 62. 84. For a defense of the view that intuition provides epistemic justification for moral claims, see Huemer’s Ethical Intuitionism, 2005.

CHAPTER 2

Two Arguments for Prostitution

Introduction In this chapter, I offer two direct arguments—one consequentialist, the other nonconsequentialist—for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution. Naturally, some moral philosophers—namely, consequentialists (e.g., utilitarians)—will be more sympathetic to consequentialist arguments than to nonconsequentialist arguments. Similarly, other moral philosophers—namely, nonconsequentialists (e.g., deontologists)—will be more sympathetic to nonconsequentialist arguments than to consequentialist arguments. And on each side of this divide one finds intelligent, thoughtful, and skilled moral philosophers. Because of this, I am inclined to think that a thorough defense of prostitution involves providing both consequentialist and nonconsequentialist arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution as well as critiquing both consequentialist and nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution. Hence my doing the former in this chapter and the latter in the three chapters that follow it. There are, of course, various ways in which one may argue for the moral permissibility of an act, be it prostitution or any other. Some of the ways that are especially pertinent for present purposes are as follows. First, one may do so by arguing either for the act’s prima facie moral permissibility or for its ultima facie moral permissibility. Beginning with the former, to argue for the prima facie moral permissibility of an act is to argue that the © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 R. Lovering, A Moral Defense of Prostitution, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-75863-9_2

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act is morally permissible, all else being equal. More specifically, it is to offer an argument that takes into account just some of the facts that are or could be morally relevant to the act’s moral status, though typically those that the arguer deems among the most relevant and significant. To argue for the ultima facie moral permissibility of an act, on the other hand, is to argue that the act is morally permissible, all things considered. It is, in other words, to offer an argument that takes into account all of the facts that are—or, at least, might be—morally relevant to the act’s moral status, including but not limited to arguments for the immorality of the act and, with them, allegations that the act involves at least one immoral-­making property. (Whether one could ever know all of the facts that are, or might be, morally relevant is, in part, a philosophical question unto itself, naturally.) Employing this distinction vis-à-vis the morality of prostitution, one could argue, for instance, that, given the prudential goods (i.e., goods that are desire-, interest-, purpose-, and/or need-serving) that are produced through it, prostitution is prima facie morally permissible. (Whether one could do so successfully is not at issue at the moment.) Or one could argue that, given the prudential goods that are produced through it, its resulting prima facie moral permissibility, and its lack of any outweighing immoralmaking properties (i.e., properties that would render an otherwise prima facie morally permissible act immoral were said act to involve them), prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. Another way in which one may argue for the moral permissibility of an act is either directly or indirectly. Beginning again with the former, arguing directly for the moral permissibility of an act involves offering reasons for the view that the act is morally permissible. (Since the reasons involved in direct arguments are commonly referred to as “positive reasons,” I will refer to them as such here.) Arguing indirectly for the moral permissibility of an act, on the other hand, involves offering reasons against the view (and, with it, supporting arguments thereof) that the act is immoral. Employing this distinction vis-à-vis the morality of prostitution, one could argue that there are positive reasons for deeming prostitution morally permissible—such as, for instance, that through prostitution, prudential goods are produced—thereby providing a direct argument for prostitution’s moral permissibility. (As before, whether one could do so successfully is neither here nor there at the moment.) Or one could contend that the arguments for its immorality—such as those covered in Chaps. 3, 4 and 5—are unsuccessful, thereby providing an indirect argument for prostitution’s moral permissibility.

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With the preceding in mind, I trust it is clear (or at least, clearer) what I mean when I say that, in this chapter, I provide direct arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution. As arguments for prostitution’s ultima facie moral permissibility, they are to be understood as arguments for the claim that prostitution is morally permissible, all things considered, and, thus, take into account all of the facts that are, or might be, morally relevant to prostitution’s moral status—or, at least (and the importance of the following caveat cannot be overstated), all those of which I am aware and deem most relevant and significant. And as direct, they are to be understood as offering positive reasons for the view that prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. Having said that, since both of the arguments offered in this chapter contain a premise (P5  in the case of the Prudential Goods Argument, P6 in the case of the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument) whose defense requires delving into and critiquing arguments for the immorality of prostitution, and since said delving and critiquing occurs in the chapters subsequent to this one, then even if the arguments offered here are sound, their soundness will not be apparent to the reader until he or she reads the chapters to follow. Accordingly, if, after considering the arguments that are offered in this chapter, the reader deems them to be otherwise sound, he or she ought to accept their respective conclusions conditionally: if the forthcoming defenses of P5 and P6 are adequate, then prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. Given this, the reader should revisit the arguments offered here after reading Chaps. 3, 4 and 5, wherein I critique particular instances of the four types of argument covered in Chap. 1 (religious, nonreligious, consequentialist, and nonconsequentialist) for the immorality of prostitution and, with them, allegations that prostitution involves at least one outweighing immoral-making property. Before moving on to my direct arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution, a final preliminary remark regarding my moral defense of prostitution (en toto) is in order. Though it is properly understood to be a defense of the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution, it is not properly understood to be a decisive one as well. For it stands to reason that the combination of my direct and indirect arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution does not capture each and every fact that is or could be morally relevant to the question of prostitution’s moral status—hence the previously stated caveat. This is due to a number of things, not the least of which is that prostitution is practiced and experienced in a wide variety of ways. As Weitzer observes,

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Prostitutes vary tremendously in their reasons for entry, risk of violence, dependence on or exploitation by third parties, experiences with the authorities, public visibility, number and type of clients, relationships with co-­ workers, and impact on the surrounding community. Age, appearance, and ethnicity also figure into the hierarchy, shaping workers’ earning power. And location is a key variable—with important distinctions between sex work conducted on the streets, indoors in a hotel or residence after an initial contact is made elsewhere (e.g., in a bar, karaoke club, restaurant, casino), and in indoor settings where both the initial contact and sex occur in the same place (e.g., brothels, massage parlors, saunas, hair salons, clubs).1

That said, my moral defense captures enough of the facts that are or could be morally relevant to the question of prostitution’s moral status—especially those that are most relevant and significant—I submit, such that prostitution’s ultima facie moral permissibility seems to me to be very likely indeed. With these preliminary remarks out of the way, let us now turn to the first of my two direct arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution.

The Prudential Goods Argument In order to understand my direct arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution, a couple of preliminary remarks are in order. To begin with, by “prostitution” and, with it, “the prostitute,” I have in mind prostitution and prostitutes in general (unless otherwise noted, such as when I employ qualifiers such as “some prostitutes” or “in many cases of prostitution”). Accordingly, when it is claimed that prostitution involves doing something (X), this to be understood as claiming that prostitution generally (typically, usually) involves doing X and, relatedly, that prostitutes generally do X. It is not to be understood as claiming that prostitution always, or even commonly (often, frequently), involves doing X and, relatedly, that prostitutes always or commonly do X. Having said that, the claim that prostitution generally involves doing X is consistent the claim that prostitution always involves doing X as well as the claim that prostitution commonly involves doing X. It is possible, then, that what prostitution generally involves is also what it always involves. It is also possible—indeed, actual—that what prostitution generally involves is also what it commonly involves. (And so it is, mutatis mutandis, with the claim that prostitutes generally do X.) But, for purposes of argumentation, it is

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best to employ claims regarding what prostitution generally involves rather than what prostitution always involves, given (as alluded to above) that there are very few things prostitution always involves. As one sex worker describes sex work, “The only safe thing to say is that we’re all in it for the money.”2 (The distinction between “generally” and “commonly” is an important one and, as such, worth discussing more, even if briefly. As indicated above, “generally” and “commonly” are not synonymous and, as a result, are put to different uses. Briefly, and in so many words, the former is typically used when one wants to refer to percentages, whereas the latter is usually employed when one wants to refer to raw numbers. Given this, something [X]—be it an act, a state of affairs, or other—may commonly involve a feature [Y] without it generally involving Y as well. For example, alcohol consumption in the U.S. commonly involves heavy drinking in that millions and millions of people are heavy drinkers (i.e., they averaged more than 14 drinks per week for men and more than seven drinks per week for women in the past year).3 But it does not generally involve heavy drinking in that the vast majority of those who drink alcohol in the U.S. are light or moderate drinkers.4 Alcohol consumption in the U.S., then, commonly involves heavy drinking, but it generally does not. With this in mind, the claims that prostitution generally involves doing X and, relatedly, that prostitutes generally do X are to be understood as the claims that the majority of instances of prostitution involve doing X and, relatedly, that the majority of prostitutes do X.) Second, and relatedly, the conclusion of each argument is not to be understood as claiming that prostitution is always ultima facie morally permissible; only that it generally is. Accordingly, each argument’s conclusion is consistent with the claim that prostitution is sometimes ultima facie immoral. (Lest there be any confusion, an act can be generally ultima facie morally permissible but, nevertheless, ultima facie immoral in a particular case. To wit, intentionally feeding peanut butter sandwiches to children is generally ultima facie morally permissible. But intentionally feeding peanut butter sandwiches to children who are allergic to peanuts is arguably ultima facie immoral.) With these preliminary remarks in mind, let us now turn to my first direct argument for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution, the Prudential Goods Argument. The Prudential Goods Argument is as follows: P1:

Prostitution involves the production of prudential goods.

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P2: C1: P3: C2: P4: P5: C3:

The production of prudential goods is a prima facie moral-making consequence. Therefore, prostitution involves a prima facie moral-making consequence. If prostitution involves a prima facie moral-making consequence, then prostitution is prima facie morally permissible. Therefore, prostitution is prima facie morally permissible. If prostitution is prima facie morally permissible and devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties, then prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. Prostitution is devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties. Therefore, prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible.

As the reader can see, the Prudential Goods Argument is a particular instance of a consequentialist argument—a claim regarding the moral permissibility of prostitution is derived from at least one consequentialist moral claim (e.g., P2) and no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever. (Again, by a “consequentialist moral claim,” I mean a claim that understands the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act to be wholly a function of a supposed moral-making or immoral-making consequence the act is said to involve, whether intrinsically or typically. In this case, the supposed moral-making consequence is that of the production of prudential goods.) As the reader can also see, this argument is deductively valid. Given this, the only remaining question is whether the premises are true. Accordingly, I will defend each premise in turn. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the production of prudential goods (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute produces prudential goods)? My defense of an answer in the affirmative involves considering both self-regarding prudential goods (those the prostitute produces for herself) and other-regarding prudential goods (those the prostitute produces for another or others). Beginning with self-regarding prudential goods, it should be noted at the outset that whether and to what extent the prostitute does produce such goods (and other-regarding goods, for that matter) depends on a number of factors, including (but certainly not

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limited to) her working conditions, how much money she makes, whether and to what extent she uses psychoactive drugs, how selective she is with respect to clients, her childhood experiences, the legal status of prostitution where she provides her prostitutional services, and more.5 That said, there is empirical evidence indicating that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally produce one or more of a variety of self-regarding prudential goods, including flexible work hours; a livable (and, in some cases, very high) level of income and, as a result, the satisfaction of many basic human needs (e.g., food, water, clothing, shelter, etc.); economic independence and autonomy; greater self-esteem and self-confidence; a feeling of being powerful and in control; pleasure (sexual and nonsexual); happiness; a feeling of being beautiful, sexy, and desired; excitement; and more.6 Of course, these are not the only self-regarding prudential goods that the prostitute produces through prostitution. Nor is prostitution the only activity through which such self-regarding prudential goods are produced (more on this in a moment). But empirical evidence exists showing that, in general, prostitutes produce self-regarding prudential goods such as these through prostitution. As for other-regarding prudential goods, let us focus on two “others”: the client and (when applicable) the prostitute’s children. Starting with the former, there is empirical evidence indicating that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally produce one or more of a variety of prudential goods for the client, such as relief of sexual frustration, pleasure (sexual and nonsexual), sexual variety, no-strings-attached sex, intimacy, companionship, curiosity, adventure, refuge, therapy, a feeling of being cared about, a feeling of being loved, a “girlfriend experience,” and more.7 (As criminologists Cecilie Høigård and Liv Finstad remark, “Men’s motives for going to prostitutes are as countless as grains of sand.”)8 Indeed, it is worth noting here that, by producing these prudential goods for clients, prostitutes thereby produce a good for society as well, namely, citizens who are more satisfied in the aforementioned ways than they otherwise might be. As Lars O.  Ericsson observes, prostitution fulfills “a socially valuable function by, inter alia, decreasing the amount of sexual misery in society.”9 With respect to the latter (the prostitute’s children), empirical evidence exists showing that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally produce one or more of a variety of prudential goods for their children. Particularly noteworthy is the providing of the children’s basic needs, such as food, water, clothing, shelter, emotional support, family-bonding time, and

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more. Even Estes, who vehemently condemns prostitution on moral grounds, writes of her own experience as a prostitute that “the inelastic needs of my children … made it difficult to work regular hours in a normal job …. [prostitution] let me support my children.”10 With experiences such as Estes’s in mind, de Marneffe notes that “[i]f a woman has small children, it may be easier for her to find and pay for child care for the time it takes her to turn the necessary tricks than for a full-time job, and she may be able to do sex work near her home whereas she must travel long distances to reach other jobs.”11 (And, as Estes’s case reveals, women with children do, in fact, turn tricks. To wit, according to one study, 73 percent of the prostitutes who participated had children.)12 Similar to the point made above about self-regarding prudential goods, these are not the only other-regarding prudential goods the prostitute produces through prostitution. Nor is prostitution the only act through which these other-­ regarding prudential goods are produced. But there is empirical evidence indicating that, in general, prostitutes produce other-regarding prudential goods such as these through prostitution. Granted, some people might not be impressed with the preceding list of prudential goods. They may think that, say, pleasure; or the feeling of being beautiful, sexy, and desired; or the relief of sexual frustration are not very valuable, all things considered. But such a misgiving would be misplaced, at least in some cases. For people frequently devalue things that they themselves do not happen to enjoy, particularly when they spring from acts of which they disapprove. As C. L. Ten puts it, “Where we disapprove of an act, or cannot appreciate it, we tend to think that the agent himself derives little benefit from it.”13 So, even if some people do not value the prudential goods (whether self- or other-regarding) that the prostitute produces through prostitution, this does not mean that they are not valuable. And, clearly, prostitutes and clients (among others) generally consider these things to be valuable. (Whether they are valuable enough to render prostitution ultima facie morally permissible turns, in part, on the arguments for the immorality of prostitution, such as those in Chaps. 3, 4 and 5. This issue, then, should be revisited after said arguments for the immorality of prostitution have been evaluated.) On P2 Is it the case that the production of prudential goods is a prima facie moral-making consequence? In order to answer this question, we need to

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know what is meant by a “prima facie moral-making consequence.” By this, I mean a consequence that renders the act that produces it morally permissible, all else being equal. (The reader may recall from Chap. 1 that by “moral-making” I mean “morally permissible making.”) So, is it true that the production of prudential goods is a consequence that renders the act that produces it morally permissible, all else being equal? In other words, is producing prudential goods consequentially morally permissible, all else being equal? There is reason to think that it is. After all, as mentioned previously, prostitution is not the only act through which such prudential goods are produced. Dating, getting married, spending time with friends, playing sports, acting, fashion modeling, working—these and many other acts are such that, through them, some people produce the prudential goods that are produced through prostitution. Through dating, for example, some people produce the prudential goods of greater self-esteem and self-­confidence. Through fashion modeling, some people produce the prudential good of feeling beautiful, sexy, and desired. Through working, some people produce the prudential goods of economic independence and autonomy. (And so on.) And not only are all of these activities prima facie morally permissible, ostensibly, but that such prudential goods are produced through them seems to suffice and account for this moral status. (To ensure that the reader understands exactly what the preceding set of claims amounts to, note that it is consistent with the claim that any one of these activities could nevertheless be ultima facie immoral.) Everything else being equal, then, that these prudential goods are produced through prostitution should suffice for the prima facie moral permissibility of prostitution as well.14 Naturally, everything else may not be equal. But determining whether or not this is so involves evaluating arguments for the immorality of prostitution, among other things. And since such evaluation is done in Chaps. 3, 4 and 5, establishing whether everything else is, in fact, equal will have to be postponed until due consideration has been given to said chapters. A final word about P2 is worth issuing. For those who might be hesitant to accept it on the grounds that (i) one does not think that the production of prudential goods is a prima facie moral-making consequence but rather a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property or (ii) one is simply undecided about whether that the production of prudential goods is a prima facie moral-making consequence or a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property, one is free to construct a

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nonconsequentialist version of the argument (per [i]) or a version of the argument that lacks consequentialist/nonconsequentialist language (per [ii]). To wit, doing the latter would result in the following argument: P1: Prostitution involves the production of prudential goods. P2: The production of prudential goods is prima facie morally permissible. C1: Therefore, prostitution is prima facie morally permissible. P3: If prostitution is prima facie morally permissible and devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties, then prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. P4: Prostitution is devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties. C2: Therefore, prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. Doing so would also delay what I deem to be inevitable, namely, stating explicitly whether one thinks that the production of prudential goods is a prima facie moral-making consequence or a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property. Even so, I would have no issue with others constructing such arguments, given that their constitutive reasonings as well as their conclusions are, at bottom, identical to mine. On P3 Is it true that if prostitution involves a prima facie moral-making consequence, then prostitution is prima facie morally permissible? Given the way “prima facie moral-making consequence” has been construed here, not only is this true, but is so analytically. On P4 Is it the case that if prostitution is prima facie morally permissible and devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties, then prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible? Given what I mean by an “outweighing” immoral-making property—again, a property that would render an otherwise prima facie morally permissible act immoral were said act to involve it—clearly it is. After all, if a prima facie morally permissible act does not involve any outweighing immoral-making properties, then there is no property in virtue of which it could be rendered immoral. And if

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there is no property in virtue of which the act could be rendered immoral, then the act not only is morally permissible, but is so all things considered—that is, it is ultima facie morally permissible. On P5 Is it true that prostitution is devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties? As addressed above, defending the claim that it is requires critiquing arguments for the immorality of prostitution. And since such critiquing will not be done in this chapter but, instead, subsequent chapters, the reader must suspend judgment temporarily when it comes to P5. Accordingly, if, at this point, the reader deems the Prudential Goods Argument to be otherwise sound, he or she ought to accept its conclusion conditionally: if the forthcoming defenses of P5 are adequate, then prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. Having presented the Prudential Goods Argument and defended each of its premises, let us now turn to my second direct argument for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution.

The Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument The Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument is as follows: P1: Being an exercise of a right is a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property. P2: There is a right to bodily autonomy. C1: Therefore, being an exercise of a right to bodily autonomy is a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property. P3: Prostitution involves the exercise of a right to bodily autonomy. C2: Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property. P4: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-­ making property, then prostitution is prima facie morally permissible. C3: Therefore, prostitution is prima facie morally permissible. P5: If prostitution is prima facie morally permissible and devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties, then prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible.

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P6: Prostitution is devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties. C4: Therefore, prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. As the reader can see, the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument is a particular instance of a nonconsequentialist argument—a claim regarding the moral permissibility of prostitution is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim (e.g., P1) and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever. (Again, by a “nonconsequentialist moral claim,” I mean a claim that understands the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act to be a function, not of a purported moral-making or immoral-­ making consequence the act is said to involve, but of some other alleged moral-making or immoral-making property—that is, a nonconsequentialist moral-making or immoral-making property. In this case, the purported nonconsequentialist moral-making property is that of being an exercise of a right.) The reader can also see that, as with the Prudential Goods Argument (and every featured, formalized argument hereafter—a point to be discussed further in Chap. 3), the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument is deductively valid. The only remaining question, then, is whether the premises are true. Accordingly, I will defend each premise in turn. On P1 Is it true that being an exercise of a right is a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property? In order to answer this question, we need to know what is meant by a “right” as well as a “nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property.” Beginning with the former, in the vein of the discussion of moral rights in Chap. 1, the following understanding of “right” will suffice for the purposes of this argument: “an entitlement to perform certain actions, or to be in certain states.”15 Though there are various types of entitlements—legal, professional, and moral, for example—it is the last of these that is at work in the present argument. Accordingly, the “right” in this case is moral in nature (more on this in a moment). As such, one’s possession of such a right does not depend on the existence of a legal or professional body or organization. It depends merely on one’s own existence, if you will. In that sense, such a right may be understood as a natural right. And, per the discussion of rights in Chap. 1, if one is entitled to do something, then no one has a valid claim against

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one’s doing it and, accordingly, could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such an act, in punishing one for having performed it. As for the latter, by a “nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property,” I mean a property, other than that of being the consequence of an act, that renders the act that involves it morally permissible, all else being equal. So, is it true that being an exercise of a right is a nonconsequentialist property that renders the act that involves it morally permissible, all else being equal? In other words, is exercising one’s right to something (X) morally permissible, all else being equal? On one view of moral rights, this is analytically true. According to this view, to have a moral right to X is to be prima facie morally permitted to exercise one’s moral right to X.16 On another view of moral rights, however, though it is or, at least, can be true that exercising one’s moral right to bodily autonomy is prima facie morally permissible, it is not analytically so.17 According to this view, in order for it to be true that exercising one’s moral right to bodily autonomy is prima facie morally permissible, said exercising needs at least to appear to be free of any outweighing immoral-making properties. Even on this latter understanding, however, P2 is true when she who exercises her right to bodily autonomy is the prostitute through prostitution. For prostitution (generally speaking, it behooves me to remind the reader) does not involve any outweighing immoral-making properties, or so I argue in Chaps. 3, 4 and 5. As with P2 of the Prudential Goods Argument, a similar word about this argument’s P1 is worth issuing. For those who might be hesitant to accept it on the grounds that (i) one does not think that being an exercise of one’s right to bodily autonomy is a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property but rather a prima facie moral-making consequence or (ii) one is simply undecided about whether being an exercise of one’s right to bodily autonomy is a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-­ making property or a prima facie moral-making consequence, one is free to construct a consequentialist version of the argument (per [i]) or a version of the argument that lacks consequentialist/nonconsequentialist language (per [ii]). For example, doing the latter would result in the following argument: P1: P2:

Being an exercise of a right is prima facie morally permissible. There is a right to bodily autonomy.

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C1: Therefore, being an exercise of a right to bodily autonomy is prima facie morally permissible. P3: Prostitution involves the exercise of a right to bodily autonomy. C2: Therefore, prostitution is prima facie morally permissible. P4: If prostitution is prima facie morally permissible and devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties, then prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. P5: Prostitution is devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties. C3: Therefore, prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible. Similar to before, doing so would also delay what I consider inevitable, namely, stating explicitly whether one thinks that the exercise of one’s right to bodily autonomy is a prima facie moral-making consequence or a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property. Even so, as above, I would have no issue with others constructing such arguments, given that their constitutive reasonings as well as their conclusions are, fundamentally, identical to mine. On P2 Is it the case that there is a right to bodily autonomy? In order to determine whether it is, we need to know what is meant by “bodily autonomy.” What is meant by this is “self-rule over one’s own body—that is, over what happens in and/or to one’s own body” (more on what this involves in a moment). With this understanding, as well as the previous understanding of “right,” in mind, P2 may be understood as follows: There is a moral entitlement to self-rule over one’s own body—over what happens in and/ or to one’s own body. Is this true? Assuming there are any moral rights at all, it is all but impossible to believe that a moral right to bodily autonomy is not one of them. One of the more compelling reasons for thinking this is that the hypothesis that standard adult human beings (minimally) have such a right has great explanatory power. Both Huemer and Kuo make a powerful case for this. Huemer does so explicitly and directly as follows: [I]t seems that if there is anything one would have rights to, it would be one’s own body. This explains why we think others may not physically attack you or kidnap you. It explains why we do not accept the use of unwilling

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human subjects for medical experiments, even if the experiments are beneficial to society—the rest of society may not decide to use your body for its own purposes without your permission. It explains why some believe that women have a right to an abortion—and why some others do not. The former believe that a woman has the right to do what she wants with her own body; the latter believe that the fetus is a distinct person, and a woman does not have the right to harm its body. Virtually no one disputes that, if a fetus is merely a part of the woman’s body, then a woman has a right to choose whether to have an abortion; just as virtually no one disputes that, if a fetus is a distinct person, then a woman lacks the right to destroy it. Almost no one disputes that persons have rights over their own bodies, but not over other people’s bodies.18

Unlike Huemer’s, the case that Kuo makes for the explanatory power of the existence of a moral right to bodily autonomy is indirect. This is due to the fact that, unlike Huemer, Kuo’s first order of business is to provide examples of interferences with bodily autonomy rather than to make a case for the explanatory power of the existence of a moral right to bodily autonomy. In so doing, however, she indirectly makes a case for the explanatory power of the existence of a moral right to bodily autonomy nonetheless. For many people will judge that her examples not only constitute interferences with bodily autonomy but that such interferences are thereby immoral or otherwise morally problematic. Kuo’s indirect case is as follows: Governmental interferences with bodily autonomy has historically been harmful to women and other subordinated groups. Such interference has included diverse policies: state intervention in reproductive choice (e.g., anti-abortion laws, attempts to coerce the use of Norplant in some populations, instances of forced surgeries to protect the fetus at the cost of the mother’s health or life), anti-miscegenation laws, forced lobotomies for the mentally ill, and anti-homosexual legislation, among others. Sometimes encroachment on bodily autonomy takes the form of failing to provide information necessary for “informed consent,” as when the government allowed testing and sale of birth control without requiring disclosure of side effects, and as in the now infamous “Tuskegee experiment,” in which four hundred men, all poor African Americans, were told they would receive free treatment for syphilis from the Public Health Service and instead became unwitting subjects for the four-year government-sanctioned “Tuskegee Study of Untreated Syphilis in the Negro Male,” never receiving treatment.19

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And the list of examples and, with them, the beliefs that people have about them—both of which can be explained by the existence of a moral right to bodily autonomy—could go on and on. From eating unhealthy food to BASE jumping, fasting to boxing, refusing to have sex with someone to resisting enslavement, many of us believe that people have a moral right to do these things. And our belief that they do is derived, ostensibly, from the belief that people have a moral right to self-rule over their own bodies. Granted, explanatory power is just one of many theoretical virtues. The others include (but are not limited to) coherence, logical consistency, argumentative support, global illumination, simplicity, salience, practicality, and compatibility. (For a brief description of these theoretical virtues, see the following endnote.)20 And it may be that, all theoretical virtues considered, there is stronger reason to reject the hypothesis that one has a moral right to self-rule over one’s own body than there is to accept it. But I am not convinced that this is so. Rather, I am inclined to think that, at a minimum, there is at least as much reason to accept the hypothesis that one has a moral right to self-rule over one’s own body as there is any other competing hypothesis, all theoretical virtues considered. After all, not only does the hypothesis that one has a moral right to self-rule over one’s own body possess other theoretical virtues—such as those of coherence, logical consistency, argumentative support, simplicity, salience, and practicality— but it is strongly intuitive as well.21 With these things in mind, I am inclined to think that one has a moral right to self-rule over one’s own body. On P3 Is it true that prostitution involves the exercise of a right to bodily autonomy? In other words, is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute exercises a moral entitlement to self-rule over her own body—over what happens in and/or to her own body? To answer this, let us begin by addressing whether, through prostitution, the prostitute exercises merely her bodily autonomy—that is, whether she exercises her self-rule over her own body, independent of whether she thereby exercises a right. To determine whether she does, we need to know more precisely what autonomy/ self-rule (hereafter, simply “self-rule”) involves. John Christman identifies a rather fundamental and common understanding according to which self-­ rule involves two components: (i) the independence of one’s deliberation and choice from manipulation by others, and (ii) the capacity to rule oneself.22 The inclusion of (ii) is to be expected since one cannot rule

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oneself—that is, one cannot exercise one’s capacity for self-rule—without first possessing said capacity. As for (i), the idea here is that, in order to rule oneself, “one must be in a position to act competently and from desires (values, conditions, etc.) that are in some sense one’s own.”23 This, in turn, implicates two further conditions of self-rule: those of competency, on the one hand, and authenticity, on the other. “Competency,” Christman writes, “includes various capacities for rational thought, self-­ control, and freedom from debilitating pathologies, systematic self-­ deception, and so on … Authenticity conditions often include the capacity to reflect upon and endorse (or identify with) one’s desires, values, and so on.”24 There is (and Christman and others have) much more to say about what self-rule involves, naturally. But this will suffice for now. With this understanding of what self-rule involves in mind, then, let us revisit the question at hand: Is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute exercises her self-rule over her own body? In other words, is it the case that (i) the prostitute’s deliberation and choice to engage in the bodily act of prostitution is (sufficiently) independent of manipulation from others; (ii) said engagement is (sufficiently) rational, self-controlled, free from pathologies and self-deception; and (iii) said engagement occurs after the prostitute (sufficiently) reflected upon and endorsed or identified with the desires, values, and so on involved in said engagement? Before answering this, I would be remiss not to remind the reader that, by “the prostitute,” I have in mind prostitutes in general (not each and every prostitute) and that I have defined prostitution here in such a way so as distinguish it from sex trafficking and child prostitution, namely, as the providing of oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex by one mentally competent adult human being to at least one other mentally competent adult primarily and explicitly for his or her money. With that in mind, and in answer to the previous question, there is reason to think that this is the case, both in principle and in practice. Regarding the former, and simply put, there is no contradiction in the idea of (i)–(iii) obtaining. As for the latter, there is empirical evidence indicating that (i)–(iii) generally obtain, at least with respect to indoor prostitution as it is practiced in the West and, arguably, with regard to prostitution in general. Beginning with the latter, stronger claim—that (i)–(iii) generally obtain with respect to prostitution in general—de Marneffe contends that this is “strongly confirmed by the available evidence, the testimony of prostitutes, and the observations of those who study prostitution.”25 (It is important to note that, like this author, de

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Marneffe distinguishes prostitution from sex trafficking and child prostitution and makes this claim only about the first of these.) More specifically, what de Marneffe contends is strongly confirmed by the available evidence is the claim that “prostitution generally results from a deliberate decision that is based on a person’s judgment that prostitution is the best thing for her to do in her circumstances, a decision that is generally not made in the face of direct threats of harm from others and does not generally result from ignorance of the nature of the transaction.”26 To put this claim in the terms presented above, (i) the prostitute’s deliberation and choice to engage in prostitution is (sufficiently) independent of manipulation from others; (ii) said engagement is (sufficiently) rational, self-­ controlled, free from pathologies and self-deception; and (iii) said engagement occurs after she (sufficiently) reflected upon and endorsed or identified with the desires, values, and so on involved in said engagement. With respect to the evidence which strongly confirms this claim, the following are some examples of evidence in the form of observations of those who study prostitution. Sanders et al. summarize their 2007 study of prostitution in East London with the claim, “[t]he majority of commercial sexual interactions are between consenting adults who negotiate a sexual service and a fee for that exchange.”27 (It is worth noting here that Sanders has explicitly expressed agreement with both of de Marneffe’s aforementioned claims, namely, that (a) prostitution (again, not to be confused with sex trafficking and child prostitution) generally results from a deliberate decision that is based on a person’s judgment that prostitution is the best thing for her to do in her circumstances, a decision that is generally not made in the face of direct threats of harm from others and does not generally result from ignorance of the nature of the transaction; and (b) this is strongly confirmed by the available evidence, the testimony of prostitutes, and the observations of those who study prostitution.)28 In another study, all of the participating prostitutes described their involvement in prostitution as “voluntary,” and each was able to choose how she managed many of the aspects of her work.29 Finally, after introducing two broad groups into which they contend prostitutes generally fall—Voluntary Prostitutes (“women who may be said to have voluntarily entered into ‘the life’ on a more or less rational basis and mainly as the result of a free choice”) and Compulsive Prostitutes—Harry Benjamin and R. E. L. Masters report that “one encounters rather few prostitutes who are completely neurosis-motivated, who give no thought to the advantages of ‘the life,’ and whose decision to enter ‘the life’ was not free in any sense.”30

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As for examples of evidence in the form of the testimony of prostitutes, Liz Highleyman describes her entry into working specifically as a dominatrix as follows: When I attended events dressed in femme fetish attire … I was sometimes asked by submissive men [i.e., men who hire the services of dominatrixes] if I was a professional dominant. At some point it occurred to me that I might as well get paid to do something that I enjoyed anyway, and I began sporadically to see clients for money … I did not “fall into” sex work because I lacked alternatives. I thought professional dominance would be an exciting, anti-establishment kind of thing to do, and hopefully interesting, educational, and fun as well. I glamorized the image of the dominatrix and aspired to be one myself.31

And while discussing a conversation she had with her mother about her work as a prostitute, former prostitute Dolores French reports that she “tried to explain to her that I wasn’t doing it for the money. I was doing it because I believed in it, because I didn’t think it was dirty or shameful but instead something noble and helpful. I was improving the quality of my clients’ lives. I had the opportunity to renew people’s self-esteem.”32 (More examples will be provided shortly.) Indeed, de Marneffe contends that even those who purport to reject and argue against (a) appear, nevertheless, to embrace it. In his Prostitution, Politics, and Policy, for example, Roger Matthews explicitly rejects the idea that prostitution is a “free choice.” After doing so, however, he goes on to write about the prostitute’s “decision” both to enter and to leave prostitution, describes said decision as a “tough choice,” and identifies a variety of typical reasons prostitutes have for leaving prostitution. In doing so, Matthews implicitly embraces (a)—or so de Marneffe argues. “If prostitutes commonly decide to stop doing sex work for all these reasons,” he writes, “it makes little sense to hold that their decision to continue is not a choice. To be sure, there are horror stories of sexual slavery in which individuals are held against their will and forced to perform sexual acts in exchange for money. In economically developed countries, however, the documented cases of this kind of sexual slavery are rare.”33 To be sure, not everyone agrees with de Marneffe in this regard—at least, not without qualification (and this brings us to the former, weaker claim—that there is empirical evidence indicating that (i)–(iii) generally obtain with respect to indoor prostitution as it is practiced in the West). As

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Weitzer sees it, for instance, (a) and (b) are true (or, at least, probably true) with respect to indoor prostitution as it is practiced in the West.34 He does not agree, however, that the available evidence, the testimony of prostitutes, and the observations of those who study prostitution indicate that this is true of prostitution in general. (Lest there be any confusion, he does not hold that said evidence, testimony, and observations indicate that this is false of prostitution in general, only that they do not indicate that it is true.) For Weitzer, then, it is (as of this writing) an open question whether de Marneffe’s claims are true of outdoor prostitution as it is practiced in the West as well as outdoor and indoor prostitution as it is practiced in non-Western societies. Since attempting to settle this debate—that is, that of whether de Marneffe’s claims are true of prostitution in general or of just indoor prostitution as it is practiced in the West—is well beyond the scope of this work (to say nothing of my expertise), I will not attempt to do so here. Instead, I will proceed as follows. Either de Marneffe’s claims are true of prostitution in general or they are not. If they are not true of prostitution in general—more specifically, if, as of this writing, the available evidence, the testimony of prostitutes, and the observations of those who study prostitution only indicate that his claims are true of indoor prostitution as it is practiced in the West—then P3 and, with it, the Right to Bodily Autonomy need to be reconstrued along these narrower lines if they are to enjoy empirical support. (P3, for example, would need to be rewritten as “Indoor prostitution as it is practiced in the West involves the exercise of a right to bodily autonomy,” and changes reflective of this rewrite would need to be made throughout the argument.) But even with these changes, the Right Bodily Autonomy Argument would apply to an enormous number of instances of prostitution and, with them, prostitutes and thereby command our serious consideration. For indoor prostitution constitutes the vast majority of the prostitution practiced in the U.S., Britain, the Netherlands, and many other Western countries (somewhere between 70 and 90 percent).35 If, on the other hand, de Marneffe’s claims are true of prostitution in general, then so much the better for P3 and, with it, the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument as they are currently construed. Of course, either way, not every instance of prostitution involves the prostitute’s exercise of self-rule over her own body. Some instances of prostitution are involuntary and, as such, not (sufficiently) independent of manipulation from others, such as those that result from sex trafficking. Others are ill- or uninformed and, as such, not (sufficiently) rational, such

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as those involving undereducated or intellectually disabled adults. (Indeed, there is reason to think that some instances of prostitution are involuntary even when the prostitute claims otherwise.)36 Nor does every instance of prostitution that involves the prostitute’s voluntary, informed consent also involve her fully voluntary and fully informed consent—that is, consent that is not involuntary or uninformed in the slightest. Hence sociologist Martin Monto’s view that the extent to which prostitution involves the prostitute’s voluntary, informed consent is best understood in terms of a continuum, ranging from the utter lack of voluntary, informed consent to the complete presence of it.37 Breanna Mohr, a brothel-working prostitute, shares Monto’s view. There are many people who assume that sex workers do not choose sex work as a conscious choice, or from any motive other than desperation. I was not desperate when choosing this line of work, and it was a clear and conscious decision. I don’t claim that my story is every woman’s story in the brothel. I know women who do not want to be there and feel they have no other choice. I know women who came into the brothels in desperation, but stayed because of choice. I know other women who came in by choice, but stayed because of desperation. And then I know plenty of women like myself, who came by choice, and stayed by choice. It’s a mixed bag.38

Even Rebecca Whisnant, a staunch opponent of prostitution, agrees with Monto’s assessment. As she puts it, “If women’s participation exists on a kind of continuum, with one end being ‘fully free choice from a range of alternatives,’ and the other end being ‘outright coercion and force’ (say, having a gun to one’s head), then probably most women in the industry are located somewhere in between these two extremes.”39 But is there empirical evidence indicating that, in such cases, the prostitute exercises a right to bodily autonomy? After all, that one exercises bodily autonomy does not, in and of itself, entail that one exercises any moral rights, let alone a moral right to self-rule over one’s own body. So, again, is there empirical evidence indicating that, in such cases, the prostitute exercises a moral right to self-rule over her own body? Alas, I am inclined to think there is not. I am so, however, not because I believe that the prostitute lacks such a right (naturally), but because I am also inclined to think that moral rights are not empirical in nature and, thus, empirical evidence of their exercise does not exist. In other words, it seems to me that the exercise of moral rights cannot be established on the basis of sense

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experience (alone, at any rate)—that there is nothing one could see, hear, taste, smell, or touch that, in turn, could demonstrate the exercise of a moral right. (Written and verbal claims regarding moral rights can be detected through the senses, of course, but the moral rights themselves cannot.) Assuming that this is correct (and I will be for present purposes), then if there is to be evidence for the claim that, in such cases, the prostitute exercises a moral right, the evidence cannot be empirical in nature. This brings us to philosophical evidence indicating that, in such cases, the prostitute exercises her right to bodily autonomy. Naturally, in order for her to exercise said right, she must possess first possess it. And, qua standard adult human being, she does—or so I argued above. But establishing that the prostitute has a right to bodily autonomy is not one and the same as establishing that she exercises said right through prostitution. So, is there also philosophical evidence for the latter claim? There is indeed. Some of it is the very same as the evidence for the claim that the prostitute has a moral right to bodily autonomy. For, in order for the prostitute to exercise her moral right to bodily autonomy, she must first (logically speaking) possess such a right. But, as covered previously, the latter evidence is not necessarily evidence for the claim that, in such cases, the prostitute exercises her moral right to bodily autonomy. Further philosophical evidence is needed, then, if we are to be certain that, in such cases, the prostitute exercises her moral right to bodily autonomy. For present purposes, however, certainty is not required, as it seems fair enough to hold—even if just tentatively—that if one has a moral right to X and exercises X through Y, then one thereby exercises one’s moral right to X through Y. Given this, it is fair enough to hold—again, even if just tentatively—that if the prostitute has a moral right to bodily autonomy and exercises bodily autonomy through prostitution, then she thereby exercises her moral right to bodily autonomy through prostitution. To be sure, having and exercising her right to bodily autonomy is one thing; regulating her right to do so is another. And Scott Anderson argues (rather compellingly, I might add) that legally prohibiting prostitution protects and preserves the prostitute’s bodily—specifically, sexual—autonomy in a way that legally permitting it does not. As he writes, “if sexual autonomy means anything, it means that sex does not become a necessary means for a person to avoid violence, brute force, or severe economic or other hardships. Although this does not constitute the whole of sexual autonomy, it is surely an essential aspect of it.”40 Yet, if prostitution is legalized—if, that is, sex is just another way to use one’s body in order to

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make a living—then sexual autonomy is undermined, as it becomes or, at least, can become such a means: Were we seriously to treat sex as just another use of the body in commerce, doing so would first and most directly undercut sexual autonomy by exposing almost all workers (and job seekers) to the possibility of being pressured by employers to have unwanted sex as a condition of employment. On this hypothesis, there would be no principled justification for the existence of social barriers between sex and commerce, and hence such barriers should be removed. It is true that the removal of barriers between sex and commerce would vastly increase the number of goods which could be obtained by means of sexual activity. At the same time, however it would make it legitimate for others to demand, solicit, encourage, expect, and supervise our sexual activity by offering and withholding the ordinary goods within their control. The same necessity that sometimes compels us to take on unwanted tasks at work might be use legitimately by others to compel some of us to have sex.41

In name of protecting and preserving the prostitute’s sexual—and with it, bodily—autonomy, then, prostitution ought to be illegal, or so Anderson argues. As alluded to above, I find Anderson’s argument rather compelling. But more importantly for present purposes, it is consistent with the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument. For first, it does not deny that prostitutes have a right to bodily autonomy. On the contrary, it claims that they have such a right—at least, that they have a right to a particular kind of bodily autonomy, namely, sexual autonomy. Second, and perhaps most importantly, Anderson’s argument pertains to the legality of prostitution—that is, to the question of what the legal status of prostitution should be— whereas the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument (and every other featured, formalized argument in this book) pertains only to the morality of prostitution—to the question of what the moral status of prostitution is. (Before moving on, it is worth observing here that Anderson’s argument is relevant to other arguments to be discussed in this book, most notably the Degradation Argument [both versions], the Exploitation Argument, and the Patriarchal Subordination Argument.)

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On P4 Is it the case that if prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property, then prostitution is prima facie morally permissible? Given the way “nonconsequentialist prima facie moral-making property” has been construed here, this is analytically true. On P5 Is it true that if prostitution is prima facie morally permissible and devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties, then prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible? Similar to before, clearly it is. After all, if a prima facie morally permissible act does not involve any outweighing immoral-making properties, then there is no property in virtue of which it could be rendered immoral. And if there is no property in virtue of which the act could be rendered immoral, then the act not only is morally permissible, but is so all things considered—that is, it is ultima facie morally permissible. On P6 Is the case that prostitution is devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties? Once again, defending the claim that it is requires critiquing arguments for the immorality of prostitution. And since such critiquing will not be done in this chapter but, rather, subsequent chapters, the reader must suspend judgment temporarily when it comes to P6. Accordingly, if, at this point, the reader deems the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument to be otherwise sound, he or she ought to accept its conclusion conditionally: if the forthcoming defenses of P6 are adequate, then prostitution is ultima facie morally permissible.

Personalizing the Arguments With the Prudential Goods Argument and the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument in mind, I find it useful to personalize them a bit by considering the experiences of four actual prostitutes. (Further personalization of these arguments occurs throughout the book.) Consider, then, Chelsea Lane, who, during the time journalist Mac McClelland was interviewing her for the article “Is Prostitution Just Another Job?” was a college

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student, aspiring lawyer, and prostitute. As McClelland writes about Lane’s entry into and experience of prostitution, [t]he more she learned, the more appealing sex work became. She had visions of going to grad school and liked the idea of having wealthy men fund her education. Later in her freshman year [at Reed College], she posted a personal ad on a sugar-daddy website. She met her first client at a hotel. “The sex was really bad,” she says … “He put the money in my purse. As soon as I got in my car, I counted and was like, ‘Holy shit, that’s $300!’ At this point, I’m 18 and working at Sears. I was excited.” From there, sex quickly became a side job. She’d meet about ten clients a week, making $1,000 to $1,500. “The first several months of me escorting was like, ‘I relish their worshipping my body.’ It’s amazing. There have been two clients throughout my entire time that made me feel dirty, and that’s because it was obvious they didn’t see me as a person. But that was two out of hundreds.” And anyway, she says, “I can think of personal partners who treated me like that” … On her first anniversary of escorting, in February 2015, she wrote that, at 20 years old, she is less isolated, better paid, in contact with “wonderful” people, and “getting laid on the regular.”42

Assuming this description of Ms. Lane’s experience with prostitution is accurate, it is rather clear that, through prostitution, she produced prudential goods. It is also rather clear (albeit less so, given our previous discussion) that she exercised her moral right to bodily autonomy through it—it depends on whether the aforementioned conditional (if the prostitute has a moral right to bodily autonomy and exercises bodily autonomy through prostitution, then she thereby exercises her moral right to bodily autonomy through prostitution) is true. But, as I wrote before, for present purposes, it seems fair enough to hold that said conditional is true, even if tentatively. And so it is with many other prostitutes. Consider the experiences of three more prostitutes: Desiree, a British prostitute who, during the time sociologist Julia O’Connell Davidson was interviewing her for the book Prostitution, Power, and Freedom, was self-employed (i.e., worked independently of a brothel manager, pimp, etc.); Joy, who, at the time of the study in which she is featured, worked in a legal brothel; and Jillian, who, at the time of the research in which she is featured, was also self-employed. Presenting each account in turn, they are as follows:

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Desiree regularly earns between £1,500 and £2,000 per week. She has already saved more than £150,000 and owns several thousand pounds’ worth of jewellery as well as three (immaculately renovated) properties after only five years in business. Her aim is to save £250,000 by the time she is thirty-six, at which point she intends to stop working as a prostitute. Her financial success distinguishes her not only from most other prostitutes, but also from the majority of wage workers in Britain. Furthermore, Desiree, unlike most prostitutes and most wage workers, has chosen, designed and owns the physical environment in which she works. She plans and controls all aspects of her business: where and how to advertise, whom to employ and what tasks to assign them, the pricing system, what services are and are not on offer, the hours and days of business.43 [Joy] had graduated from university with honours and entered the industry concerned that she might have a tough time because as she explained, she “didn’t like confrontation.” She therefore researched the industry for two years before beginning, reading everything she could get hold of. “I also read the history of prostitution starting from temple prostitutes, like I was so thorough,” she said. Joy described equipment needs to continue her university studies as finally pushing her into the industry. She has only worked in one brothel and describes herself as “loving it.” She spoke directly about the role developing her assertiveness in dealing with conflict. “I mean this job is awesome in regards to the fact that you can learn about yourself; like do you know how scared I was of confrontation? It’s given me the opportunity to be, ‘No, I’m in charge of that room.’ Yeah and me like speaking up for myself, when I’ve had enough.”44 [Jillian] was not sexually molested or physically abused as a child, and she began doing sex work by choice just shy of her twenty-first birthday. She says she likes sex work for several reasons: it gives her the economic independence she needs to pursue community activism, it allows her to set her own hours, and it makes her feel powerful and in control. As she writes in her online journal, “I love being the most beautiful woman in the world for that one hour. I love the performance art. I love the anonymity. I love the world beginning again in the confines of that room populated by only two strangers.”45

As with Ms. Lane, assuming these descriptions of Desiree’s, Joy’s, and Jillian’s experiences with prostitution are accurate, it is quite clear that, through prostitution, they produced prudential goods. It is also rather

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clear (again, albeit less so) that they exercised their moral right to bodily autonomy through it. To be sure, the experiences of Ms. Lane and the others are among the best-case examples. And there are myriad worse-case examples, many of which are covered in the chapters to come. But, as the reader will see, even the worse-case examples provide support for the claim that, through prostitution, the prostitute produces prudential goods and exercises her right to bodily autonomy.

Conclusion In this chapter, I provided two direct arguments for the ultima facie moral permissibility of prostitution, the Prudential Goods Argument and the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument. Since each argument contained a premise (P5 and P6, respectively) whose defense requires delving into and critiquing arguments for the immorality of prostitution, and since said delving and critiquing occurs in chapters subsequent to this one, the conclusion of each argument ought to be accepted only conditionally at this point, if it is to be accepted at all. With that in mind, we now turn our attention to the particular instances of the four previously discussed types of argument for the immorality of prostitution. We will begin with nonreligious consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution, both those that focus on alleged immoral-making consequences for the prostitute herself and those that focus on purported immoral-making consequences for someone or something other than the prostitute herself.

Notes 1. Ronald Weitzer, Legalizing Prostitution: From Illicit Vice to Lawful Business (New York: New York University Press, 2012), 18–19. 2. Vick Funari, quoted in Teela Sanders, Sex Work: A Risky Business (New York: Routledge, 2012), 37. 3. Center for Disease Control and Prevention, “Heavy Drinking Among U.S.  Adults, 2018,” available at https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/products/ databriefs/db374.htm, accessed Nov. 2020. 4. Center for Disease Control and Prevention, “Heavy Drinking Among U.S.  Adults, 2018,” available at https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/products/ databriefs/db374.htm, accessed Nov. 2020.

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5. See Alison Bass, Getting Screwed: Sex Workers and the Law (Lebanon, NH: ForeEdge, 2015), 66 and Lenore Kuo Prostitution Policy: Revolutionizing Practice through a Gendered Perspective (New York: New York University Press, 2002), 95. 6. This list of self-regarding prudential goods is derived from several sources: Bass, Chapter 4, 2015; Annie Sprinkle, “Forty Reasons Why Whores are My Heroines,” in Prostitution: On Whores, Hustlers, and Johns, 114–115; Mac McClelland, “Is Prostitution Just Another Job?,” New York Magazine (March 21–April 3, 2016), 38–45; Carol Pateman, “What’s Wrong with Prostitution?, in Prostitution and Pornography: Philosophical Debate about the Sex Industry, edited by Jessica Spector (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006), 56–57; Yolanda Estes, “Prostitution: A Subjective Position,” in Philosophy of Sex: Contemporary Readings, 5th edition, edited by Alan Soble and Nicolas Power (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2008), 355–356; Debra Satz, “Markets in Women’s Sexual Labor,” in Prostitution and Pornography, 397, 2006; Teela Sanders, Maggie O’Neill, and Jane Pitcher, Prostitution: Sex Work, Policy, and Politics (London: SAGE Publications, 2009), 10, 25–26; Weitzer, 7, 2012; Cecile Fabre, Whose Body is it Anyway? Justice and the Integrity of the Person (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 157ff; Raja Halwani, Philosophy of Love, Sex, and Marriage: An Introduction (New York: Routledge, 2010), 177; Sarah Jane Blithe, Anna Wiederhold Wolfe, and Breanna Mohr, Sex and Stigma: Stories of Everyday Life in Nevada’s Legal Brothels [New York: New  York University Press, 2019], 94; Nanette J.  Davis, “Prostitution: Identity, Career, and Enterprise,” in The Sociology of Sex: An Introductory Reader (New York: Schocken Books, 1978), 202. 7. This list of client-regarding prudential goods is derived from several sources: Peter de Marneffe, Liberalism and Prostitution (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 39; Sibyl Schwarzenbach, “Contractarians and Feminists Debate Prostitution,” in Prostitution and Pornography, 233, 2006; Lars O.  Ericsson, “Charges Against Prostitution,” Ethics Vol. 90, No. 3 (April 1980): 366; Weitzer, 20–21, 2012; Teela Sanders, Maggie O’Neill, and Jane Pitcher, Prostitution: Sex Work, Policy and Politics (Los Angeles: SAGE Publications, 2009), 79–87; Halwani, Philosophy of Love, Sex, and Marriage, 177, 2010; Kuo, 70, 2002. 8. Cecilie Høigård and Liv Finstad, Backstreets: Prostitution, Money and Love (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992), 92. 9. Ericsson, 366, 1980. 10. Estes, 359–360, 2008. 11. De Marneffe, 15, 2010. 12. Teela Sanders, Sex Work: A Risky Business (Cullompton: Willan, 2005), 122.

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13. C. L. Ten, Mill on Liberty (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980), 116. See also Douglas Husak, “Reasons to Decriminalize,” in The Legalization of Drugs: For & Against, edited by Douglas Husak and Peter de Marneffe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 87. 14. This argument assumes that moral particularism is false. Briefly, moral particularism holds that though possession of property X makes act A morally permissible or immoral (as the case may be), that does not necessitate that act B’s possession of the same property, X, renders act B morally permissible or immoral as well. For present, and largely practical, purposes, I assume throughout that moral particularism is false. For a primer on moral particularism, see Jonathan Dancy, “Moral Particularism,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ moral-­particularism/#WhaParBel, accessed 2014. 15. This definition is derived from Leif Wenar’s definition as presented in “Rights,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at https://plato. stanford.edu/entries/rights/, accessed Jan. 2020. 16. See, for example, Robert Louden, “Rights Infatuation and the Impoverishment of Moral Theory,” Journal of Value Inquiry, Vol. 17 (1983): 95. 17. See, for example, Joseph Raz, Ethics in the Public Domain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 275. 18. Michael Huemer, “America’s Unjust Drug War,” in The Ethical Life: Fundamental Readings in Ethics and Moral Problems, 4th edition, edited by Russ Shafer-Landau (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 475. 19. Kuo, 122–123, 2002. 20. David DeGrazia defines these theoretical virtues as follows: • Coherence: Pertains to the degree to which the theory is logically consistent, argumentatively supported, and provides global illumination. • Logical consistency: All propositions constitutive of the theory can be true at the same time. • Argumentative support: Reasons provided for a distinction or judgment are recognized as such (i.e., are not formed for that particular purpose—ad hoc). • Global illumination: The coherent system must hang together and the system must explain how the parts hang together. • Simplicity: Pertains to the degree to which a theory is simple, for example, containing fewer assumptions. • Salience: Pertains to the degree to which the theory is non-arbitrary in the sense that it is conspicuously different from all other theories. • Practicality: Pertains to the degree to which the theory is capable of being lived in accordance with. • Compatibility: Pertains to the degree to which the theory is supported by “everything else we know.”

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See David DeGrazia, Taking Animals Seriously: Mental Life and Moral Status (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 14ff. 21. See, for example, Carl Wellman, A Theory of Rights: Persons Under Laws, Institutions, and Morals (Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Allanheld, 1985); David Alm, Moral Rights and Their Grounds (New York: Routledge, 2019); Alan Gewirth, “Are There any Absolute Rights?” in Theories of Rights, edited by Jeremy Waldron (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984), 81–109; Ronald Dworkin, “Trumps as Rights,” in Theories of Rights, 153–167. 22. John Christman, “Autonomy in Moral and Political Philosophy,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ autonomy-­moral/#ConAut, accessed 2013. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. Regarding authenticity conditions in particular, Christman continues: “The most influential models of authenticity in this vein claim that autonomy requires second-order identification with first order [sic] desires. For [Harry] Frankfurt, for instance, such second-order desires must actually have the structure of a volition: wanting that the first order [sic] desires issue in action, that they are one’s will. Moreover, such identification, on his view, must be ‘wholehearted’ for the resulting action to count as free (autonomous)” (ibid.). See also Harry Frankfurt, “Freedom of the Will,” in The Importance of What We Care About, Harry Frankfurt (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 25. De Marneffe, 5, 2010. His sources for this claim include Alexa Albert, Brothel: Mustang Ranch and Its Women (New York: Random House, 2001), 68–167; Arlene Carmen and Howard Moody, Working Women: The Subterranean World of Street Prostitution (New York: Harper and Row, 1985), 101–104; Frederique Delacoste and Priscilla Alexander (eds.), Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry (Pittsburgh, Pa.: Cleis Press, 1987); Claude Jaget (ed.), Prostitutes—Our Life (Bristol, U.K.: Falling Wall Press, 1980), 57–174; Kate Millet, “Prostitution: A Quartet for Female Voices,” in Woman in Sexist Society: Studies in Power and Powerlessness, edited by Vivian Gornick and Barbara K. Moran (New York: Basic Books, 1971), 21–69; Eleanor Miller, Street Women (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1986), 35–117; Julia O’Connell Davidson, Prostitution, Power and Freedom (Cambridge, U.K.: Polity Press, 1998), 105–106; Roberta Perkins and Garry Bennett, Being a Prostitute (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1985), 57–147; Joanna Phoenix, Making Sense of Prostitution (London: Macmillan Press, 1999), 73–124; C.  H. Rolph (ed.), Women of the Streets (London: Secker and Warburg, 1955), 137–180; Teela Sanders, Sex Work: A Risky Business (Cullompton, U.K.: Willan, 2005), 46; Karen Sharpe, Red Light, Blue Light: Prostitutes, Punters, and

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the Police (Brookfield, Vt.: Ashgate, 1998), 168–169; Jess Stern, Sisters of the Night (New York: Julian Messner, 1956); Patricia Whelehan, An Anthropological Perspective on Prostitution: The World’s Oldest Profession (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen Press, 2001), 166; Nanette J.  Davis, “Prostitution: Identity, Career, and Legal-Economic Enterprise,” in The Sociology of Sex: An Introductory Reader, edited by James M. Henslin and Edward Sagarin (New York: Schocken Books, 1978), 195–222; Erich Goode, Deviant Behavior (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1994), 205; George Kneeland, Commercialized Prostitution in New  York (Montclair, NJ: Patterson Smith, [1913] 1969), 104; Charles H. McCaghy and Charles Hou, “Taiwan,” in Prostitution: An International Handbook on Trends, Problems, and Policies, edited by Nanette J.  Davis (London: Greenwood Press, 1993), 273–299; Maude Miner, Slavery of Prostitution: A Plea for Emancipation (New York: Garland, 1987; Macmillan Co., 1916), ix, 103–104), citation is to the Garland edition; Ruth Rosen, The Lost Sisterhood: Prostitution in America. 1900–1918 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982), xiv; and Ine Vanwesenbeeck, Prostitutes’ Well-Being and Risk (Amsterdam: VU University Press, 1994), 19–31. 26. De Marneffe, 5, 2010. 27. Sanders et al., 86, 2009. 28. Teela Sanders (personal communication, December 7, 2020). 29. Sanders, 46, 2012. 30. Harry Benjamin and R.  E. L.  Masters, Prostitution and Morality (New York: The Julian Press, 1954), 91. 31. Liz Highleyman (a.k.a., Mistress Veronika Frost), “Professional Dominance,” in Whores and Other Feminists, edited by Jill Nagle (New York: Routledge, 1997), 145–146. 32. Weitzer, 8, 2012. 33. Weitzer, 6, 2012. 34. Ronald Weitzer (personal communication, December 4, 2020). 35. Ronald Weitzer, “New Directions in Research on Prostitution,” Crime, Law, & Social Change Vol. 43 (2005): 214. 36. As Catharine Mackinnon puts it, “Women who are compromised, cajoled, pressured, tricked, blackmailed, or outright forced into sex … often respond to the unspeakable humiliation … by claiming that sexuality as their own. Faced with no alternative, the strategy to acquire self-respect and pride is: I chose it” (Catharine Mackinnon, Towards a Feminist Theory of the State [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989] 149). 37. Martin A. Monto, “Prostitutes’ Customers: Motives and Misconceptions,” in Sex for Sale: Prostitution, Pornography, and the Sex Industry, 2nd edition, edited by Ronald Weitzer (New York: Routledge, 2010), 236. 38. Blithe et al., 91–92, 2019.

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39. Rebecca Whisnant, “Confronting Pornography: Some Conceptual Basics,” in Not for Sale: Feminists Resisting Prostitution and Pornography, edited by Christine Stark and Rebecca Whisnant (Australia: Spinifex Press, 2004), 23. 40. Scott Anderson, “Prostitution and Sexual Autonomy: Making Sense of the Prohibition of Prostitution,” in Prostitution and Pornography, 374, 2006. 41. Anderson, 374–375, 2006. 42. Mac McClelland, “Is Prostitution Just Another Job?” New York Magazine (March 21, 2016), 40. 43. O’Connell Davidson, 90–91, 1998. 44. JaneMaree Maher, Sharon Pickering, and Alison Gerard, Sex Work: Labour, Mobility and Sexual Services (New York: Routledge, 2013), 73–74. 45. Bass, 65, 2015.

CHAPTER 3

Consequentialist Arguments Against Prostitution

Introduction As discussed in Chap. 2, one of the reasons I have for critiquing arguments for the immorality of prostitution—religious or nonreligious, consequentialist or nonconsequentialist—is that such is required if one is to accept a certain premise (P5 and P6, respectively) of the Prudential Goods Argument and the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument, according to which prostitution is devoid of any outweighing immoral-making properties. With this in mind, in this chapter, I critique ten nonreligious consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution. As nonreligious, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of prostitution is derived from at least one nonreligious claim and no religious claims whatsoever. And as consequentialist, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of prostitution is derived from at least one consequentialist moral claim and no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever. Again, by a “consequentialist moral claim,” I mean a claim that understands the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act to be wholly a function of a supposed moral-making or immoral-making consequence the act is said to involve, whether intrinsically or typically. By a “moral-making consequence,” I mean a consequence that renders the act that produces it morally permissible. Similarly, by an “immoral-making consequence,” I mean a consequence that renders the act that produces it morally impermissible. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 R. Lovering, A Moral Defense of Prostitution, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-75863-9_3

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Since the type of (supposedly) immoral-making consequence at work in the typical consequentialist argument for the immorality of prostitution is fundamentally that of harm, a brief analysis of “harm” would be beneficial. To that I now turn.

On “Harm” As the reader is likely aware, many people believe that prostitution is harmful—indeed, seriously so. As Ole Martin Moen puts it, Prostitution is not regarded as on par with eating too much chocolate or getting a bad grade. Rather, it is regarded as so harmful that if it is ever permissible and appropriate to engage in prostitution, it must be as the last option available in a situation where the alternative is to suffer a life-­ threatening harm (such as starvation) … Even people with widely diverging views on prostitution legislation tend to share the underlying assumption that prostitution harms those who engage in it.1

And some of these individuals contend that, because it is so harmful, it is also immoral. Those who embrace what Debra Satz refers to as the “economic” and “essentialist” views on the immorality of prostitution are examples of such individuals. The former understand the immorality of prostitution to be a function of the costs and benefits—both to the prostitute herself and to others—that accompany it; the latter understand it to be a function of prostitution’s (purported) inherent alienation and damage to the prostitute’s happiness.2 But what is meant by “harm”? More specifically, what does it mean for someone or something to be harmed? For the purposes of this chapter, a rather fundamental and, as such, generally agreed upon answer is all that is needed. And Kagan provides us with such an answer. Though he focuses on what it means for someone and not something to be harmed and, relatedly, someone harming someone and not something harming someone, Kagan’s answer is applicable, mutatis mutandis, to things (e.g., societies, institutions) as well. According to Kagan, what it means for someone to be harmed—or, as he discusses the issue, what it means for one to harm another—is for one to adversely affect the other’s interests through one’s action(s). In his words, to harm someone “is to bring about a lowering of their well-being relative to the level that they would have been at were it not for one’s act.

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If someone is worse off as a result of one’s act, then one has harmed that person.”3 On this understanding of what it means for someone to be harmed, experiencing pain, incurring physical injury, and dying as a result of someone’s act are all examples of being harmed, and plausibly so. What’s more, though Kagan writes in terms of someone harming another, his understanding allows for someone to harm herself—if someone is worse off as a result of her own act, then she has harmed herself. This, too, contributes to the plausibility of the meaning. After all, it is clear that one can harm oneself. Kagan’s understanding of what it means for someone to be harmed entails that someone could be harmed through a variety of means which, in turn, could involve various kinds of value and disvalue. Regarding the variety of means, he observes that one can harm someone “by adding something evil or bad to their life, or by removing something good; by interfering with the addition of something valuable, or by interfering with the removal of something bad.”4 As for the various kinds of value and disvalue, Kagan notes that they can be either intrinsic in nature (i.e., good or bad in and of themselves) or instrumental in nature (i.e., good in that it serves as a means to something else that is good or bad in that it serves as a means to something else that is bad).5 As the reader can see, Kagan’s understanding of what it means for someone to be harmed also includes the claim that if someone is worse off as a result of one’s act, then one has harmed that person. But what, exactly, does it mean to be “worse off”? There are numerous interpretations of this, of course, but the two types that Kagan discusses—what he calls the “local” and “global” interpretations—are of particular import here.6 On the local interpretation, a person is harmed if he is worse off in some regard than he would have been were it not for someone’s action, even if he is not worse off overall. On the global interpretation, on the other hand, a person is harmed only if he is worse off overall than he would have been were it not for someone’s action, even if he is worse off in some regard. With these possible interpretations in mind, suppose that, after accidentally driving his car into a telephone pole, Adam’s right hand is pinned between the steering wheel and the dashboard. Suppose, further, that the car is ablaze, about to explode, and the only way for someone to save Adam’s life is to get him out of the car by cutting off his right hand. Finally, suppose that Amanda cuts off Adam’s right hand and saves his life. Has Amanda harmed Adam? It depends on which of the aforementioned interpretations of “worse off” is employed. On the local interpretation, she does. For,

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according to that interpretation, a person is harmed if he is worse off in some regard than he would have been were it not for someone’s action, even if he is not worse off overall. And Adam is worse off in some regard— he has lost one of his hands. On the global interpretation, however, she does not. For, according to that interpretation, a person is harmed only if he is worse off overall than he would have been were it not for someone’s action, even if he is worse off in some regard. And though Adam is worse off in some regard, he is not worse off overall—losing his hand but retaining his life is better overall than retaining his hand but losing his life. With the preceding in mind (and to come full circle), we can now see that, regarding the question with which we began—“What does it mean for someone to be harmed?”—there are at least two meanings. One meaning—involving the local interpretation of “worse off”—is that a person is harmed when she is made worse off in some regard than she would have been were it not for someone’s act (whether another’s or her own) or some event. Another meaning—involving the global interpretation of “worse off”—is that a person is harmed when she is worse off overall than she would have been were it not for someone’s act or some event. Accordingly, unless otherwise noted, any forthcoming claims regarding the harm of prostitution, such as the generic “through prostitution, the prostitute harms herself,” are to be understood in terms of both meanings. (Not at the same time, naturally—which is at work at will be stated explicitly when necessary.) It should be noted that, despite the fact that the preceding fundamental account of harm is generally agreed upon, it is not without its dissenters. Kagan’s is a version of a “comparative” account of harm, and this type of account has been critiqued in a variety of ways by various philosophers. One of the more popular ways of critiquing comparative accounts of harm is via counterexample. Ben Bradley, for instance, offers the following counterexample—which he characterizes as a problem of “preemption”— to comparative accounts of harm: Suppose Batman drops dead of a heart attack. A millisecond after his death, his body is hit by a flaming cannonball. The cannonball would have killed Batman if he had still been alive. So the counterfactual account entails that the heart attack was not harmful to Batman. It didn’t make things go worse for him. But intuitively, the heart attack was harmful. The fact that he would have been harmed by the flaming cannonball anyway does not seem relevant to whether the heart attack was actually harmful. So there seem to be cases where the account fails to count a harmful event as harmful.7

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And this is just one of a number of problems that Bradley raises against comparative accounts, others of which include problems of “omission” and “non-identity.”8 What’s more, Bradley contends (quite convincingly) that other accounts of harm do no better than comparative accounts. Indeed, of the various accounts of harm that he critiques, Bradley deems the comparative account to the best of harm, all things considered. Nevertheless, he argues not only that the concept of harm and, with it, the comparative account thereof could be jettisoned altogether in favor of other concepts (e.g., the intrinsic value of consequences, intrinsic wrongness, rights violations, etc.) without losing much, if anything, of philosophical import, but that they should be. Bradley’s (and others’) critiques of the comparative account of harm notwithstanding, for better or for worse, consequentialist critics of prostitution often make claims about what they take to be the harms (comparatively construed) of prostitution—hence my introducing and explicating (briefly) what is meant by “harm” here. Much more could be said about what it means for someone to be harmed, to be sure. But the preceding will do for now. Before we can begin evaluating consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution, however, a final stage-setting discussion is required, one regarding challenges that the typical instance of such an argument faces.

Challenges Facing Consequentialist Arguments Against Prostitution The typical consequentialist argument for the immorality of prostitution, wherein the type of (allegedly) immoral-making consequence at work is fundamentally that of harm, faces a number of challenges. To understand them, it is best to do so against the backdrop of an instance of such an argument. The following generic argument will suffice. As with Chap. 2 (and hereafter), by “prostitution” and “the prostitute,” I have in mind prostitution and prostitutes in general unless otherwise noted: P1: Prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to harm. P2: The subjection of oneself to harm is an immoral-making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral.

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The first challenge facing the typical consequentialist argument for the immorality of prostitution—“consequentialist argument,” for short—pertains to P1. The claim that prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to harm—in other words, that, through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to harm—is doubly ambiguous. The first way in which it is ambiguous is that it might mean that the prostitute actually subjects herself to harm through prostitution, or it might mean (as it sometimes does) that the prostitute risks subjecting herself to harm through prostitution. And often it is unclear which of these meanings consequentialist critics of prostitution have in mind. Fortunately, for our purposes, there is a simple solution to this difficulty. To see what it is, consider first that if actually subjecting oneself (or, as the case may be, another) to harm is morally permissible under certain conditions, then, arguably, risking subjecting oneself (or another) to harm under said conditions is morally permissible as well. After all, the former subsumes the latter—one cannot actually subject oneself or another to harm without first, both logically and practically speaking, risking subjecting oneself or another to harm. Accordingly, if a consequentialist argument that is written in terms of actually subjecting oneself or another to harm fails to demonstrate that prostitution is immoral, then so does an otherwise identical consequentialist argument that is written in terms of risking subjecting oneself or another to harm. More precisely, if a consequentialist argument that is written in terms of actually subjecting oneself or another to harm (such as the following) is unsound and is so because P2* is false P1*: P2*:

Prostitution involves the actual subjection of oneself to harm. The actual subjection of oneself or another to harm is an immoral-­ making consequence. C1*: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3*: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2*: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. then a consequentialist argument that is written in terms of risking subjecting oneself or another to harm (such as the following) is unsound and is so because P2** is false:

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P1**: Prostitution involves the risk of subjection of oneself to harm. P2**: The risk of subjection of oneself or another to harm is an immoral-making consequence. C1**: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3**: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2**: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. With that in mind, the simple solution to the first ambiguity is that each of the consequentialist arguments hereafter is written in terms of the actual subjection of oneself or another to harm. A second way in which P1 is ambiguous is that it might mean that the prostitute’s subjection of herself to harm is intrinsic to prostitution, or it might mean that the prostitute’s subjection of herself to harm is extrinsic to prostitution. In other words, it might mean that prostitution is intrinsically harmful to the prostitute (again, or another, as the case may be), or it might mean that prostitution is extrinsically harmful to the prostitute (or another). And often it is unclear which of these meanings consequentialist critics of prostitution have in mind. Similar to the distinction between intrinsically immoral and extrinsically immoral (see Chap. 1), by an act that is “intrinsically harmful,” I mean an act that is harmful in and of itself—that is, harmful independent of any other harm-making factors there might be beyond the act itself, such as the consequence(s) of the act (whatever they might be). Self-flagellation, for instance, is an act that is intrinsically harmful. Even if the consequences of, and every other factor beyond, a given act of self-flagellation is benefit-making (perhaps the person who flagellates himself gains the respect of his peers as a result, among other things), self-flagellation is harmful nonetheless, at least on Kagan’s local interpretation of “harm”—the self-flagellated individual is worse off in some regard (e.g., torn flesh, loss of blood, etc.). By an act that is “extrinsically harmful,” on the other hand, I mean an act that is harmful, not in and of itself, but due to one or more harm-making factors beyond the act itself. Consider, for example, a mother who gives one of her children two ripe bananas for a snack. Everything else being equal, giving one’s child two ripe bananas for a snack is not intrinsically harmful; it is not harmful in and of itself. But suppose that one of the consequences of the mother’s doing so is that another one of her children goes unfed for the rest of the day. In this case, the mother’s giving her child two ripe bananas is thereby extrinsically harmful—harmful due to a harm-making

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factor beyond the act itself (as before, at least on the local interpretation of “harm”). To be sure, an act that is intrinsically harmful might also be harmful due to one or more harm-making factors beyond the act itself. But its harmfulness does not depend on the existence of such factors. An act that is intrinsically harmful is so even when there are no harm-making factors beyond the act itself. (Indeed, an act that is intrinsically harmful is so even when every factor beyond the act itself is benefit-making.) The harmfulness of an extrinsically harmful act, on the other hand, does depend on the existence of one or more harm-making factors beyond the act itself. So, again, consequentialist critics of prostitution often do not state explicitly whether they are claiming that prostitution is intrinsically harmful to the prostitute or another or extrinsically harmful to the prostitute or another. As a result, while critiquing consequentialist arguments below, I rely on both meanings. (As before, not simultaneously—which is at work will be stated explicitly when necessary.) A second challenge facing consequentialist arguments is that they are often based on limited or distorted information. Regarding limited information, due to a variety of reasons (e.g., that prostitution is generally deemed morally and/or socially unacceptable, that it is largely a black-­ market activity, that adequate funding is lacking, and so on), studies on prostitution often involve weak statistical sample sizes drawn from geographically and culturally unique locations. To wit, one study on the correlation between prostitution and depression involved just 127 prostitutes, all of whom were based in Puerto Rico.9 Another, this time one on the correlation between prostitution and the selling of intimacy, involved merely 83 prostitutes, all of whom were based in Los Angeles.10 Still another, this time on the correlation between prostitution and sundry psychological disorders, involved just 29 prostitutes, all of whom were based in New Zealand.11 To be sure, some useful information might be gleaned from such studies nevertheless, and meta-studies of such studies can be especially revealing. But the former remain limited, and the latter are rather rare. Indeed, one such meta-study, the results of which were published just a year ago (as of this writing), is self-described as the first of its kind.12 Another source of limited information is data issued by law enforcement, correctional, and related institutions. Such information not only represents extreme aspects of prostitution, but is incomplete. The former is due to the fact that, by its very nature, information gathered from such

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institutions encompasses, not just cases of prostitution per se, but cases of prostitution that involve beatings, rapes, kidnappings, murders, and other immoral and criminal activities. The latter (that such information is incomplete) is due, in part, to underreporting. For example, Sanders et al. tell of underreporting with respect to violence against prostitutes: The majority of studies have found substantial under-reporting to the police of crimes of violence against both female and male sex workers. The reasons for this may include that sex workers do not expect sympathetic treatment, particularly if they had prior experiences of negative attitudes, or that they may be in fear of arrest for prostitution-related or other offences … Some studies have found that the persistence of harassment and/or violence can mean that certain levels of violence may be treated as “part of the job,” which can be a further factor contributing to under-reporting.13

As for distorted information, there are numerous sources of it—some innocent in nature, some not so innocent. Regarding the former, and as alluded to in Chap. 1, given legal prohibitions and, with them, the stigma of prostitution, it is safe to say that response bias (e.g., exaggeration or denial) is at work when it comes to how both prostitutes and clients answer survey questions about their prostitutional experiences. Some prostitutes are likely to understate or lie about the extent to which they service clients or are uncomfortable doing so, for example, while some clients are likely to deny that they even are clients of prostitutes or, if they admit to being clients, deny the extent to which they employ the services of prostitutes.14 Another innocent source of distorted information is scholars equating (naively, I will charitably presume) all prostitution with outdoor (street) prostitution. As addressed in Chap. 2, according to Weitzer, only a minority of prostitutes in the U.S., Britain, the Netherlands, and many other countries perform their services outdoors (somewhere between 10 and 30 percent).15 The vast majority perform their services indoors (in brothels or massage parlors, through escort agencies, as independent call girls, etc.). Even so, some authors of scholarly papers and books on prostitution focus on outdoor prostitution and present their findings as if they are representative of all forms of prostitution.16 Matthews, for instance, claims sweepingly that “[y]ou can’t remove the abuse and coercion from prostitution, whether legal or not.”17 Yet, this conclusion is derived from research on just outdoor prostitution. Indeed, Weitzer claims that this is

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true of most scholarly works on prostitution and, as a result, “most research has been done on the least prevalent type of prostitution” (emphasis his).18 Even if the information gathered from such studies is of great value when it comes to the issue of outdoor prostitution, then, it is distortive when it is understood to be representative of prostitution in its entirety. As for some not-so-innocent sources of distorted information, one is that of legal prohibitionists attempting to frame and thereby control the debate on prostitution. Sanders et al. note that “the history of prostitution is framed by attempts to repress and make morally reprehensible the women and men involved in prostitution.”19 A recent example of this was mentioned in Chap. 1, namely, the conflation of prostitution (as defined here) with the related but different acts of sex trafficking and the prostitution of children. (Weitzer refers to this phenomenon as “domain expansion” and claims that, often enough, legal prohibitionists associate sex trafficking with every kind of sexual commerce [e.g., prostitution, pornography, exotic dancing, etc.].)20 Another example of a not-so-innocent source of distorted information is studies conducted by individuals and organizations that assume from the outset of their investigation that prostitution is intrinsically harmful to the prostitute. In one such study, those who conducted it describe their research project as “designed within a framework of prostitution as a form of violence against women and not prostitution as a legitimate industry … The survey questions and administration were likely biased to some degree by working within this framework and by employing surveyors who had left prostitution.”21 That those who conducted the study admitted to the likelihood of bias infecting it is commendable. That they merely took for granted from the outset that prostitution was intrinsically violent, thereby begging an important question and failing to ensure that the questions involved in their study were not infected by the aforementioned bias, is not. As a result, theirs is a not-so-innocent source of distorted information. A third challenge facing consequentialist arguments is that, in many cases, the harm of prostitution is partly, if not entirely, systemic.22 That is to say, it is a function of the legal status—specifically, the legal prohibition—of prostitution. (De Marneffe provides a useful way of referring to systemic harms: “legally created harms.”)23 As Primoratz puts it, “The dangers and harms of prostitution are caused or enhanced by criminalization itself. If prostitution were not a crime, those engaging in it could expect to receive the level of health care and police protection from violence, coercion, exploitation, and fraud as everybody else expects; their

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social status would be higher, and they would not necessarily be treated as outcasts.”24 The aforementioned meta-study—which examined more than 130 studies on 33 countries, ranging from Britain to Uganda—bears this out, the conclusion of which is that prostitutes who sell their services where prostitution is illegal are disproportionately at risk of violence and sexual and emotional ill health relative to prostitutes who work where prostitution has been legalized or decriminalized.25 Indeed, Priscilla Alexander, a sex-work activist and co-editor of Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, maintains that “most of the problems associated with prostitution are directly related to the prohibition and the related stigma associated with sex and especially with sex work.”26 That the harm of prostitution is partly, if not entirely, systemic in many cases should come as no surprise. After all, the legal prohibition of prostitution renders prostitutes—qua prostitutes—legally unprotected. This, in turn, makes them vulnerable to being exploited, beaten, killed, or otherwise harmed by clients, pimps, police officers, and others; less likely to report said harm to the relevant legal authorities; more likely to make hasty decisions vis-à-vis the selection of clients, use of contraception, and locations of service; more likely to service clients in places where they are more susceptible to being exploited, beaten, killed, or otherwise harmed by clients; subject to a societal scorn reserved for criminals and their ilk (a scorn, incidentally, to which those who engage in a similar but legally permitted line of work—pornography actors and actresses—are not subjected, at least not as caustically); more likely to be arrested, obtain a criminal record, and suffer the consequences of being and doing so; more likely to be fired without cause and recourse; and more.27 But in what way is such systemic harm a challenge for consequentialist arguments? It is in that such arguments typically purport to rely on the claim that prostitution per se is harmful.28 Accordingly, in order to argue successfully that prostitution per se is harmful and, thus, immoral, one must not only distinguish harms of prostitution that are systemic in nature from those that are not, but invoke just those (alleged) harms that are not systemic in nature. The fourth, final, and perhaps most serious challenge facing consequentialist arguments pertains to P2 and other P2-like premises of other consequentialist arguments, the former of which claims that the subjection of oneself to harm is an immoral-making consequence. Simply and briefly put, a link between mere harm and immorality is not easy to establish. To see this, consider first that P2 is neither obviously true nor

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intuitive—for many of us, at any rate.29 What’s more, it is subject to counterexample. For it is rather clear that there are conditions under which the subjection of oneself to harm is not an immoral-making consequence, such as when the harm is incurred with one’s voluntary, informed consent.30 Consider, for example, people who box, either for a living or just for fun. In doing so, they subject themselves to harm, at least locally (in some regard) if not globally (overall). For those who do so with voluntary, informed consent, however, their subjection of themselves to harm does not seem to be an immoral-making consequence. In other words, their subjecting themselves to harm does not appear to be consequentially immoral. To be sure, it might be imprudent. It might even be morally criticizable, though this strikes me as implausible. And, in any case, a morally criticizable act is not one and the same as an immoral act. Again, an immoral act is an act that one has no moral right to perform—an act that someone has a valid claim against one’s performing and, as result, could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such an act, in punishing one for having performed it. A morally criticizable act, on the other hand, is an act that one has a moral right to perform but that, nevertheless, should not, morally speaking, be performed. But voluntarily and informedly consenting to subjecting oneself to harm via boxing is something one has a moral right to do, ostensibly. And so it is with myriad harmful activities, such as playing (American) football, skateboarding, bull-riding, surfing, eating unhealthy food, and others. For those who voluntarily and informedly consent to subject themselves to harm through these activities with voluntary, informed consent, their doing so does not seem, in and of itself, to be consequentially immoral. Given the preceding, it appears that a (read: at least one) basic moral claim that can underpin P2 as well as overcome counterexamples like the above is needed. It must be one that is consequentialist in nature, of course, as the argument under consideration is a token of a consequentialist argument—an argument that derives a claim regarding the immorality of an act from at least one consequentialist moral claim and no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever. But what might that basic consequentialist moral claim be? Many come to mind, but I will leave it at that for now as the topic of possible basic consequentialist moral claims that could undergird P2 (and P2-like premises of other consequentialist arguments) will be given a lot of attention below. Suffice it to say for now that arriving at one is not as easy as one might think.

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In sum, there are at least four challenges facing typical consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution: their claim that, through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to harm is doubly ambiguous; they often involve limited or distorted information; in many cases, the harm implicated in such arguments is partly, if not entirely, systemic in nature; and a link between mere harm and immorality is not easy to establish. Consequentialist arguments face other challenges, to be sure (as will be evidenced in what is to come), but these will do for now.31

On Argumentative Organization Before I present and critique the first consequentialist argument for the immorality of prostitution, a word about the way in which I have organized these arguments is in order. One of the things that differentiates one consequentialist argument from another is the alleged subject of the purported immoral-making consequence—the latter of which, again, is usually and fundamentally that of harm of one sort or another. Some consequentialist arguments claim that prostitution is harmful to the prostitute herself. Others claim that prostitution is harmful to someone or something (e.g., society, the economy, the institution of marriage) other than the prostitute herself. With that in mind, one of the ways in which I have organized the arguments that follow is in terms of the subject of harm. I begin with arguments that claim that prostitution is harmful to the prostitute herself (the Squandered Talents Argument through the Premature Death Argument) and end with arguments that claim that prostitution is harmful to someone or something other than the prostitute herself (the Public Nuisance Argument through the Crime Argument). (Since the harm invoked in some of the former arguments can be incurred by individuals beyond the prostitute herself and, thus, said arguments can include the claim that prostitution is harmful to others, it is more accurate to say that I begin with arguments that claim that prostitution is harmful primarily to the prostitute herself.) Something else that differentiates one consequentialist argument from another is the type of harm prostitution is claimed to involve. And when it comes to types of harm, some types are more severe than others, or so I have assumed here. With that in mind, a second way in which I have organized the arguments that follow is in terms of severity of harm. Accordingly, when this second way of organizing the arguments is combined with the first, the result is that the arguments that are differentiated

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in terms of the alleged subject of harm are presented in order of severity of harm, moving from what I take to be the least severe type of harm to the most severe type of harm. The arguments that claim that prostitution is harmful to the prostitute herself, then, begin with an argument involving a claim about what I take to be the least severe type of harm (the Squandered Talents Argument) and end with an argument involving a claim about what I consider to be the most severe type of harm (the Premature Death Argument). Likewise, the arguments that claim that prostitution is harmful to someone or something other than the prostitute herself begin with an argument involving a claim about what I take to be the least severe type of harm (the Public Nuisance Argument) and end with an argument involving a claim about what I consider to be the most severe type of harm (the Crime Argument). There is certainly room for disagreement with regard to the order in which I have placed the arguments vis-à-vis severity and, thus, I am open to changing it. But, for now, I am inclined to order them as follows. With that said, let us now turn to the first consequentialist argument to be critiqued, the Squandered Talents Argument.

The Squandered Talents Argument The Squandered Talents Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the squander of one’s talents. P2: The squander of one’s talents is an immoral-making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3:  If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. My evaluation of this argument—and every other argument for the immorality of prostitution hereafter—proceeds in two general steps. The first is to determine whether the truth of the conclusion may be derived from the premises and, if so, in what way: necessarily or probably? The second is to determine whether the premises are true. Having said that, the first step will be performed just once in this book and will so at this juncture. For, as alluded to in Chap. 2, I have constructed each featured, formalized argument as a valid deductive argument. There are both philosophical and practical reasons for doing this, such as that sound deductive arguments

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provide much stronger logical support for their conclusions than do cogent inductive arguments, and that employing the same kind of argument throughout the book allows the reader to bypass checking the logic of the argument himself or herself and, instead, focus entirely on the substance of the premises. Of course, there also may be reasons not to construct each argument as a valid deductive argument. To wit, it is possible that some of the best arguments for the immorality of prostitution might be those that are constructed, not as valid deductive arguments, but as strong inductive arguments. But, as of this writing, I am not convinced that this possibility is an actuality. In any case, since I have constructed each argument for the immorality of prostitution as a valid deductive argument, the only remaining question is whether each argument’s premises are true. Accordingly, my evaluation of the Squandered Talents Argument—and every other featured, formalized argument for the immorality of prostitution hereafter—will focus on the question of whether the argument’s premises are true. Despite my focusing on just its premises as well as my view that it involves the least severe type of harm, however, my critique of this first argument is somewhat lengthy. The primary reason for this has to do with the fact that, given that all of the arguments to be evaluated in this chapter are consequentialist in nature, they are subject to many of the same kinds of objections. Accordingly, I have front-loaded said objections here. By doing so, I need not spend much time on them when they apply to subsequent consequentialist arguments. (This front-loading of objections is particularly notable during my discussion of possible basic consequentialist moral claims that can underpin P2.) Before turning to my critique of the Squandered Talents Argument, it behooves me to remind the reader of four things that were covered previously. First, as discussed in Chap. 1, what I am morally defending in this book is just the prostitute’s act, that of providing oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex to at least one other adult primarily and explicitly for his money. I am not morally defending the client’s act in any way, that of purchasing the aforementioned oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex. This bears repeating here since some of the arguments critiqued in this chapter—and, indeed, the chapter that follows it—employ language (e.g., degrade, exploit, subordinate) that is often used to describe what the client does through prostitution rather than what the prostitute does through it. Even so, none—not even those that employ said language—is an argument for the immorality of what the client does through prostitution. Each is an argument for the immorality of what the prostitute does.

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Second, each of the consequentialist arguments to be critiqued in this chapter is written in terms of actually subjecting oneself or another to harm rather than risking subjecting oneself or another to harm. The reason for doing so is not that most moral critics of prostitution believe that every, or even most, prostitutes actually subject themselves or others to harm in the argument-relevant way. It is, instead, that if actually subjecting oneself or another to harm in the argument-relevant way is morally permissible, then, arguably, risking subjecting oneself or another to harm in the argument-relevant way is morally permissible as well, since the former subsumes the latter (as arguments P*–C2* and P**–C2** above indicate). Third, given their reliance on consequentialist moral claims (as defined here), consequentialist arguments do not take an actor’s intentions to be morally relevant, all else being equal—hence the lack of appeal to them in my critique of this and every other consequentialist argument hereafter. Finally, consequentialist arguments are understood here in such a way as to be logically compatible with claims that invoke the concept of a moral right. (Again, as understood here, an act that one has no moral right to perform is an act that someone has a valid claim against one’s performing and, as result, could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such an act, in punishing one for having performed it, and an act that that one has moral right to perform is an act that no one has a valid claim against one’s performing and, in turn, could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such an act, in punishing one for having performed it.) Accordingly, claims involving moral rights are employed below. Now, without further delay, let us determine whether the Squandered Talents Argument’s premises are true. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the squander of one’s talents? In other words, is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute squanders her talents? In order to answer this question, we need to determine what is meant by “talents.” The word “talent” has a number of meanings, naturally, two argument-relevant and suitable (for present purposes) instances of which are “a special—often athletic, creative, or artistic—aptitude” and “a general intelligence or mental power.”32 Accordingly, P1 may be understood in at least two ways: (1) Through prostitution, the prostitute squanders her special athletic, creative, artistic, or some other kind of aptitude.

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(2) Through prostitution, the prostitute squanders her general intelligence or mental power. I will evaluate P1 through the lens of each of these understandings in turn. Is it the case, then, that, through prostitution, the prostitute squanders her special athletic, creative, artistic, or some other kind of aptitude? However common this may or may not be, there seems to be no empirical evidence indicating that this is true of prostitutes in general. That is, no empirical evidence exists, ostensibly, which shows that the majority of prostitutes—including street-, brothel-, massage parlor-, sauna-, club-, bar-, window-, call girl-, girlfriend experience-working (etc.) prostitutes— squander an athletic, creative, artistic, or some other kind of aptitude through prostitution. Perhaps such a lack of empirical evidence should come as no surprise. After all, as discussed previously, due to the facts that prostitution is generally deemed morally and/or socially unacceptable, that it is largely a black-market activity, and that adequate funding is lacking, studies on, and information regarding, prostitution are rather limited. And when studies on prostitution are conducted, they frequently involve weak statistical sample sizes drawn from geographically and culturally unique locations as well as focus on “the least prevalent type of prostitution,” as Weitzer puts it, outdoor prostitution. In any case, there does not appear to be empirical evidence indicating that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally squander an athletic, creative, artistic, or some other kind of aptitude. Even so, it seems safe to say that, in all likelihood, this is, in fact, true with respect to at least some prostitutes. For it stands to reason that some prostitutes have such an aptitude but fail to exercise, let alone hone, it through prostitution. After all, and as political science professor Sheila Jeffreys puts it, “The problem with the idea that prostitution involves special skills which require it to be recognized as a profession … is that the basic act which the average john wants to perform in the body of a prostituted woman can be performed without the exercise of any special skills on her part.”33 Fellating a man in his car, for instance, does not involve any special skills, apparently. (The operative word here is “apparently,” since some would argue that fellating a man in his car is one thing, doing so well is another thing, and it takes a special skill to do the latter.)34 Having said that, there is empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes do not squander their talents in this way. To take just two examples, consider prostitutes who play the role of a girlfriend (à la girlfriend-­ experience prostitutes) and those who play the role of a dominatrix. Both

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of these types of prostitute must exercise a creative and/or artistic aptitude, since both of them must perform to some extent—hence my language of “play the role.” Prostitutes who play the role of a girlfriend must pretend to be the client’s girlfriend and act accordingly (e.g., engage in intimate conversation and the physically intimate acts of kissing, caressing, cuddling, hugging, lying together while talking, etc.).35 Prostitutes who play the role of a dominatrix must pretend to be the client’s sadistic superior and act accordingly (e.g., inflict verbal and/or physical abuse on the client in the name of his stipulated inferiority). Writing of the previously mentioned Desiree (see Chap. 2), for instance, O’Connell Davidson observes that, as a dominatrix, Desiree performs “intensive and highly skilled emotional labor.”36 Indeed, some people—including both former prostitutes and prostitution scholars—argue that every instance of prostitution involves some level of role playing. Even if this is an exaggeration (and empirical evidence exists showing that it is—more on this shortly), there is also empirical evidence indicating that, beyond those of girlfriend-experience prostitutes and dominatrixes, many, and perhaps most, prostitutes do, in fact, engage in some level of role playing. In an article titled “‘It’s Just Acting’: Sex Workers’ Strategies for Capitalizing on Sexuality,” Sanders provides multiple accounts of this phenomenon. As one prostitute put it to her, I have been “Angela” for nearly 25 years. I have a story about who Angela is that is different from my real life. She is a prostitute and she does all sorts of naughty things for money. She swears more and acts differently than I would ever do. They [clients] do not know anything about my personal life and whatever I tell them is complete fabrication. They have no idea who I really am.37

Another put it this way: We just make up a fictional character. I say I am a single woman and that I have not got any kids. How I work it is on what my friends are doing who are single and out clubbing. They [clients] love it because they think I am a sex beast. If we [referring to self and colleague] are together we pretend we are a couple of dykes who love each other and can’t get enough of each other…. Even when we are answering the phone we put on a different voice, a work voice which is sexy and flirtatious.38

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And so it goes.39 There is, then, reason to believe that many, if not most, instances of prostitution beyond those involving girlfriend-experience prostitutes and dominatrixes involve some level of role playing. With all of this in mind, there is good reason to believe that some prostitutes do not squander their special creative, artistic, or related kind of aptitude. Of course, one could grant all of the preceding and contend that P1 is true nonetheless. For one could argue that the talents to which P1 refers are those that the prostitute forgoes exercising and honing as a result of her decision to become a prostitute. Take, for example, a girlfriend-­experience prostitute who has a special artistic aptitude—say, that of dramatic (e.g., Shakespearean) acting—who forgoes exercising and honing said aptitude so that she can be a prostitute. Even if, qua girlfriend-­experience prostitute, she exercises and hones one artistic aptitude, she nevertheless fails to exercise and hone another, namely, her artistic aptitude for dramatic acting. In this way, the prostitute squanders her talents. And one could argue that this is the kind of way of squandering her talents to which P1 refers. So, is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute squanders her talents in this way? Once again, however common this may or may not be, there appears to be no empirical evidence indicating that this is generally true of prostitutes. To be sure, this is probably true for at least some prostitutes. But it is also probably false for others. For some prostitutes likely do not have a special athletic, creative, artistic, or some other kind of aptitude to be squandered in this kind of way. (A special aptitude is, after all, special [exceptional].) At least, they do not have one that would enable them to obtain the prudential goods that they are able to obtain through prostitution. Once again, empirical evidence exists suggesting that this is the case. Some prostitutes are prostitutes partly in virtue of the fact that they lack an aptitude that would enable them to obtain the prudential goods that they are able to obtain through prostitution. To take just one example, consider Kari, a prostitute who describes herself along the following lines: My father stopped giving me money when I was 16. But I wanted my degree and education. If you don’t have an education all you can get is washing jobs. I’m going to be a hairdresser and a cosmetologist. I’ll work [as a prostitute] until I’ve paid for my studies and until I’ve saved up enough money for my own beauty parlor … I’m not going to waste my time working 9–4, and wearing myself out. I can’t get a student loan, because my father earns too much. I have to have money for rent and the bills. So there’s no other way.40

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In Kari’s case, then, she lacked (or, at least, believed that she lacked) an aptitude that would allow her to obtain the prudential goods that she was able to obtain through prostitution—at least, would allow her to do so as efficiently (in terms of time and energy) as she is able to do so through prostitution. She also believed, reasonably so, that, in order to develop her preferred aptitudes (those of a hairdresser and a cosmetologist), she needed to receive an education of a certain sort and that, again, the most efficient way to pay for such an education was through prostitution. And it is easy to sympathize with Kari’s view here, given not only her description of the circumstances in which she finds herself but the fact that her lacking such an aptitude might not be her fault. For many prostitutes who lack such an aptitude likely due so as a result of systemic injustices and/the so-called genetic lottery, at least in part (e.g., with respect to the former, the majority of outdoor-working prostitutes in the U.S., for example, are poor, black women).41 Nevertheless, even if it is true that, through prostitution, some prostitutes squander their talents in the aforementioned way, some of them do not, arguably. Before moving on to the second meaning of “talent,” it is worth noting here that some prostitutes report that, through prostitution, they have acquired valuable talents that can be applied to non-prostitutional activities and industries. They include interpersonal, decision-making, communication, organization, computer, selling, negotiation, conflict-resolution, problem-solving, and even athletic, creative, and artistic skills.42 (Incidentally, many of the aforementioned skills are listed in a 2015 report on the most important transferrable skills. That list includes making decisions and solving problems, communication, planning and organization, proficiency with computer software programs, selling and influencing others, creating and editing written reports, working in teams, and analyzing quantitative data.)43 As one former prostitute puts it with regard to how her selling skills improved under prostitution, “I am way better at reading what I think [people] want, what kind of person they might want me to be, and executing that.”44 Another describes how her planning and organization skills improved under prostitution. “Like 90 percent of my clients fly in to see me, so I usually do all of the planning for outdates,” she reports. “I reserve tickets, dinners—I have to know their food preferences—and special events! I have to know what special events are happening … I have to coordinate a driver to pick them up from the airport if they aren’t renting a car. I also pick their hotels based on their preferences. Most of them have never been to [my city] before, so they have no idea

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what to do.”45 So, again, some prostitutes report that they have acquired valuable, transferrable talents through prostitution. As for the second meaning of “talent”—“a general intelligence or mental power” (hereafter, simply “general intelligence”)—before determining whether it is true that, through prostitution, the prostitute squanders this talent, we need to know what is meant by a “general” intelligence. Two argument-relevant and suitable meanings are “applicable to or characteristic of the majority of individuals involved” and “including a lot of things or subjects and not limited to only one or a few.”46 Beginning with the former, and understanding the “individuals involved” to be standard adult human beings and/or just those involved in prostitution (the prostitute and the client[s]), there seems to be no empirical evidence which shows that, through prostitution, prostitutes in general squander an intelligence that is applicable to or characteristic of the majority of the individuals involved. What’s more, it appears unlikely that many, if any, instances of prostitution (as defined here, I must emphasize) involve a prostitute who squanders such an intelligence through it. Negotiating with a client or pimp, understanding his requests, knowing of safe locations in which to perform sexual acts, navigating directions, counting money, identifying red flags, planning and organizing, resolving conflicts, performing sexual acts—each of these acts (and more) involve the exercise of such an intelligence when they are performed. As for the latter meaning of “general intelligence”—“including a lot of things or subjects and not limited to only one or a few”—once again, however common this may or may not be, there does not seem to be any empirical evidence indicating that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally squander such an intelligence. No doubt this is true of some prostitutes— in all likelihood, some prostitutes have the capacity to possess an intelligence characterized by various levels of knowledge of a variety of subject matters, such as, say, geometry, political science, economics, biology, philosophy, drama (and so on) but, by becoming prostitutes, they fail to develop that capacity. Yet, arguably, this is not the case for other prostitutes. For first, some prostitutes report acquiring such an intelligence through prostitution. According to one study on prostitution, a number of prostitutes claimed to have learned about finance, investment, tax matters, property, construction, and more from their clients and/or coworkers.47 This is a far cry from claiming that they have learned about geometry, political science, biology, philosophy, and drama (among other things), to be sure. But it is a claim to gaining an intelligence that is characterized by various levels of knowledge of a variety of subject matters through prostitution.

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Second, it seems rather likely that, due cognitive limitations, at least some prostitutes lack the capacity to possess an intelligence characterized by the inclusion of a lot of things or subjects and not limited to only one or a few. Simply put, whether congenitally or not, some people probably lack the capacity to have various levels of knowledge of a variety of subject matters. And it stands to reason that some of these people are prostitutes. All this to say, even if it is true that, through prostitution, some prostitutes squander their talents in this way, some of them likely do not. Summing up, there is no empirical evidence, ostensibly, indicating that, in general, prostitutes squander their talents through prostitution. And though this is probably the case for at least some prostitutes, there is empirical evidence indicating that this is not so for others. On P2 Is it the case that the squander of one’s talents is an immoral-making consequence? In other words, is squandering one’s talents consequentially immoral? This is very difficult to believe. As with P2 of the generic consequentialist argument above, this claim is neither obviously true nor intuitive—again (and hereafter), for many of us, at least. In addition, it is open to counterexample. Suppose Heather has talent—indeed, potentially world-class talent—for playing the piano. Even so, she decides to quit the piano to take up an instrument for which she has no talent whatsoever (the trumpet) and thereby squanders her talent for piano playing. That squandering her talent via quitting piano is consequentially immoral is simply implausible. It might be imprudent or even morally criticizable, of course (more on these possibilities shortly). But that it is an act that she has no moral right to perform—an act that someone has a valid claim against her performing and, as result, could be morally justified in punishing her for having performed it is very difficult to believe. A basic moral claim that can not only underpin P2 but outweigh counterexamples such as the preceding, then, appears to be needed. It must be one that is consequentialist in nature, of course, as the Squandered Talents Argument is a token of a consequentialist argument. (Invoking Kant’s claim regarding the immorality of squandering one’s talents, for example, is not an option.) With an eye toward, not just fundamentality, but parsimony, relevance, and salience, one might be inclined to recommend the following consequentialist moral claim, as it is one of the simplest and most pertinent, conspicuous, and fundamental consequentialist moral claims—“BC”s, for short—there is in the present context:

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Failing to produce a good in some regard for oneself is consequentially immoral.

(In the name of parsimony, BC1 is written in terms of a good in some regard rather than an overall good as well as an actual, rather than usual, consequence. BCs that are less parsimonious in both of these respects will be given consideration shortly.) With this understanding of BC1 in mind, when one combines it with the claim that, through the squander of one’s talents, one fails to produce a good in some regard for oneself, one may derive P2: The squander of one’s talents is an immoral-making consequence (i.e., squandering one’s talents is consequentially immoral). Of course, even if BC1 is one of the simplest and most pertinent, conspicuous, and fundamental consequentialist moral claims there is in the present context, it does not follow that it is plausible, all things considered. Let us, then, evaluate BC1 and, with it, the Squandered Talents Argument. In order to do so, we must know what is meant by a “good” for oneself. Though a deep dive into its various possible understandings is beyond the scope of this work, a fundamental and, as such, generally agreed upon understanding will suffice. And, according to such an understanding, a “good” for oneself is a gain in one’s well-being, where “well-­ being” is understood to be a function of the presence or absence of well-being-making properties, standard examples of which include being an instance of pleasure, preference or desire satisfaction, health, knowledge, friendship, accomplishment, and more. On this understanding of “well-being,” then, BC1 may be understood as follows: The failure to produce a gain in some regard in one’s well-being (i.e., in pleasure, preference or desire satisfaction, health, knowledge, friendship, accomplishment, etc.) is an immoral-making consequence. In other words, failing to produce a gain in some regard in one’s well-being is consequentially immoral. Yet, even on this generally agreed upon understanding of a “good” for oneself and, with it, standard examples of what constitutes “well-being,” that failing to produce a good in some regard for oneself is immoral—consequentially or otherwise—is implausible. To begin with, BC1 is no more obviously true or intuitive than is P2. And, once again, P2 is neither obviously true nor intuitive. Indeed, if anything, BC1 is obviously false. For, at bottom, BC1 understands morality to be about how one ought to act with regard to just oneself. And that the scope of morality is properly understood to be so narrow in nature is very difficult to believe, ethical egoism

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notwithstanding.48 (Incidentally, if morality is, in fact, properly understood to be about how one ought to act with regard to just oneself, then all of the consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution that depend on an other-regarding consequentialist moral claim are nonstarters. No doubt many moral critics of prostitution, such as those who argue for the immorality of prostitution by claiming that it undermines the client’s marriage, would find this objectionable.) What’s more, since producing a good in some regard for oneself is consistent with producing an overall bad for oneself, one naturally wonders why failing to produce the former would be immoral, as BC1 alleges (at least, why it always would be so). More to the point, what is immoral about failing to produce a good in some regard for oneself when doing so will produce an overall bad for oneself? Suppose Zeke does not play basketball on a given day and thereby fails to produce a good in some regard for himself. Suppose, further, that he does so since, were he to play basketball on said day, he would be fired from his job, thereby resulting in an overall bad for himself. It is very hard to believe that Zeke’s failure to produce a good in some regard for himself in this way is immoral. Indeed, it is difficult to believe that is even morally criticizable. Other problems with BC1 come to mind, but this should suffice for now. Of course, as indicated previously, BC1 is one of the simplest basic consequentialist moral claims there is. And perhaps that, at bottom, is the source of its problems. It would be prudent, then, to consider basic consequentialist moral claims that are not as, but nevertheless still (relatively speaking), parsimonious. Though there are many candidates from which to choose, the following strike me as among the most plausible candidates of the simplest and most conspicuous, pertinent, and fundamental consequentialist moral claims there are: BC2: BC3: BC4: BC5:

Failing to produce the greatest overall good for oneself and others is consequentially immoral. Failing to produce the best overall outcome for others is consequentially immoral. Failing to produce the best overall average outcome for others is consequentially immoral. Failing to produce the best overall expected average outcome for others is consequentially immoral.

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But, as with BC1, each of these basic consequentialist moral claims is problematic in one way or another, or so I will argue now. Regarding BC2, before we can evaluate it, we need to know what I mean by both “greatest overall good” and “others.” Beginning with the latter, by “others,” I mean all those who are directly or indirectly affected by the act, including, but not necessarily limited to, other human beings. And by “greatest overall good,” I mean the greatest total amount of achievable good for all those affected—that is, the greatest total gain in well-being (standardly construed) for all those affected that the actor is able to achieve given the courses of action that are available to her. With the preceding in mind, relative to BC1, BC2 strikes me as the more plausible of the two. For, among other things, its inclusion of “others” and “greatest overall good” allows it to avoid BC1’s problems of understanding morality to be about how one ought to act with regard to just oneself and of rendering the failure to produce a good in some regard for oneself immoral even when said failure produces an overall bad for oneself. Despite its greater plausibility, however, I find BC2 to be implausible as well, all things considered. To begin with, at least in principle and arguably in practice, some cases involve no “other”—that is, the only one affected by one’s act is oneself. With that in mind, suppose Jen lives alone and, just before going to bed, decides she wants to quench her thirst. Suppose, further, that she wants to do so by drinking either tap water— which, were she to do so, would produce the greatest overall good for herself and others (the latter of which do not exist in this particular case and are thereby nonfactors)—or wine—which will fail to produce the greatest overall good for herself and others (again, who, in this case, are nonfactors). Suppose, finally, that she quenches her thirst by drinking wine. If BC2 is true, then her failure to produce the greatest overall good for herself and others—that is, since no “others” are implicated, her failure to produce the greatest overall good for just herself—is immoral. But this is very difficult to accept. Indeed, I am inclined to think that, in general, failing to produce the greatest overall good for just oneself is not even remotely immoral—imprudent, perhaps, but not an act that one has no moral right to perform. In turn, I am inclined to think that a plausible basic consequentialist moral claim is one that, among other things, does not include reference to the actor himself or herself. What’s more, in addition to some cases involving no “other,” some cases involve no “good.” That is, in some cases, there is no way to act such that one produces a good; rather, each way of acting is such that one

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produces only a bad of one sort or another (e.g., when one must choose between being tortured to death by the enemy at the gates or committing suicide).49 But just as cases in which acting in a way such that one produces a good are proper objects of moral assessment, so (indeed, arguably a fortiori) are cases in which acting in a way such that one produces a bad are proper objects of moral assessment. After all, in both kinds of cases, the well-being of at least one human being is at stake. Another problem with BC2, then, is that it appears to be incapable of rendering moral judgments in cases wherein each way of acting is such that one produces only a bad of one sort or another. Furthermore, BC2 is vulnerable to counterexample. To wit, suppose that Julian is deciding between two acts: (1) making dinner for himself and his guests, which will produce the greatest overall good for himself and others (said guests), and (2) making dinner only for himself and thereby leaving it to his guests to make dinner for themselves, which will fail to produce the greatest overall good for himself and others (again, said guests). Would it be immoral for Julian to make dinner just for himself, thereby failing to produce the greatest overall good for himself and others? Hardly, or so it seems to me (all else being equal, to be clear). Failing to produce the greatest overall good via making dinner just for himself is something Julian has a moral right to do, ostensibly—it is an act that no one has a valid claim against his performing and, accordingly, could be morally justified in preventing Julian from performing, or, if he performs it, in punishing him for having performed it. It might be rude and imprudent of him to do so, of course. But does not appear to be immoral. To be sure, one might respond to the preceding by arguing that, if enough were at stake, it would be immoral for Julian to fail to produce the greatest overall good for himself and his guests via making dinner only for himself. More specifically, one could grant that, though Julian has a moral right to fail to produce the greatest overall good for himself and others in general, moral rights are not absolute, and Julian loses his moral right to do so when enough is at stake. With that in mind, one could argue that if his making dinner for himself and his guests would produce the greatest overall good for himself and others because, by doing so, he would, say, reinvigorate relations with his guests and thereby prevent their dissolution, then it would be immoral for Julian to forgo making dinner. But such a response rests upon a controversial view (albeit one that fits well with consequentialist arguments), namely, that moral rights are not absolute. Some moral philosophers hold that (at least some) moral rights are

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absolute; others do not.50 Which view is most plausible cannot be settled here, naturally. But it is safe to say that neither view is, at first blush, more plausible than the other. Moreover, even if one grants that moral rights are not absolute, one need not also grant that it is immoral to fail to produce the greatest overall good for oneself and others, as BC2 claims. One need only grant that it is immoral for one to do so when enough is at stake. Whether enough is, in fact, at stake, however, depends on one’s particular understanding of “good” and, with it, “well-being,” among other things. And, as indicated above, even standard construals of “well-being” vary significantly. All this to say, that failing to produce the greatest overall good for oneself and others is immoral—as BC2 claims—is doubtful, at least in many cases, such as when enough is not at stake. (Incidentally, it seems to me that, with prostitution, enough is often not at stake. Why it seems this way to me should be rather clear to the reader once he or she has finished reading this book.) Finally, related to the preceding and most significantly, given BC2, any act can be morally permissible, at least in principle if not also in practice. And this is really hard to believe. For example, if Ryan’s murdering someone in a given situation will produce the greatest overall good for himself and others, then, given BC2, it follows that it would be immoral for Ryan not to murder someone in said situation, at least in principle if not in practice as well. In other words, it would be morally permissible for Ryan to murder someone in said situation. But that it would be so is scarcely credible. There are at least two ways in which one might attempt to defend against the preceding objection. One is by arguing that Ryan’s murdering someone will not, in fact, produce the greatest overall good for himself and others, in said situation or any other. But such a defense misses the mark in at least two ways. First, the claim that Ryan’s (or anyone else’s, for that matter) murder of someone will not, in fact, produce the greatest overall good—the greatest total gain in well-being, standardly construed— for himself and others, in said situation or any other, is at least partly empirical in nature. Given this, one naturally wonders what, if any, empirical evidence there is for such a claim. And, in any case, it is very hard to believe that someone’s murder of another never produces the greatest overall good for himself and others (just as it is very hard to believe that it always does). Second, and perhaps more importantly, the objection under consideration pertains partly to what BC2 logically implies in

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principle—that is, what it logically implies prior to establishing matters of nonmoral fact, such as whether Ryan’s murdering someone in the situation will, in fact, produce the greatest total gain in well-being for himself and others. The defense under consideration, however, pertains only to what BC2 logically implies in practice—that is, what it logically implies subsequent to establishing matters of nonmoral fact. As a result, it fails to address the entire objection at hand. Simply put, what BC2 logically implies subsequent to establishing matters of nonmoral fact is neither here nor there when it comes to an objection regarding what it logically implies prior to establishing matters of nonmoral fact. To be sure, some might question the importance of what BC2—or any other basic moral claim (consequentialist or nonconsequentialist) for that matter—logically implies in principle. But on what grounds would one do so? It is difficult to say. To motivate this, consider that we often deem the in-principle logical implications of nonmoral claims to be important. Take, for instance, the claim “When sunlight hits the moon’s surface, the temperature can reach 260 degrees Fahrenheit (127 degrees Celsius).” An in-principle logical implication of this claim is that if one were to take off one’s spacesuit while on the moon and sunlight is hitting its surface, one would incur severe, and likely fatal, burns. And most people would consider this to be an important implication, one in virtue of which they would believe that, regardless of whether one will ever be in a position to do so, one should refrain from taking off a spacesuit while on the moon and sunlight is hitting its surface. Further evidence that we deem the in-­ principle logical implications of nonmoral claims to be important may be found in seemingly every intellectual domain, ranging from the sciences to the fine arts. To take just one example, the discovery of the planet Neptune was partly rooted in an in-principle logical implication of Newton’s law of universal gravitation.51 All this to say, when it comes to nonmoral claims, we often deem the in-principle logical implications of them to be important. And so it is with moral claims, both basic and derived. Focusing on the former, a basic moral claim’s in-principle logical implications are normally among the criteria in terms of which its plausibility is judged. To wit, consider another basic moral claim, one constitutive of the divine command theory (the “God” version of it, in particular): For any act (X), X is morally right because God commands X and X is immoral because God commands not-X. Given this basic moral claim, any act can be morally right or immoral, at least in principle. If God commands that we engage in rape,

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for instance, then rape is, in principle, morally right—that is, it is morally right prior to establishing matters of nonmoral fact, such as whether God does, in fact, command rape. Or, if God commands that we refrain from helping children who, through no fault of their own, are in need, then helping such children is, in principle, immoral—immoral prior to establishing whether God does, in fact, command that we refrain from helping such children. As a result of these in-principle logical implications, some moral philosophers deem this basic moral claim and, with it, the divine command theory implausible. As they see it, rape could never be morally right, and helping such children could never be immoral—not even in principle. They might be incorrect about these things, of course. But, for present purposes, whether they are is not relevant. The point is that what this basic moral claim logically implies in principle is among the criteria in terms of which its plausibility is judged. And so it is with every other basic moral claim.52 A basic moral claim’s in-principle logical implications, then, are normally among the criteria in terms of which its plausibility is judged. I will proceed, then, on the assumption that what basic moral claims— consequentialist or nonconsequentialist—logically imply in principle is important. Indeed, I will consider this to be of particular importance. In the vein of what BC2 logically implies, another, related way in which one might attempt to defend against the objection that, given BC2, any act can be morally permissible, is by appealing to the nature of the conditions that would have to arise in order for Ryan’s murderous act (or any other undesirable and troubling act) to be morally permissible. Writing of consequentialism in general, but directly applicable (mutatis mutandis) to BC2, Philip Pettit presents this defense as follows: It is usually said against consequentialism that it would lead an agent to do horrendous deeds, so long as they promised the best consequences. It would forbid nothing absolutely: not rape, not torture, not even murder. This charge is on target but it is only relevant of course in horrendous circumstances. Thus if someone of ordinary values condoned torture, that would only be in circumstances where there was a great potential gain—the saving of innocent lives, the prevention of a catastrophe—and where there were not the bad consequences involved, say, in state authorities claiming the right to torture. Once it is clear that the charge is relevant only in horrendous circumstances, it ceases to be clearly damaging. After all the non-­ consequentialist will often have to defend an equally unattractive response in such circumstances. It may be awful to think of torturing someone but it must be equally awful to think of not doing so and consequently allowing, say, a massive bomb to go off in some public place.53

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Note that, by claiming that the charge that consequentialism (and, with it, BC2) would forbid nothing absolutely “is on target,” Pettit thereby grants the objection to BC2 under consideration: that, given BC2, any act can be morally permissible, at least in principle if not also in practice. Even so, Pettit does not find this to be “clearly” damaging on the twofold ground that (1) only in horrendous circumstances would it be morally permissible for someone to rape, torture, or murder, and (2) nonconsequentialists will often have to defend “an equally unattractive response in such circumstances.” Beginning with the former, Pettit’s only-in-horrendous-­ circumstances defense of consequentialism—and, with it, the claim that neither rape, torture, nor murder would be absolutely forbidden—is problematic on numerous grounds. To begin with, notice that the act and particular horrendous circumstance on which Pettit focuses are those of torture in a ticking time bomb scenario. Given that Pettit lists three acts that he (correctly) presumes the reader will agree are troubling but, nevertheless, are not absolutely forbidden given consequentialism, a question naturally arises: Whence Pettit’s focus on torture rather than on rape or murder? Pettit does not provide a reason for it, and I will not attempt to establish what he was thinking. I will, however, share a possible reason that immediately comes to mind: most readers are more likely to agree with Pettit’s only-in-horrendous-circumstances defense of consequentialism when it pertains to torture than they are when it pertains to rape or murder. And I have two reasons for thinking that this is so. First, when rape or murder is substituted for torture in the ticking time bomb scenario, one’s intuitive response to Pettit’s only-in-horrendous-­ circumstances defense of consequentialism is, at the very least, muddied. “Torturing someone when doing so will help one discover the location of a ticking time bomb is morally permissible” may very well be intuitive for some people. But I would be very surprised indeed if all of the very same people found the following to be as intuitive, if intuitive at all: “Brutally raping and murdering someone (say, the suspected bomb planter’s innocent, young daughter) when doing so will help one discover the location of a ticking time bomb is morally permissible.” Given this, it seems that the former intuition should be taken with a skeptical grain of salt. Second, and related to the first, the typical ticking-time-bomb-torture scenario involves someone who is tortured because he is deemed (correctly or not) directly or indirectly responsible for the ticking time bomb and, to that extent, less than innocent. Accordingly, in addition to the morally relevant consequentialist factor at work in this case—that of a

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great potential gain—there is another morally relevant factor at work: the tortured individual’s presumed lack of innocence due to his direct or indirect responsibility for the ticking time bomb. And the addition of this particular morally relevant factor increases the probability that most readers are more likely to agree with Pettit’s only-in-horrendous-circumstances defense of consequentialism when it pertains to torture than they are when it pertains to rape or murder. After all, in both the typical rape case and the typical murder case, the one who is raped or murdered is presumed innocent. Said addition also serves as a, if not the, cause of the aforementioned muddied intuitive response to Pettit’s only-in-horrendous-­ circumstances defense of consequentialism. Combining my two reasons for thinking that most readers are more likely to agree with Pettit’s only-in-horrendous-circumstances defense of consequentialism when it pertains to torture than they are when it pertains to rape or murder, let us evaluate said defense through the lens of the following case. Suppose that in a given horrendous circumstance, there is a great potential gain (I will leave it to the Pettits of the world to decide the nature of said gain) to be had if an innocent, young female—one who, as innocent, is in no way responsible for a ticking time bomb or anything else that would render her anything less than so—must be brutally raped and murdered by someone (it matters not who). Given Pettit’s only-in-horrendous-circumstances defense of consequentialism, it would be morally permissible for someone to brutally rape and murder her. Should we agree with this conclusion? Despite agreeing that said rape and murder takes place in a horrendous circumstance, many of us do not think that we should, holding that such a rape and murder would be immoral nonetheless. This brings us to Pettit’s second ground for not finding the fact that consequentialism forbids nothing absolutely to be “clearly” damaging, namely, that nonconsequentialists will often have to defend an equally unattractive response under such conditions. Again, as he writes, “It may be awful to think of torturing someone but it must be equally awful to think of not doing so and consequently allowing, say, a massive bomb to go off in some public place.” But that it is equally awful to think these things (assuming, of course, that it is) has largely to do with (once again) the act and horrendous circumstance on which Pettit focuses: torture in a ticking time bomb scenario. Had he focused on rape or murder instead, I find it hard to believe that he and/or many of his readers would deem these thoughts equally awful. To motivate this, let us compare Pettit’s “equally awful” statement with a similar statement regarding the

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aforementioned brutal rape and murder of the suspected bomb planter’s innocent, young daughter: Pettit’s statement: It may be awful to think of torturing someone but it must be equally awful to think of not doing so and consequently allowing, say, a massive bomb to go off in some public place. Similar statement: It may be awful to think of brutally raping and murdering an innocent, young person but it must be equally awful to think of not doing so and consequently allowing, say, a massive bomb to go off in some public place.

For the sake of the argument, I am simply going to grant that thinking of torturing someone is equally awful to thinking of not doing so and consequently allowing a massive bomb to go off in some public place. But is thinking of brutally raping and murdering an innocent, young person equally awful to thinking of not doing so and consequently allowing a massive bomb to go off in some public place? I will leave it for the reader to decide. But I would not be surprised if, like me, many readers find thinking of brutally raping and murdering an innocent, young person to be more awful than thinking of not doing so and consequently allowing a massive bomb to go off in some public place. More could be said about BC2, of course, but the preceding will have to do for now. This brings us to BC3: Failing to produce the best overall outcome for others is consequentially immoral. Before we can evaluate it, we need to know what I mean by “best overall outcome” and, with it, “overall outcome.” Beginning with the latter, by “overall outcome,” I mean the sum of an act’s good consequences (if it has any) minus its bad consequences (again, if it has any). By “best overall outcome,” then, I mean the best total achievable outcome for all those affected (again [and hereafter], other human beings, at least)—that is, the greatest sum of an act’s good consequences minus its bad consequences for all those affected that the actor is able to achieve given the courses of action that are available to him. Accordingly, in the aforementioned cases where there is no way to act such that one produces a good but, rather, each way of acting is such that one produces only a bad of one sort or another, the best overall outcome would be the act with the least-worst bad consequences for all those affected that the actor is able to achieve given the courses of action that are available to him.

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With the preceding in mind, BC3 strikes me as more plausible than both BC1 and BC2. For, among other things, its inclusion of “overall outcome” and exclusion of “oneself” allows BC3 to avoid the problems of being incapable of rendering moral judgments in cases where producing only a bad is possible as well as of rendering failing to produce the best overall good for just oneself immoral. Despite its greater plausibility, however, I find BC3 to be implausible too, all things considered. For instance, just as BC2 is subject to counterexample, so also is BC3. The case above involving Julian and his guests is, mutatis mutandis, a case in point: it does not seem to be immoral for Julian to fail to produce the best overall outcome for others via making dinner just for himself. Relatedly, and more significantly, given BC3, any act can be morally permissible. The case above involving Ryan is, mutatis mutandis, a case in point: it does not seem to be morally permissible for Ryan to murder someone even when doing so will produce the best overall outcome for others. Finally, consider that one way to fail to produce the best overall outcome for others is via producing the best overall average outcome for others. With that in mind, suppose that a king has the opportunity to add as many people as he wants to his kingdom which, at the moment of his decision, consists of 1000 people, each of whom has a life that is about as good as it can be. (Since the use of numbers is helpful here, let us say that each life consists of 10,000 units of goodness, and so collectively the kingdom’s people account for 10,000,000 units of goodness in total.) Suppose, also, that he is deciding to do so in one of two ways: (1) adding 1000 people, each of whom has a life that is rather good (consisting of 8000 units of goodness), thereby resulting in an overall outcome of 18,000,000 units of goodness and an overall average outcome of 9000 units of goodness, and (2) adding 1,000,000 people, each of whom has a life that is rather bad (consisting of only 2000 units of goodness), thereby resulting in an overall outcome of 2,010,000,000 units of goodness and an overall average outcome of 2007 units of goodness. Given that doing (2) produces the best overall outcome, it would be immoral for the king to do (1), according to BC3. But this seems incorrect, everything else being equal. Accordingly, one might argue that the moral permissibility of someone’s act is a function, not of the act’s best overall outcome for others, but of its best overall average outcome for others.54 This brings us to BC4: Failing to produce the best overall average outcome for others is consequentially immoral. Though BC4 strikes me as an improvement on BC1–BC3, it nevertheless appears to be implausible, all

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things considered. To begin with, BC4 is subject to counterexample. Suppose Lacey is considering killing an innocent but miserable and highly unpleasant man (without his consent, to be clear) whose life is about as bad as can be. Suppose, also, that if Lacey does, in fact, kill him, she will thereby produce the best overall average outcome since the man’s misery, unpleasantness, and particularly bad quality of life drags the overall average down. Given BC4, it would be immoral for Lacey not to kill the man—in other words, it would be morally permissible for her to kill him. And this strikes me as patently false. Relatedly, given BC4, any act can be morally permissible (indeed, Lacey’s case is a case in point). Finally, in some cases, though one sincerely attempts to produce the best overall average outcome for others, one fails to do so as a result of one’s inculpable ignorance. Yet, despite the fact that one’s failure is rooted in ignorance for which one is not to blame, one does that which is immoral, according to BC4. And this is a worrisome implication. To motivate this, suppose, for instance, that, after having given serious consideration to all of the relevant evidence available to him, Tayloe performs an act that, based on said evidence, he expects to produce the best overall average outcome for others. Suppose, also, that said act fails, nevertheless, to produce the best overall average outcome for others. Suppose, finally, that Tayloe’s erroneous expectation that said act would produce the best overall average outcome for others was rooted in inculpable ignorance— through no fault of his own, he did not know about an important contributing factor to the act’s outcome, one that, had he known about, would have ensured that he did not expect said act to produce the best overall average outcome for others and, in turn, that he acted differently. Even though Tayloe’s erroneous expectation was rooted in inculpable ignorance, Tayloe’s failure to produce the best overall average outcome for others is immoral, given BC4. But such an assessment seems to miss the mark. To be sure, his failure to produce the best overall average outcome for others might be unfortunate and upsetting. But that it is immoral is hard to accept. Accordingly, one might argue that the moral permissibility of someone’s act is a function, not of the act’s best overall average outcome for others, but of its best overall expected average outcome for others.55 This brings us to BC5: Failing to produce the best overall expected average outcome for others is consequentially immoral. Like each successive basic consequentialist moral claim covered so far, BC5 marks an improvement on the basic consequentialist moral claims that precede it,

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arguably. But like BC1–BC4, it too is implausible, all things considered, or so I am inclined to think. To begin with, BC5 is subject to counterexample. Suppose Penelope, who has decided to produce offspring via in vitro fertilization, is choosing between two sets of embryos to be transferred to her uterus. The first set, (1), consists of one embryo with an overall expected outcome of 10,000 units of goodness and another with an overall expected outcome of 1 unit of goodness, thereby resulting in an overall expected average outcome of 5000.5 units of goodness. The second set, (2), consists of two embryos, each of which with an overall expected outcome of 5000 units of goodness, thereby resulting in an overall expected average outcome of 5000 units of goodness. Given that choosing (1) will result in producing the best overall expected average outcome, it would be immoral for Penelope to choose (2), according to BC5. But this is strongly counterintuitive. Or, for those averse to cases involving embryos, suppose a deity is going to create two persons and is deciding between doing so in one of two ways: (1) creating one in such a way that the expected outcome for it is 10,000 units of goodness and the other in such a way that the expected outcome for it is 1 unit of goodness, thereby resulting in an overall expected average outcome of 5000.5 units of goodness; and (2) creating one in such a way that the expected outcome for it is 5000 units of goodness and the other in such a way that the expected outcome for it is also 5000 units of goodness, thereby resulting in an overall expected average outcome of 5000 units of goodness.56 Given that doing (1) produces the best overall expected average outcome, it would be immoral for the deity to do (2), according to BC5. But, as before, this is strongly counterintuitive. Additionally, as with BC1–BC4, given BC5, any act can be morally permissible (once more, the cases above involving Ryan and Lacey are, mutatis mutandis, cases in point: it does not seem morally permissible for Ryan or Lacey to murder someone even when doing so will produce the best overall expected average outcome for others). More objections could be raised against BC1–BC5, but these will have to suffice for now. And, naturally, replies to the preceding objections are available. To wit, some might argue that the implausibility of BC1–BC5 is rooted in the fact that they are presented apart from even more basic consequentialist moral claims from which they may be derived. (Recall from Chap. 1, if you will, that, given how we are understanding basic moral claims here, there is no contradiction in the idea of deriving one basic moral claim from another.) Although this is a possibility, it is unclear that such basic consequentialist moral claims even exist. After all, BC1–BC5

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are all quite fundamental, so much so that it is difficult to conceive of basic consequentialist moral claims that could logically precede them—plausible ones, at any rate. Some might argue that the implausibility of BC1–BC5 is rooted in the fact that they are written in terms of an actual consequence instead of a usual consequence. Specifically, they might argue that BC1–BC5 should be rejected in favor of BC6–BC10, which are just BC1–BC5 rewritten in terms of usual consequences. For instance, BC6—the failure to perform an act that usually results in a good in some regard for oneself is consequentially immoral—is just BC1 rewritten in terms of a usual consequence (for the rest, see the following endnote).57 But, as I see it, BC6–BC10 are no more plausible than BC1–BC5—or, at least, not significantly so. For the former are subject to virtually all of the same objections to which the latter are subject. To wit, BC6–BC10 would still render any act morally permissible in principle if not also in practice. What’s more, it is hard to believe that an act could be morally permissible or immoral in virtue of the fact that it usually produces a particular outcome even when it does not, in fact, produce said outcome. To make this more concrete, suppose that sleeping all day usually fails to produce the greatest overall good for oneself and others. Suppose, also, that Stephen sleeps all day on a given Saturday but, in doing so, does not fail to produce the greatest overall good for himself and others (namely, his wife and son). It is very hard to believe that Stephen’s sleeping all day is nevertheless immoral, as BC7 dictates. Indeed, it does not even appear to be morally criticizable. Substituting BC6–BC10 for BC1–BC5, then, appears to do little, if anything, to help. Some might argue instead that the implausibility of BC1–BC5 (as well as BC6–BC10 for that matter) is rooted in the fact that each understands “good” or “outcome” in terms of well-being without regard to morally relevant ways in which well-being may be distributed. To wit, none understands “good” or “outcome” in terms of the equal or fair distribution of well-being. But that this is so seems to make no significant difference. Beginning with the former, even when “good” or “outcome” is understood as “well-being and the equal distribution thereof” and BC1–BC10 are rewritten accordingly (giving us BC11–BC20—see the following endnote), the latter basic consequentialist moral claims are subject to virtually all of the same objections to which BC1–BC10 are subject.58 For instance, BC11–BC20 would still render any act morally permissible in principle if not also in practice. To take just one of them, BC12 (the failure to

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produce the greatest overall good—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—for oneself and others is consequentially immoral), if Barbara’s accusing an innocent person of a crime (say, murder) will produce the greatest overall equally distributed well-being for herself and others, then, given BC12, it follows that it would be morally permissible for Barbara to accuse the innocent person of said crime, at least in principle if not in practice as well. And this is implausible. But what about when “good” or “outcome” is understood as “well-­ being and the fair distribution thereof”? When BC1–BC10 are rewritten accordingly (giving us BC21–BC30—see the following endnote), are the latter basic consequentialist moral claims subject to virtually all of the same objections to which BC1–BC10 are subject even then?59 It depends, in part, on what is meant by “fair.” If by “fair” what is meant is “equal” or its equivalent, then, à la the preceding discussion, they are. If, however, by “fair” what is meant is “just” or “deserved,” then they may not be—it depends on whether the concepts of “just” and “deserved” are grounded in consequentialist moral claims. If they are, then, once again, BC21– BC30 subject to virtually all of the same objections. If they are not so grounded, then BC21–BC30 are not subject to said objections. But they are also no longer basic consequentialist moral claims and, thus, are not applicable to the Squandered Talents Argument. Finally, some would argue that the implausibility of BC1–BC5—indeed, of BC6–BC30 as well—is rooted in the fact that they are consequentialist moral claims and, thus, fundamentally unconstrained by considerations of moral rights and other moral entitlements. (As the reader may have surmised, this is one of the grounds on which I find BC1–BC30 implausible.) That said, even basic moral claims that are constrained by moral rights and other moral entitlements can be, and sometimes are, implausible—or so I will argue in Chap. 4. More could be said both for and against basic consequentialist moral claims such as BC1–BC30, of course, but the preceding will have to do for now. Beyond BC1–BC30, however, it is a challenge to think of a basic consequentialist moral claim that is significantly different from them and plausible enough to be given consideration here. To be clear, basic moral claims that differ significantly from BC1–B30 come to mind. It is just that they are nonconsequentialist in nature and, as such, not eligible for inclusion in a consequentialist argument for the immorality of prostitution. Drawing from Chaps. 4 and 5, such basic nonconsequentialist moral claims—“BN”s, for short—include:

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BN1: BN2:

Acquiring an unearned pleasure is nonconsequentially immoral. Enabling an act that is nonconsequentially immoral is nonconsequentially immoral. BN3: Violating the Categorical Imperative is nonconsequentially immoral. BN4: Doing that which is irrational is nonconsequentially immoral. BN5: Acting as a vicious agent would characteristically act in the circumstances is nonconsequentially immoral. BN6: Degrading oneself is nonconsequentially immoral. BN7: Subjecting oneself to exploitation is nonconsequentially immoral. BN8: Subordinating oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts is nonconsequentially immoral. BN9: Doing that which sacred text T claims to be immoral is nonconsequentially immoral. BN10: Doing that which sacred text T’s omniscient author, D, believes to be immoral is nonconsequentially immoral. BN11: Violating the commands of sacred text T’s author, D, is nonconsequentially immoral. It appears, then, that a basic consequentialist moral claim which can undergird P2 as well as overcome counterexamples such as those previously discussed is lacking. Accordingly, there seems to be no good reason to think that P2 is true. Before moving on to my discussion of P3, a very important caveat regarding my critique of consequentialist moral claims—basic or otherwise—is in order. Recall, if you will, that, as understood here, a consequentialist moral claim is a claim that understands the moral permissibility or immorality of an act to be wholly a function of a supposed moral-­ making or immoral-making consequence the act is said to involve, whether intrinsically or typically. Despite how it might appear to some, my critique of consequentialist moral claims is not to be understood as claiming that an act’s moral permissibility or immorality is not at all a function of a supposed moral-making or immoral-making consequence it is said to involve. Indeed, I am inclined to think that the empirical consequences of acts matter morally to some extent. Instead, my critique of consequentialist moral claims is to be understood as claiming that an act’s moral permissibility or immorality is not wholly a function of a supposed moral-making or immoral-making consequence it is said to involve.

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On P3 Is it true that if prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral? Given the way “immoral-making consequence” has been construed here—namely, a consequence that renders the act that produces it immoral—not only is this true, it is so analytically. Whether a given immoral-making consequence is also an outweighing immoral-making consequence—that is, one that renders P5 of the Prudential Goods Argument false—is a separate question. And as my critiques of this and the rest of the consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution indicate, I do not think that prostitution involves—intrinsically or generally extrinsically—any outweighing immoral-making consequences. It should be noted here that every consequentialist argument for the immorality of prostitution hereafter explicitly contains a premise identical in substance to P3. Indeed, in all but one case, it is referred to as “P3” as well. But given that P3 is analytically true, I will forego addressing it explicitly in the arguments to come. Conclusion Given the position of my discussion of the Squandered Talents Argument (first among the consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution) and, with it, the front-loading of objections to consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution, a few concluding remarks would be beneficial. To begin with, though more could be said about the Squandered Talents Argument, this will have to suffice for now. As I wrote in the acknowledgements section of this book, due to the lack of a monograph that is dedicated to providing an argument for the moral permissibility of prostitution and critiquing a wide variety of arguments for its immorality, I have chosen to cast my net wide here so as to cover an extensive and varied set of what I take to be the most common and/or plausible arguments for and against the moral permissibility of prostitution. As a result, this argument, and the objections raised against it, could be—and at some point should be—isolated and developed even further. (And so it is with many of the arguments to be evaluated below.) Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that the Squandered Talents Argument fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

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Of course, even if the Squandered Talents Argument fails to do this, it might still be morally criticizable or imprudent for the prostitute to squander her talents through prostitution. But it is not clear to me that it is either of these things. Like the issue of whether it is immoral, the issue of whether prostitution is morally criticizable depends on whether there is a basic consequentialist moral claim that can not only underpin the claim that it is but outweigh potential counterexamples. And that there is such a basic consequentialist moral claim seems doubtful (this will be clearer upon finishing the book). Whether it is imprudent, on the other hand, turns on the prostitute’s desires, interests, purposes, and needs, and these things can vary from prostitute to prostitute. Similar concluding remarks could be made with regard to each of the consequentialist arguments that follow. But I will forgo making them and, instead, merely ask that the reader keep these concluding remarks in mind as he or she finishes reading about said arguments.

The Sexually Transmitted Diseases Argument The Sexually Transmitted Diseases Argument is as follows: P1:  Prostitution involves the acquisition and/or spread of sexually transmitted diseases. P2: The acquisition and/or spread of sexually transmitted diseases is an immoral-making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3:  If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it the case that prostitution involves the acquisition and/or spread of sexually transmitted diseases (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute acquires and/or spreads sexually transmitted diseases)? To determine whether it is, we need to know what is meant by “sexually transmitted” diseases. At first glance, one might think that a sexually transmitted disease is a disease that can be transmitted solely through sexual activity. But such is not the case. A sexually transmitted disease is a disease or infection that is transmitted primarily, though not exclusively, through

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sexual activity. To wit, one of the most well-known sexually transmitted diseases, HIV, is a disease that also can be acquired and/or spread through intravenous drug use (a fact of significant import, it turns out, as will be discussed shortly). Accordingly, what is meant by “sexually transmitted” diseases is not diseases that can be transmitted only through sexual activity. Rather, what is meant is diseases that are primarily, though not exclusively, transmitted through sexual activity. With this understanding of “sexually transmitted” diseases in mind, P1 may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute acquires and/or spreads diseases that are transmitted primarily through sexual activity. Is this true? Some people certainly perceive it to be. As sociologist JaneMaree Maher, criminologist Sharon Pickering, and criminologist Alison Gerard write, “Sex work has traditionally been strongly associated with public health as a result of the role sex workers were perceived as playing in the spread of sexually transmitted diseases, particularly HIV (acquired immune deficiency syndrome) in recent decades.”60 But more than just perception is at work here. For empirical evidence exists showing that it is true that some prostitutes acquire and/or spread sexually transmitted diseases through prostitution. According to a 2012 report prepared for the National Institutes of Justice, for instance, involvement in prostitution is linked to many sexually transmitted diseases, such as HIV and hepatitis. “Rates of infectious disease,” the report notes, “are from five to 60 times higher among providers of commercial sex than in general populations.”61 Whether such rates establish that, in general, prostitutes acquire and/or spread sexually transmitted diseases is unclear. But, at the very least, they lend some support to the claim that they do. (And it is worth noting here that even if such rates do, in fact, establish that prostitutes generally acquire and/or spread sexually transmitted diseases and, thus, that P1 is true, P2 is rather clearly false—or so I will argue.) Having said that, there also is empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes do not acquire and/or spread sexually transmitted diseases through prostitution, that some instances of such acquiring and/or spreading are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due at least in part to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution. Taking each of these things in turn, empirical evidence exists showing that some prostitutes avoid acquiring and/or spreading sexually transmitted diseases through prostitution. To wit, Sanders et  al. report that prostitutes who insist on safer sex and require their clients to use condoms (of which there are many) have a much lower rate of HIV-transmission than those who do

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not.62 To be sure, that some prostitutes do not acquire and/or spread HIV through prostitution is no guarantee that some prostitutes do not acquire and/or spread sexually transmitted diseases through prostitution. But it stands to reason that the latter is true as well, given the aforementioned insistence on safer sex, condom-use requirement, and (as is done in some legal brothels) testing for sexually transmitted diseases. Regarding the insistence on safer sex and condom-use requirement, one prostitute, Melanie, had this to say about it: “On a daily basis you get guys and you could be in a room for half an hour and they’re arguing with you for 20 minutes. And as I say to them, ‘Look you know you’re paying for this so we can sit and argue all you want.’ I say, ‘This is my job, I’m sorry but I have to think of the other people as well as myself and I can’t take the risk and that’s all there is to it.’”63 As for testing for sexually transmitted diseases, Weitzer reports that the extent to which prostitutes risk exposure to sexually transmitted diseases varies between indoor and outdoor workers. “HIV is rare among call girls and among women working in legal brothels in Australia, Holland, and Nevada,” he writes, and “[n]one of Nevada’s legal brothel workers has tested HIV-positive since testing was mandated in 1985.”64 Indeed, some prostitutes report having never acquired a sexually transmitted disease through prostitution. Tarah is one such prostitute, despite having worked as a prostitute for 24 years. “My sexual health has always been good. I really could say I haven’t picked up anything in all the years of work. I got Herpes through a boyfriend, so, you know that’s a constant battle with work and a lot of anti-Herpes sort of medication.”65 This brings us to some instances of such acquiring and/or spreading being systemic in nature. To begin with the Weitzer quote above, it is rather clear that the extent to which the prostitute acquires and/or spreads sexually transmitted diseases through prostitution is partly a function of the latter’s legal status. That HIV is rare among prostitutes who work in legal brothels in Australia, Holland, and Nevada might be merely coincidental, of course. But it is all but impossible to believe that it is. Legal brothels invariably involve rules and regulations, one of the purposes of which is reduce the extent to which the prostitute acquires and/or spreads sexually transmitted diseases. And that such rules and regulations and, with them, the legalization of prostitution are not responsible whatsoever for such a reduction when it occurs is implausible. Conversely, and as discussed previously, the legal prohibition of prostitution renders prostitutes (qua prostitutes) legally unprotected which, in turn, makes them more

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likely to make hasty decisions vis-à-vis the selection of clients and the use of contraception. Given this, as well as Sanders et  al.’s report that the prevalence of HIV correlates with the degree to which prostitutes make use of condoms, the acquisition and/or spread of a sexually transmitted disease that is due to making such a hasty decision is systemic in nature, at least in part. Also, and as Kuo notes, “fear of legal repercussions makes prostitutes less likely to access medical treatment for job-related illnesses. Thus, contrary to the claim that criminalization will lessen the spread of STDs, it may contribute to their increase, especially among street prostitutes.”66 As for some such instances of acquiring and/or spreading being due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution, one such thing is intravenous drug use. Sociologists Judith Porter and Louis Bonilla observe that, with regard to prostitutes in both the U.S. and abroad, HIV infection is more strongly associated with injected drug use than with prostitution per se.67 Similarly, Weitzer notes that the highest incidence of HIV infection among outdoor-working prostitutes is found among those who inject drugs.68 To wit, according to one study on the matter, those who conducted it found that the highest prevalence of HIV-infected prostitutes was among outdoor-working prostitutes in Newark, New Jersey. Nearly 95  percent of these prostitutes were intravenous-drug users and 48 percent of them had HIV. And, of the latter, nearly 59 percent were intravenous-drug users. In Nevada, on the other hand, the same researchers found that only 27 percent of the prostitutes studied were or had been intravenous-drug users and none of the prostitutes (drug using or not) had tested positive for HIV.69 Other instances of such acquiring and/or spreading being due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution are those involving non-­ prostitutional sex. As with the previously mentioned prostitute, Tarah, some prostitutes acquire and/or spread sexually transmitted diseases the old fashion way, as it were: through acts of non-prostitutional sex. Not all prostitutes who acquire and/or spread sexually transmitted diseases, then, do so through prostitutional sex. In sum, though empirical evidence exists which, at the very least, lends some support to the claim that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally acquire and/or spread sexually transmitted diseases, it is difficult to say if said evidence settles whether this is, in fact, so. What’s more, there is empirical evidence indicating that in some cases the prostitute does not acquire and/or spread sexually transmitted diseases through prostitution,

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that some instances of such acquiring and/or spreading are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution. On P2 Is it the case that the acquisition and/or spread of sexually transmitted diseases is an immoral-making consequence (i.e., is acquiring and/or spreading sexually transmitted diseases consequentially immoral)? This is very difficult to believe. As with preceding arguments’ P2s, this P2 is neither obviously true nor intuitive, and it is open to counterexample. Suppose Debra, who is HIV-positive, is married to Danny, who is HIV-­ negative and, as Debra’s husband, fully aware that Debra is HIV-positive. Suppose also that, despite their use of contraception and other efforts at preventing the transmission of HIV, Danny comes to acquire HIV through coital sex with Debra. That Debra’s spread of HIV to Danny is immoral is very difficult to believe. In fact, it does not even appear to be morally criticizable. To be sure, it might be imprudent, depending on what Debra’s and Danny’s respective desires, interests, purposes, and needs are. But that it is immoral—that it is something Debra had no moral right to do and someone has a valid claim against her having done so—is scarcely credible. Incidentally, from the case of Debra and Danny a lesson may be drawn and applied to a particular case of prostitution. The case that I have in mind is one in which the prostitute has HIV (or some other sexually transmissible disease), has informed her client of this, has ensured that her client is aware that he risks acquiring HIV via having sex with her, and has confirmed that the client is willing to risk acquiring HIV via having sex with her. Just as in the case of Debra and Danny it seems that Debra’s transmission of HIV to Danny is not immoral, so in this case it seems that, when it occurs, the prostitute’s transmission of HIV to her client is not immoral. P2, then, seems to require a basic consequentialist moral claim that can not only underpin it but outweigh counterexamples such as the preceding. BC1–BC30 will not do (or so I have argued), as they are subject to the aforementioned objections. Some might propose BC31: Failing to prevent another from engaging in potentially (seriously) unhealthy or otherwise (seriously) dangerous behavior is consequentially immoral. and/or

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BC32: Enabling another to engage in potentially (seriously) unhealthy or otherwise (seriously) dangerous behavior is consequentially immoral. But not only are BC31 and BC32 less fundamental than BC1–BC30, they, too, are subject to counterexample. Indeed, the aforementioned case involving Debra and her husband is one such counterexample. Or, regarding BC31, suppose Sylvia is able to prevent her mentally competent and well-educated brother, Jaime, from engaging in the potentially (seriously) dangerous behavior of cliff diving, of which Jaime knows (both theoretically and practically) quite a bit. Suppose, also, that, out of respect for his ability to make voluntary, informed decisions for himself, Sylvia chooses not to do so. Is Sylvia’s failure to prevent Jaime from engaging in said behavior immoral? This seems rather unlikely—indeed, it does not appear to be even morally criticizable. With respect to BC32, suppose Kate has the opportunity to enable her well-educated and mentally competent friend, Danielle, to engage in the potentially (seriously) dangerous behavior of climbing Mount Everest, of which Danielle knows (both theoretically and practically) quite a bit. Suppose, also, out of respect for Danielle’s ability to make voluntary, informed decisions for herself, Kate enables her to do so. Is Kate’s enabling Danielle to engage in said behavior immoral? This, too, seems rather unlikely. And beyond BC1–BC32, it is difficult to think of another basic consequentialist moral claim that could do the job. As of now, then, a basic consequentialist moral claim that underpins P2 is lacking; as is, in turn, a reason to accept P2. There is more one could say about the Sexually Transmitted Diseases Argument, of course. But the preceding will have to suffice. Nevertheless, given what has been covered here, it appears that it does not succeed in establishing that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

The Mental Health Argument Unlike the first two consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution discussed thus far, the Mental Health Argument comes in two versions: the occupational hazards version and the bodily parts version. I will consider each in turn.

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The Mental Health Argument (Occupational Hazards Version) The Mental Health Argument (Occupational Hazards Version) is as follows: P1: Due to its occupational hazards, prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to severe mental health problems. P2: The subjection of oneself to severe mental health problems is an immoral-making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3:  If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it true that, due to its occupational hazards, prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to severe mental health problems (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution’s occupational hazards, the prostitute subjects herself to severe mental health problems)? There is empirical evidence suggesting that this is true of some prostitutes. Sanders et al. write of various studies on the matter, one of which notes that the prostitutes who participated reported a variety of mental health problems, including depression, stress, panic attacks, insomnia, eating disorders, and manic depression.70 Another study found that the majority of the prostitutes who participated claimed that prostitution had had an adverse impact on their mental health, and many of them reported to have had experienced depression, anxiety, apathy, low self-esteem, emotional detachment and/or isolation.71 And similar findings by like studies are available.72 What’s more, such mental health problems can lead to behavior which, in turn, reinforces and prolongs said problems. As Carter and Giobbe write of a study on the matter, researchers found that sex workers with high depression rates were more likely to report high-risk behaviors. Depression contributes to a higher level of isolation. Sadness and apathy associated with depression interferes with motivation. PTSD causes clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational or other important areas of functioning and a sense of foreshortened future … Symptoms associated with depression and PTSD, and other emotional stressors, contribute to the woman’s inability to extricate themselves from the sex industry.73

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All this to say, empirical evidence exists suggesting that, through the occupational hazards of prostitution, some prostitutes subject themselves to mental health problems. However, notwithstanding the study which found that the majority of the prostitutes who participated claimed that prostitution had had an adverse impact on their mental health, said evidence does not establish that, in general, prostitutes subject themselves to severe mental health problems through the occupational hazards of prostitution—that is, that the majority of street-, brothel-, massage parlor-, sauna-, club-, bar-, window-, call girl-, girlfriend experience-working prostitutes subject themselves so through prostitution’s occupational hazards. (To be sure, it might establish that prostitutes commonly subject themselves to severe mental health problems through the occupational hazards of prostitution. But, per our discussion in Chap. 2, that prostitutes commonly do so does not entail that they generally do so.) Furthermore, there is empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes do not subject themselves to severe mental health problems through prostitution, that many instances of such subjections are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due to something other than the occupational hazards of prostitution. Beginning with the former, empirical evidence exists showing that some prostitutes avoid subjecting themselves to severe mental health problems through prostitution, particularly those who work indoors. As Weitzer writes, “Indoor workers tend to be more adjusted and satisfied with their work than street workers, and the former differ little from non-prostitutes in mental health and self-esteem.”74 Escorts and call girls, for example, tend to have the financial, social, and emotional means to organize their work in ways conducive for maintaining healthy self-images.75 Another study found that 50 percent of call girls and brothel workers deemed their work a major source of satisfaction in their lives, with 70 percent of them reporting that they would “definitely choose” to do this work if they could start over.76 Yet another study on call girls found that 97 percent of them claimed an increase in self-esteem after they began working as prostitutes.77 Similar to the preceding, a study of indoor prostitutes found that 75 percent of them felt that their life had improved after entering prostitution (the other 25 percent reported no change), and more than 50 percent said that, in general, they enjoyed their work.78 With respect to many instances of such subjections being systemic in nature, Weitzer reports that some of the psychological problems to which prostitutes subject themselves are a product of the stress and danger

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associated with outdoor prostitution.79 And one of the reasons outdoor prostitution is as stressful and dangerous as it is, of course, is that it is illegal where it is performed (where it is, in fact, illegal, to be clear). For, as discussed above, the legal prohibition of prostitution renders prostitutes (qua prostitutes) legally unprotected which, in turn, makes them vulnerable to being exploited, beaten, killed, or otherwise harmed by clients, pimps, police officers, and others; more likely to make hasty decisions visà-vis the selection of clients, use of contraception, and locations of service; more likely to service clients in places where they are more susceptible to being exploited, beaten, killed, or otherwise harmed by clients; and so on. Such psychological problems, then, are at least partly systemic in nature. So it is with the feeling of isolation experienced by some prostitutes.80 One of the reasons they feel so isolated is that prostitution is illegal where they provide their prostitutional services (again, where it is, in fact, illegal). For, as such, it is pushed underground, as it were, and prostitutes are thus required to work clandestinely and, at times, alone.81 It also forces them to conceal from their family, friends, and acquaintances the fact that they are prostitutes. As one prostitute puts it, “Everybody here is in the same position as me—nobody knows in their family where they work. Most of the girls here, their families don’t know and like me, it is a constant lie. I couldn’t say to my aunts or brother that I own a sauna because they would think I was a really, really bad person. You class people like that like the Mafia.”82 In a similar vein, another puts it this way: “You’re more socially isolated because you can’t be honest with people and the people that, you know, you learn over the years that you can really fuck yourself up. Like, wanting to share that information with someone who then turns around and can threaten you or use it against you.”83 The psychological problem of feeling isolated, then, is at least partly systemic in nature as well. And so it is (finally) with the apparent stigma-induced mental health problems that some prostitutes experience. Numerous studies indicate both that stigma is strongly correlated with some prostitutes’ mental health problems and that the criminalization of prostitution is a central factor in exacerbating said stigma.84 Regarding the former, as the previously mentioned quote from Polly indicates (“People don’t see that we are normal people; we are either dirty or we have got no brains to do anything else”), prostitutes can internalize destructive messages that function as a kind of self-stigmatization. Indeed, prostitutes of one study claimed that stigma was one of their major concerns.85 Said prostitutes resented what they took to be the public perception of prostitutes as diseased, criminal,

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victims, drug addicts, promiscuous, and without a moral code or values. In short, and in other words, they resented what they took to be the community-at-large’s scorn for them.86 Relatedly, they also reported that the stigma originates, not with their own attitudes toward prostitution, but with society’s.87 As one prostitute puts it, “It’s the way whores are seen in society. It’s difficult. But that’s what you take on, you know, I’m not complaining about it. It’s just, you asked me what’s difficult and that’s what’s difficult.”88 (Ericsson’s claim that “[t]he principal cause of these psychological and sociological ‘dysfunctions’ is the social anathema attached to their [prostitutes’] way of life” echoes these sentiments.)89 As for the latter, Sanders et al. report that, for the prostitutes who participated in their study who experienced and suffered from the stigma associated with prostitution, said stigma was intertwined with the criminalization of prostitution in particular way, namely, the latter exacerbated the former.90 Stigma-induced mental health problems, then, is yet another psychological problem that is at least partly systemic in nature. And it is worth noting that the stigmatization of prostitution can lead to the previously discussed source of mental health problems, namely, the feeling of isolation.91 Regarding some instances of such subjections being due to something other than the occupational hazards of prostitution, one such thing is (once again) drug use. As the National Institute of Drug Abuse reports, chronic use of certain drugs can result in both short- and long-term alterations to the brain which, in turn, can lead to a variety of mental health problems, including paranoia, depression, anxiety, aggression, and hallucinations.92 And numerous studies have found high levels of drug and alcohol abuse among prostitutes. According to three studies, 75, 94, and 95 percent of the prostitutes involved in them (respectively) claimed to be chemically dependent. In another study, 55  percent of the prostitutes involved in it claimed to always being high when performing prostitutional services and another 34 percent claimed to be high at least half of the time. (Hence Høigård and Finstad’s observation that “[d]rug use is a central element in many prostitutes’ everyday life.”)93 Given the National Institute of Drug Abuse report, it is likely that at least some prostitutional subjections to severe mental health problems are a result of drug use. Indeed, this is supported by Sanders et al.’s research, according to which prostitutes who use drugs can face numerous mental health problems as a result, such as depression and anxiety.94

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Another source of some prostitutes’ mental health problems is (pre-­ prostitutional) child sexual abuse. According to a study involving 200 prostitutes, 60 percent of them were sexually abused by an average of two people each, 66 percent of which were abused by father figures.95 Given the correlation between child sexual abuse and mental health problems, there is little doubt that at least some prostitutes’ mental health problems are partly a result of the fact that they were sexually abused as children.96 Indeed, Kuo observes that, for prostitutes, “child sexual abuse is a stronger determinant of psychosomatic complaints than are ‘victimizing experiences’ once in the profession.”97 To sum up, though empirical evidence exists showing that in some cases of prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to mental health problems through prostitution’s occupational hazards, said evidence does not settle whether this is true of prostitutes in general. Additionally, there is empirical evidence indicating that in some cases the prostitute does not subject herself to mental health problems through prostitution’s occupational hazards, that many instances of such subjections are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due to something other than the occupational hazards of prostitution. On P2 Is it the case that the subjection of oneself to severe mental health problems is an immoral-making consequence (i.e., is subjecting oneself to severe mental health problems consequentially immoral)? Of the P2s we have discussed thus far, this one strikes me as more plausible than the others, at least at first glance. The reason it does so is that behaving morally— by which I mean behaving in a morally permissible or required manner—typically involves some minimal level of mental health (whatever that level might be). Engaging in an act through which one subjects oneself to severe mental health problems, however, might result in the loss of said level of mental health which, in turn, would significantly increase the likelihood of one behaving immorally. And engaging in an act through which one significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally might itself be immoral. At first blush, then, this P2 strikes me as more plausible than the P2s of the consequentialist arguments discussed thus far. Even if it is more plausible than the other P2s, however, it does not follow that it is plausible, all things considered. And that it is so is unlikely. To begin with, the preceding case for the greater plausibility of P2 rests

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upon claims that are tentative in nature (engaging in an act through which one subjects oneself to severe mental health problems might result in the loss of the level of mental health that is typically involved in behaving morally; engaging in an act through which one significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally might itself be immoral). And such claims seem to provide little to no reason for accepting the definite claim that is P2 (the subjection of oneself to severe mental health problems is an immoral-making consequence). What’s more, restating these tentative claims as more definite claims does nothing to add to their plausibility. Indeed, it has the opposite effect. To wit, were they to be restated as “engaging in an act through which one subjects oneself to severe mental health problems results or, at least, is likely to result in a loss of the level of mental health that is required to be behave morally” and “engaging in an act through which one significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally is or, at least, is likely to be itself immoral,” they would thereby lose whatever plausibility they might have previously had. Beginning with the former, it is manifestly untrue that engaging in an act through which one subjects oneself to severe mental health problems results in the loss of the level of mental health that is typically involved in behaving morally. Simply put, those suffering from depression, stress, panic attacks, insomnia, eating disorders, manic depression, and many other severe mental health problems can, and seemingly usually do, retain the level of mental health that is typically involved in behaving morally. This is not to say that they always behave morally, only that they retain the level of mental health that is usually involved in doing so. Nor is it to say that those who suffer from depression, stress, panic attacks, insomnia, eating disorders, manic depression, or other severe mental health problems never lose, or lack altogether, the level of mental health that is typically involved in behaving morally— clearly, some of the do (e.g., James Holmes, the shooter in the Aurora, Colorado mass murder). It is only to say that such individuals can retain the level of mental health that is usually involved in behaving morally, and typically they do, ostensibly. And so it is with regard to engaging in an act through which one subjects oneself to severe mental health problems is likely to result in the loss of the level of mental health that is typically involved in behaving morally. As for the latter, that engaging in an act through which one significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally is itself immoral is not only neither obviously true nor intuitive, it is subject to

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counterexample. Entering a competitive industry, enrolling in a competitive school, playing a competitive sport (indeed, doing anything that is competitive), not consuming enough food, drinking alcohol, smoking marijuana—these acts (and many more) are such that those who engage in them can, in some cases do, significantly increase the likelihood of their behaving immorally.98 But that this renders doing these things immoral is doubtful; morally criticizable or imprudent, possibly, but not acts that one has no moral right to perform. Finally, P2 is not claiming that it is immoral to subject oneself to severe mental health problems only when it results in the loss of the level of mental health that is typically involved in behaving morally. Rather, it is claiming that it is immoral to subject oneself to severe mental health problems regardless of whether it results in the loss of the level of mental health that is typically involved in behaving morally. And this strikes me as incredible. Empirical evidence exists showing that, through playing (American) football, soccer, hockey, and other contact sports, one can, and some people do, subject themselves to severe mental health problems.99 But that it is immoral for one play these sports as a result—that playing these sports is something one has no moral right to do and, as a result, someone could be morally justified in preventing one from playing them, or, if one plays them, in punishing one for having done so—is hardly believable. What’s more, as with the Squandered Talents Argument and the Sexually Transmitted Diseases Argument, if one attempts to bolster P2 by way of a basic consequentialist moral claim, one is unlikely to succeed, arguably. The various basic consequentialist moral claims covered above— BC1–BC32—will be of no help to P2 as they are subject to the aforementioned objections. And no other basic consequentialist moral claim that could do the job readily presents itself. As of now, then, a basic consequentialist moral claim that can undergird P2 as well as overcome counterexamples such as those previously discussed appears unavailable, as is a reason to accept P2. (N.B. Since the reader is aware by now that I do not think there are any plausible basic consequentialist moral claims [as defined here], I will forgo repeating the preceding kind of objection each time that it is applicable hereafter. Instead, I will trust that the reader will keep it in mind while reading my forthcoming critiques of consequentialist arguments.)

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The Mental Health Argument (Bodily Parts Version) The difference between the occupational hazards version and the bodily parts version of the Mental Health Argument pertains to two things: (1) what is claimed to be the source of the mental health problems, and (2) the kinds of mental health problems invoked. In the case of the Mental Health Argument (Occupational Hazards Version), the source of the mental health problems are the occupational hazards of prostitution, and the kinds of mental health problems are multifarious, including depression, stress, anxiety, and more. In the case of the Mental Health Argument (Bodily Parts Version), on the other hand, the source of the mental health problems is the misuse of one’s bodily parts—specifically, one’s reproductive organs—and the kind of mental health problem is limited to unhappiness. The Mental Health Argument (Bodily Parts Version), then, is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the misuse of one’s bodily parts. P2: The misuse of one’s bodily parts is likely to make one unhappy. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves the likely making unhappy of oneself. P3: The likely making unhappy of oneself is an immoral-making consequence. C2: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P4: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C3: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it the case that prostitution involves the misuse of one’s bodily parts (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute misuses her bodily parts)? In order to answer this question, we need to know what is meant by the claim that the prostitute “misuses” her bodily parts. For present purposes, I rely on Michael Levin’s understanding of these things, according to which misusing one’s bodily parts involves not using one’s bodily parts in accordance with natural selection’s purpose for them.100 Levin provides what he considers to be two uncontroversial cases of the misuse of one’s bodily parts, one involving a “Mr. Jones,” another involving a “Mr. Smith.” To take just one, Mr. Smith likes to play the song “Old

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MacDonald” on his teeth and is so devoted to doing so that he never uses his teeth in accordance with natural selection’s purpose for them, namely, to chew food and, ultimately, contribute nutrition to his body. In this way, Mr. Smith misuses his teeth and, thus, bodily parts. Similarly, through prostitution, the prostitute is not using her reproductive organs in accordance with natural selection’s purpose for them, namely, to acquire spermatozoa via her vagina and, ultimately, produce offspring. In this way, the prostitute misuses her reproductive organs and, thus, bodily parts—or so P1 claims. With this understanding of the claim that the prostitute “misuses” her bodily parts, P1 may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute does not use her reproductive organs in accordance with natural selection’s purpose for them, namely, to acquire spermatozoa via her vagina and, ultimately, produce offspring. Is this the case? Though no empirical evidence appears to exist indicating that this is generally the case for prostitutes, it seems likely to be so. As discussed above, many prostitutes insist on using condoms while providing their prostitutional services. Indeed, some prostitutes claim to use two forms of contraception while working as prostitutes.101 Of such prostitutes, it is true that, through prostitution, the prostitute does not use her reproductive organs in accordance with natural selection’s purpose for them (at least, it is so when the contraception is effective). As for whether there is empirical evidence indicating that this is not the case for some prostitutes—that is, that some prostitutes do, in fact, use their reproductive organs in accordance with natural selection’s purpose for them through prostitution—I am not aware of any. But some prostitutes probably acquire spermatozoa via their vaginas and produce offspring through prostitution, whether accidentally or intentionally. To be sure, when they do so accidentally, they do not intend to use their reproductive organs in accordance with natural selection’s purpose for them. But when it comes merely to acting in accordance with natural selection’s purpose for one’s reproductive organs and the aforementioned rewards that come with doing so, one’s intentions are irrelevant. In summary, though no empirical evidence exists which establishes that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally misuse their bodily parts, it seems likely that this is true nonetheless. However, it is also likely that, at least on occasion, some of them do not.

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On P2 Before we can determine whether P2—the misuse of one’s bodily parts is likely to make one unhappy—is true, we need to know what is meant by “unhappy.” Though Levin does not have much to say about what, exactly, he means by “unhappy,” I will grant that an in-depth analysis is not necessary to have an adequate understanding of his argument. Accordingly, I will simply assume that what most of us probably think Levin means by this—something along the lines of “displeased,” “discontented,” or “not satisfied”—is what he does, in fact, mean. (That it is is evidenced by the fact that he contrasts being “unhappy” with being “jolly” as well as that substituting any of these meanings for “unhappy” appears to preserve the meaning of the claims in which the term “unhappy” arises.)102 Levin has other things to say about “unhappy,” however. To begin with, he is not claiming that there is some absolute threshold of happiness under which the one who misuses her bodily parts is likely to find herself. Rather, he is claiming that one is likely to be less happy if one misuses one’s bodily parts than if one does not. The unhappiness at work here, then, is properly understood as relative unhappiness. Accordingly, the claim “the misuse of one’s bodily parts is likely to make one unhappy” is to be understood as “the misuse of one’s bodily parts is likely to make one relatively unhappy.” Something else Levin says is that P2 is intended to be understood as a generalization. Levin is not claiming that everyone who misuses her bodily parts is likely to make herself unhappy. Indeed, he grants that, in all likelihood, there are individuals who misuse their own bodily parts but are not unhappy as a result. Instead, he is merely claiming that this is the case for most people (more on this in a moment). With these two clarifications in mind, we are now in the position to determine whether P2 is true. So, is it the case that the misuse of one’s bodily parts is likely to make one unhappy? Levin (naturally) argues that it is. With respect to misusing one’s reproductive organs in particular, he argues that, given natural selection’s purpose for one’s reproductive organs—which, again, in the prostitute’s (qua female) case, is to acquire spermatozoa via her vagina and, ultimately, produce offspring—one has an innate desire to fulfill that purpose and to do so is innately rewarding (in the form of happiness). Accordingly, when one does not use one’s reproductive organs in accordance with natural selection’s purpose for them, one frustrates this innate desire and thereby misses out on the innate reward that comes with doing

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so. And when one does this exclusively—that is, when one consistently frustrates this innate desire to fulfill natural selection’s purpose for one’s reproductive organs and thereby regularly forgoes that which is innately rewarding—one is likely to be less happy than one would be if one did not do this. In short, one is likely to be (relatively) unhappy. However, even if one grants this argument, one does not have to grant, in turn, that the misuse of one’s bodily parts is likely to make one unhappy—at least, not without qualification. For as alluded to previously, Levin’s argument pertains to the exclusive misuse of one’s bodily parts, not the occasional or even frequent misuse of one’s bodily parts. (Though this is not stated explicitly in the article, it is so implicitly via the examples he uses to illustrate what the misuses of one’s bodily parts involves [the aforementioned cases of Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones], the kind of sexual relations on which he focuses [homosexual sexual relations that are exclusively so], his declaration that nothing he has said “show[s] bisexuality or sheer polymorphous sexuality to be unnatural or self-defeating,” and more.)103 And granting that the exclusive misuse of one’s bodily parts is likely to make one unhappy is not one and the same as granting that the occasional or frequent misuse one’s of bodily parts is likely to make one unhappy. Accordingly, one could grant Levin’s argument without also having to grant that the occasional or even frequent misuse one’s of bodily parts is likely to make one unhappy. Indeed, the plethora of contraceptive-using, oral-, anal-, coital-, and manual-sex engaging, happy and (temporarily) childless hetero- and bisexual individuals—some of whom are prostitutes—indicates that the latter is not true. On C1 With our discussions of P1 and P2 in mind, one can see that even if one grants that prostitution involves the exclusive misuse of one’s bodily parts, one need not also grant that, through it, the prostitute is likely to make herself unhappy. For the prostitute’s entire sex life, which typically includes non-prostitutional sex, does not involve the exclusive misuse of her bodily parts, as is evidenced by the fact that many prostitutes have children. (Recall, if you will, the study cited in Chap. 2 according to which 72 percent of the prostitutes who participated in it had children.) What’s more, there is reason not to grant that prostitution itself involves the exclusive misuse of one’s bodily parts. For, as discussed above, it stands to reason that at least some prostitutes do, in fact, acquire spermatozoa via their vaginas and produce offspring through prostitution.

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On P3 Is it the case that the likely making unhappy of oneself is an immoral-­ making consequence (i.e., is likely making oneself unhappy consequentially immoral)? Seemingly not. As with previous premises of other arguments, P3 is not obviously true or intuitive, and it is open to counterexample. To invoke just one, the consistent refusal to exercise is likely to—and, according to one study, does—make oneself unhappy.104 Yet, for those who make themselves unhappy in this way, their doing so does not seem to be an immoral-making consequence. It might be morally criticizable or imprudent, of course. But it does not seem to be something someone has a valid claim against their doing and, as a result, could be morally justified in punishing them for having performed it. Some might argue, however, that, even if P3 is false, we ought, morally speaking, to discourage individuals from engaging in an act through which they are likely to be made unhappy. But that we ought to do so is not obvious. To be sure, if happiness is the sole measure of a life well lived, then this might in fact be the case. But that happiness is the sole measure of a life well lived is far from clear, as any anthology on value theory will indicate.105 Preference or desire fulfillment, for one, strikes many people as a measure of a life well lived, too. Consider, for example, the acclaimed novelist Kurt Vonnegut. According to Vonnegut’s son, Mark, though his father suffered from depression, he was “nervous and suspicious” of obtaining psychiatric help. “In my early-to-mid twenties,” Mark writes, “he let it slip that he was afraid that therapy might make him normal and well adjusted, and that would be the end of his writing.”106 In measuring his own life, then, Vonnegut seemed to do so in terms of preference or desire fulfillment more so than happiness. And this seems to be an acceptable measure of a life well lived, at least for Vonnegut and similarly minded people. Furthermore, even if happiness is the sole measure of a life well lived and those who misuse their bodily parts are not as happy as they would be if they did not misuse their bodily parts, that they should quit misusing their bodily parts as a result, or that we ought to encourage them to do so, is unclear. For, first, mere correlation does not entail causation. (Whether correlation ever could entail causation under any conditions is an important but separate matter.) Accordingly, the cause of their unhappiness—at least, the primary (read: most fundamental) cause of it—might not be the misuse of their bodily parts. It might, instead, be poverty, a chemical

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imbalance, a lack of social connections, a childhood involving sexual molestation, existential anguish, or some other factor. (Recall, if you will, Kuo’s report that child sexual abuse is a stronger factor in the psychosomatic complaints of prostitutes than victimizing experiences.) And if the primary cause of their unhappiness is, in fact, something other than the misuse of their bodily parts, then abstaining from the latter might make them even less happy than they already are—depending, of course, on which bodily parts they are misusing and the manner in which they are doing so. What defenders of the Mental Health Argument (Bodily Parts Version) need, then, is evidence indicating that the primary cause of unhappiness for those who misuse of their bodily parts is said misuse. And, as far as I can tell, no such evidence exists.107 Though more could be said about the Mental Health Argument (both versions), this will have to suffice for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that it fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

The Degradation Argument (Consequentialist Version) The Degradation Argument—the consequentialist version discussed here as well as the nonconsequentialist version discussed in Chap. 4—is one of the most popular arguments for the immorality of prostitution, among both philosophers and non-philosophers alike. It is as follows: P1: P2: C1: P3:

Prostitution involves the degradation of oneself. The degradation of oneself is an immoral-making consequence. Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. Before moving on to my evaluation of the premises, a few additional remarks are in order. To begin with, as the reader will soon see, the Degradation Argument (Consequentialist Version) includes a claim regarding the psychological harm prostitution is said to involve. Given this, one might wonder why this argument is discussed independently of the Mental Health Argument.

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The primary reason is that the kinds of psychological harm that these arguments invoke are significantly different. In the Mental Health Argument, the kinds of psychological harm include depression, stress, panic attacks, insomnia, eating disorders, manic depression, and unhappiness. In the Degradation Argument (Consequentialist Version), the kinds of psychological harm include difficulty or even inability to enjoy sex; to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships; and to develop a stable sense of self-esteem. Granted, it may be that some of the former psychological harms overlap with the latter psychological harms at various times and in various ways. But they are nevertheless significantly different. Accordingly, it seems best to discuss the Degradation Argument (Consequentialist Version) independently of the Mental Health Argument—hence my doing so here. Secondly, given the popularity of arguments for the immorality of prostitution that derive a claim about prostitution’s immorality from a claim about how the client degrades the prostitute, it is important to reiterate here that the present moral defense of prostitution is a defense of merely the prostitute’s act. Hence the writing of P1 in terms of what prostitution—again, the providing of oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex by one adult to at least one other adult primarily and explicitly for his money— involves for the prostitute rather than the client. Finally, and relatedly, note that the subject of degradation on which the premises focus is that of the prostitute. Some would contend, however, that, through prostitution, the prostitute degrades, not just herself, but the client as well. Accordingly, the premises’ subject of degradation could include the client. The reason it does not is that, as indicated above, I employ an understanding of “degrade” that is especially pertinent to the prostitute herself. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the degradation of oneself (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute degrades herself)? To determine this, we need to know what it means for the prostitute to “degrade” herself. There are many possible meanings of “degrade”—indeed, in his Liberalism and Prostitution, de Marneffe identifies seven. I will rely upon one of those identified by him, the one that I deem most argument-­ relevant and suitable for the consequentialist version of the Degradation Argument. It is as follows: to destroy or impede the functioning of

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important capacities—particularly those that are psychological in nature— such as the capacity to enjoy sex; the capacity to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships; and/or the capacity to develop a stable sense of self-esteem.108 Given this meaning of “degrade,” P1 may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute destroys or impedes her capacity to enjoy sex; to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships; and/ or to develop a stable sense of self-esteem. Is this the case? There is both philosophical and empirical evidence indicating that this is true of some prostitutes. Regarding the former, law professor Robin West argues that women can destroy or impede such capacities through undesired, unpleasurable, but consensual sex—the kind of sex that prostitution commonly involves. She writes of four ways in which this may occur.109 First, they may weaken or destroy their capacity for self-assertion, since consenting to undesired and unpleasurable sex involves acting, not on the basis of, but in spite of one’s own felt pleasures and pains. Yet, acting on the basis of one’s own felt pleasures and pains is a significant aspect of asserting oneself—or so West maintains. Second, they may weaken or destroy their sense of self-possession, since consenting to undesired and unpleasurable sex involves rendering oneself a “giving self”—a self understood as being for others rather than for oneself and, as such, incapable of being violated by others. Third, they may weaken or destroy their sense of autonomy, since by consenting to undesired and unpleasurable sex when one deems oneself, accurately or not, to be dependent on the other (psychologically, financially, or both), one fails to do that which is necessary to achieve psychological and/or financial independence. Finally, they may weaken or destroy their sense of integrity, since consenting to undesired and unpleasurable sex and, importantly, claiming falsely to have enjoyed it after doing so—telling a “hedonic lie,” as West puts it—undermines one’s adherence to truth-telling, if not one’s adherence to morality as well (assuming, of course, that one so adheres). Furthermore, as damaging as the preceding harms may be in and of themselves, what West finds to be the most debilitating thing about them is their self-reinforcing nature. As she writes, [T]he more thorough the harm—the deeper the injury to self-assertiveness, self-possession, autonomy and integrity—the greater the likelihood that the woman involved will indeed not experience these harms as harmful, or as painful. A woman utterly lacking in self-assertiveness, self-possession, a sense

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of autonomy, or integrity will not experience the activities in which she engages that reinforce or constitute those qualities as harmful, because she, to that degree, lacks a self-asserting, self-possessed self who could experience those activities as a threat to her selfhood. But the fact that she does not experience these activities as harms certainly does not mean that they are not harmful. Indeed, that they are not felt as harmful is a consequence of the harm they have already caused.110

In sum, given that prostitution commonly involves undesired, unpleasurable, but consensual sex, through it prostitutes may harm their capacity for self-assertion, their sense of self-possession, their sense of autonomy, and their sense of integrity. By harming these things, they in turn may harm their capacity to enjoy sex; to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships; and to develop a stable sense of self-­ esteem. Harming their capacity for self-assertion, for example, may harm their capacity to develop a stable sense of self-esteem. Harming their sense of self-possession may harm their capacity to enjoy sex; develop self-­ esteem; and form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships. Harming their sense of autonomy may harm their capacity to develop self-esteem and to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships. And so on. And the greater the extent to which they harm themselves so, the greater the likelihood that they will not experience these harms for what they are and, thus, continue to be harmed in these ways. As for empirical evidence in support of P1, Fabre cites testimonies of prostitutes indicating that prostitutional sex “often impairs prostitutes’ ability to enjoy sex, and more widely, to enter committed, loving and long-term sexual relationships, as it becomes extremely difficult for them to divorce sex from the mercenary context in which they routinely have it.”111 Høigård and Finstad provide a rather harrowing backdrop against which Fabre’s may be more fully appreciated: Prostitution tears feelings out of the women’s bodies. The necessary emotional coldness from the public prostituted “self” spreads and takes possession of large portions of the private “self.” It is virtually impossible for the women to have a love life while they’re tricking. This effect can last for months, even years after prostitution itself is a thing of the past. The relationship with a lover is destroyed by his natural desire for a sexual relationship. Memories of countless, faceless customers pass like a panorama before her and make sexuality loathsome to the woman … Other feelings are

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burned out as well. Prostitution is a game played with feelings. Pretend you are favorably inclined, absorbed by the customer, hot, and excited—when you feel indifference or perhaps revulsion and hatred. Feelings have their price; they can be translated into money like all other wares and are therefore, ironically enough, worth nothing in themselves. Feelings are an illusion … Self-respect and self-image are also destroyed. To sell oneself “voluntarily”—that is the worst, most offensive thing a woman can do. It’s frightening to see what a burden of guilt, shame, and self-disgust former prostitutes drag after themselves for years. No matter how well they master their new lives, at the core they experience themselves as really only “cheap whores.” That friends maintain otherwise only shows that the woman is able to fool new friends.112

As one retired prostitute puts it, “I feel like I imagine people who were in concentration camps feel when they get out … It’s a real deep pain, an assault to my mind, body, my dignity as a human being. I feel like what was taken away from me in prostitution is irretrievable.”113 There is, then, both philosophical and empirical evidence supporting the claim that, through prostitution, some prostitutes destroy or impede their capacity to enjoy sex; to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships; and/or to develop a stable sense of self-esteem. Nevertheless, the preceding evidence, both philosophical and empirical in nature, fails to establish that, in general, prostitutes destroy or impede such capacities through prostitution—that the majority of street-, brothel-, massage parlor-, sauna-, club-, bar-, window-, call girl-, girlfriend experience-­working prostitutes destroy or impede such capacities through prostitution. In addition, there is empirical evidence indicating some prostitutes do not destroy or impede such capacities through prostitution, that many instances of such destroying or impeding are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution. Taking each of these things in turn, empirical evidence exists showing that some prostitutes employ strategies which appear to enable them to avoid destroying or impeding the aforementioned capacities through prostitution. Such strategies include forfeiting non-prostitutional sexual relations (e.g., sexual relations with a lover or partner) while they are working as prostitutes; desexualizing prostitutional sex by distinguishing the meaning and experience of it from the meaning and experience of non-prostitutional sex; limiting access to certain body parts and sexual acts; developing and relying upon rationalization narratives; and more.114

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For example, as one prostitute puts it with regard to both desexualizing prostitutional sex and limiting access to certain body parts and sexual acts, “When you are working you are having sex, you are not making love you are having sex … so when you go back in your personal relationship you are doing the same but you are putting feelings to it, so it is not the same. I could not kiss a punter [client]; I would not want anything to do with their mouth because I have to kiss my baby. And you would not want to kiss your man. Sex is with durex so you are not really touching them.”115 As another prostitute puts it with regard to these things, “Personally I don’t kiss because it is very intimate and it has got to be with someone that I love and not with anyone. And at the end of the day I have got kids and I have got family and if I was kissing every single guy I saw kissing would mean nothing to me. Like sex, to me that can mean nothing so when I kiss someone it really means something. So that is why I won’t kiss. Kissing is for me.”116 What’s more, empirical evidence exists showing that some prostitutes are able to avoid destroying or impeding the aforementioned capacities through prostitution without having to employ any strategies whatsoever. One such prostitute, Belinda, said that she preferred to keep her life as a prostitute as close to her non-prostitutional life as possible which, in turn, allowed her to preserve the aforementioned capacities without the assistance of strategies: To me, I think to pretend or whatever was just too draining for me. It’s draining enough anyway, then having to keep it up, trying to remember what you told them last time. And the couple of times that I had lied about my age or whatever, it always came back to bite me and I’d always forget who I told what and whatever. My relationships with my clients, they’ve always been very, very close and they’ve become very close friends and I initially started working with a working name and that didn’t work for me, so then I was always just myself. My clients always knew that I was married.117

Similarly, writing about her return to prostitution after some time off, Breanna Mohr remarks, “I no longer feel the need to hide away. I’m comfortable just being me.”118 Other prostitutes report receiving sexual pleasure from prostitutional sex which, in turn, helps them preserve the aforementioned capacities without the assistance of strategies. As one prostitute puts it, “When they are doing oral on you they are going for the gold. They are sucking

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leftovers from last week’s chicken bones. They don’t care. Your man would give you five minutes of oral pleasure at home. Of course you are gonna get turned on.”119 Another prostitute puts it this way, “When I came into this business I had been married for seventeen years and only had one man. So when I came into it I found that I enjoyed it and it was like a fantasy that had been fulfilled.”120 Relatedly, Richards cites empirical evidence suggesting that, as a group, American prostitutes are more sexually fulfilled than non-prostitutional American women.121 The evidence in question—a study involving 175 prostitutes—showed that the participating prostitutes experienced orgasm and, indeed, multiple orgasm more often in their non-prostitutional sex lives than did other, non-prostitutional women.122 Perhaps Sibyl Schwarzenbach has such evidence in mind when she claims both that prostitutes seem to be just as capable as anyone else to form long-term, intimate sexual relationships and that their level of sexual satisfaction might be above that of the average woman’s.123 Finally, some prostitutes report having developed some of the aforementioned psychological capacities through prostitution. As the reader may recollect, Joy (discussed in Chap. 2) was reluctant to enter the industry on the grounds that she was averse to confrontation. Yet, a year later, she described herself as loving her work as a prostitute due, in part, to the fact that, through it, she developed her capacity for assertiveness. All this to say, there is empirical evidence indicating some prostitutes do not destroy or impede such capacities. With respect to many instances of such destroying or impeding being systemic in nature, empirical evidence exists showing that getting arrested can function as a “stressor” and thereby have adverse effects on the arrestee’s mental health.124 And these adverse effects can, in turn, impede or destroy the arrestee’s capacity to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships as well as develop a stable sense of self-esteem.125 Kuo provides an illuminating picture of how getting arrested can function in this way for prostitutes in particular: Arresting prostitutes often serves only to heighten their isolation and estrangement, not only from friends, family and the community but also from the very social services they may need in order to access alternative means of income. This, in turn, leads to lower self-esteem, which often increases drug and alcohol usage and thus requires an increase in prostitution activity to support these habits … Criminal enforcement may force

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prostitutes to move to other cities—leaving them even more isolated and hence, again, more likely to turn to a pimp … Not only does the arrest of prostitutes permanently and officially stigmatize them, it also often results in the loss of child custody, deportation, housing and other forms of discrimination.126

Regarding prostitutes who have been arrested (or, even worse, convicted and imprisoned), then, the destroying or impeding of their capacity to form such relationships and develop such self-esteem is likely partly, if not wholly, a function of the fact that prostitution is illegal where they practice it and, thus, systemic. With respect to some instances of such destroying or impeding being due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution, one such thing is likely to be (yet again) drug use. As covered previously, the National Institute of Drug Abuse reports that chronic use of certain drugs can result in both short- and long-term alterations to the brain which, in turn, can lead to a variety of mental health problems that can destroy or impede the functioning of the drug user’s capacities to enjoy sex; to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships; and/ or to develop a stable sense of self-esteem.127 And, given that many prostitutes are drug users (recall, if you will, the three studies above according to which 75, 94, and 95  percent of the prostitutes involved in them [respectively] claimed to be chemically dependent), it is likely that at least some prostitutes destroy or impede the aforementioned capacities through drug use. Another instance of such destroying or impeding being due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution is that of child sexual abuse. As addressed above, 60  percent of one study’s participating prostitutes were sexually abused by an average of two people each. Given the correlation between child sexual abuse and mental health problems, there is little doubt that the former results in the destroying or impeding of said capacities for prostitutes who were so abused—some of them, at any rate. Summing up, though empirical evidence exists supporting the claim that some prostitutes destroy or impede their capacities to enjoy sex; to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships; and to develop a stable sense of self-esteem through prostitution, said evidence does not settle whether this is, in fact, the case for prostitutes in general. Furthermore, there is empirical evidence indicating

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that in some cases the prostitute does not destroy or impede such capacities, that many instances of such destroying or impeding are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution. On P2 Is it true that the degradation of oneself (as construed here) is an immoral-­ making consequence (i.e., is degrading oneself consequentially immoral)? Like the P2 of the Mental Health Argument (Occupational Hazards Version), this P2 strikes me as more plausible than some of the other P2s that we have discussed. And it does so for a similar reason, namely, that behaving morally is more likely to occur when the aforementioned capacities—particularly those of forming stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships and developing a stable sense of self-­ esteem—are not destroyed or impeded. To see this through the lens of the worst-case scenario, if one is completely incapable of forming stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships and developing a stable sense of self-esteem, one is likely to be much more isolated from others and, in turn, much more vulnerable than one would be were one capable of forming and developing these things. And given our (humans’) social and self-protective tendencies, such isolation and vulnerability is very likely to lead to acts of desperation, probably some of which would be immoral. Engaging in an act through which one destroys or impedes these capacities, then, significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally. And engaging in an act through which one significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally might itself be immoral. At least at first glance, then, this P2 strikes me as more plausible than the P2s of some of the other arguments discussed above. But even if it is more plausible than those other P2s, it does not follow that it is plausible, all things considered. And I am inclined to think that it is not all-things-considered plausible. To begin with, though it may be true that behaving morally is more likely to occur when the aforementioned capacities are not destroyed or impeded, it does not follow that behaving morally simply cannot occur when the aforementioned capacities are destroyed or impeded. And it stands to reason that at least some prostitutes who have degraded themselves in this way nevertheless behave morally. For instance, as mentioned previously, many prostitutes have

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children. And many of them engage in prostitution in order to take care of their children (among other things). In doing the latter, they behave morally, at least in that regard. Yet, it is quite likely that at least some of these very prostitutes have degraded themselves in the aforementioned ways. This is not to say that they always behave morally, naturally. It is only to say that, at times and in certain respects, they do so despite having degraded themselves in this way. In addition, that engaging in an act through which one destroys or impedes these capacities and significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally is itself immoral is not only neither obviously true nor intuitive, but vulnerable to counterexample. Entering the priesthood destroys or impedes one’s capacity to enjoy sex. Working for a ruthlessly profit-driven boss can, and in some cases does, destroy or impede one’s capacity to develop a stable sense of self-esteem. Becoming a rock musician can, and at times does, destroy or impede one’s capacity to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships. But that doing any of these things is thereby immoral is hard to believe; morally criticizable or imprudent, perhaps, but not acts that one has no moral right to perform—acts that someone has a valid claim against one’s performing and, in turn, could be morally justified in preventing one from performing, or, if one performs such acts, in punishing one for having performed them. Furthermore, P2 is not claiming that the degradation of oneself is an immoral-making consequence only when doing so significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally. Rather, it is claiming that the degradation of oneself is an immoral-making consequence regardless of whether it significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally. And this strikes me as incredible. Once again, entering the priesthood, working for a ruthlessly profit-driven boss, and becoming a rock musician are all ways in which one could, and occasionally does, destroy or impede one or more of these capacities. But that it is immoral for one to do these things is implausible. There is more to say about the Degradation Argument (Consequentialist Version), naturally. But the preceding will have to suffice. Nevertheless, given what has been covered here, it appears that it does not succeed in establishing that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

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The Violence Argument The Violence Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to violence. P2: The subjection of oneself to violence is an immoral-making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it the case that prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to violence (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to violence)? In order to answer this question, we need to know what it meant by “violence.” More specifically, we need to know whether or not violence is to be construed in strictly physical terms. Some argument-­ relevant and suitable meanings of “violence,” such as “the use of physical force so as to injure, abuse, damage, or destroy,” appear to construe violence in strictly physical terms; others, such as “actions or words that are intended to hurt people,” do not.128 The question, then, is whether the violence invoked in the Violence Argument is construed in strictly physical terms. And the answer is that much of the time it is, but some of the time it is not. More specifically, in some cases, the violence invoked is not so much physical in nature as it is psychological in nature (e.g., verbal abuse from a client, pimp, brothel manager, etc.). Accordingly, as we evaluate the Violence Argument, we will keep both construals of violence in mind. P1, then, may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to physical and/or psychological violence. Is this the case? As with the previous four consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution covered thus far, there is empirical evidence indicating that this is true of some prostitutes. According to Sanders et al., the global research on this matter shows that prostitution—particularly, though not exclusively, that of outdoor prostitution—involves a high degree of violence.129 The kinds of violence include verbal abuse, slapping or kicking, serious physical assault, kidnap, sexual assault, rape, and murder. And the perpetrators of the violence include clients, pimps or

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managers, drug dealers, robbers, other prostitutes, passers-by, local residents, and even the police. Indeed, if self-inflicted violence is counted, it includes the prostitutes who are subjected to violence themselves.130 Since the preceding picture of the violence involved in prostitution arises from a multitude of studies on the matter, it would be helpful to take a look at some of them, even if only a few (and briefly at that). So, according to one study, 8  percent of prostitutes claimed that they had incurred at least one serious injury (e.g., gunshot wound, knife wound, etc.) as a result of being assaulted by a pimp or a client.131 In a second study, 23 percent of prostitutes who were beaten by clients suffered broken bones, with two of them being beaten so badly that they were rendered comatose. According to that same study, various prostitutes claimed to have incurred head injuries, knife wounds, loss of consciousness, and miscarriage as a result of being beaten by their pimp or romantic partner. In yet another study, 14 percent of prostitutes claimed to have incurred permanent injuries (including disfigurement for 13 percent of them) as a result of prostitution-related violence. With all of the preceding empirical evidence in mind, it is not surprising that some critics of prostitution have argued (implausibly, as the reader will soon see) that prostitution is inherently violent.132 However common it may be, though, that the majority of prostitutes subject themselves to violence through prostitution is not established by said evidence. What’s more, there is empirical evidence indicating some prostitutes do not subject themselves to violence through prostitution, that many instances of such subjections are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due to something other than the prostitutes’ prostitution. Beginning with the former, drawing from numerous studies on violence in prostitution, Sanders et  al. conclude that the majority of prostitutional transactions do not involve violence.133 Høigård and Finstad concur, writing that the “great majority of tricks take place without traditional violence.”134 Indeed, one study found that 78 percent of the participating prostitutes (all indoor) had never experienced violence.135 With respect to many instances of such subjections being systemic in nature, Sanders et al. observe that the criminalization of prostitution and enforcement thereof are widely recognized as factors that result in and exacerbate prostitutes’ vulnerability to violence.136 As discussed above, the legal prohibition of prostitution renders prostitutes (qua prostitutes) legally unprotected which, in turn, makes them vulnerable to being exploited, beaten, killed, or otherwise harmed by clients, pimps, police

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officers, and others; more likely to make hasty decisions vis-à-vis the selection of clients and locations of service; more likely to service clients in places where they are more susceptible to being exploited, beaten, killed, or otherwise harmed by clients; and more. Hence Weitzer’s contention that the legal context in which the prostitution occurs bears significantly upon the extent to which the prostitute subjects herself to violence. “[I]t appears that the legal context makes a difference: that is, the safety of indoor work increases where prostitution is legal,” he writes, adding that “[t]hose who work collectively indoors—in brothels, massage parlors, saunas, clubs—have the advantage of the presence of gatekeepers and coworkers, who can intervene in the event of an unruly customer. Indoor venues often have some screening mechanisms, video surveillance, and alarm systems.”137 To wit, according to sociologists Barbara Brents and Kathryn Hausbeck, Nevada’s legal brothels provide the safest environment for prostitutes to perform their services.138 This is accomplished through the employment of a wide variety of safety precautions, including (but not limited to) panic buttons, listening devices, and management surveillance. Similarly, according to a major report on the legal brothels of Queensland, Australia, licensed brothels provide a healthy, crime-free, and safe—indeed, the “safest”—working environment for Queensland prostitutes.139 Hence one study’s finding that over three-quarters of its participants—all of whom were indoor-working prostitutes—said they had not experienced violence from clients at work.140 Hence, also, the vast majority of brothel-, club-, and window-working prostitutes in the Netherlands reporting that they often or always feel safe.141 As one brothel-working prostitute describes their work and workplace, “There’s so much security at the brothels, you can’t get away with anything. You’re locked away in there along with the girls, and if you act the ass, you’re in big trouble. The bouncers, the bartenders, the chefs, the manager, and all of the girls— everyone is on the girl’s side. So [the customer] can’t step on somebody’s toes.”142 All this to say, many of the instances of such subjections are systemic in nature, at least in part. With these things in mind, it is no wonder that one of the conclusions of Sanders et al.’s meta-study of 160 documents pertaining to the occupational risks of prostitutes is that the extent to which prostitutes risk incurring violence strongly depends on the legal status in which their prostitution is performed.143 With respect to some instances of such subjections being due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution, as addressed above, some prostitutes claim to have incurred head injuries, knife wounds, loss of

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consciousness, and miscarriage as a result of being beaten by their romantic partner.144 In sum, though empirical evidence exists showing that in some cases the prostitute subjects herself to violence through prostitution, said evidence does not settle whether this is generally true of prostitutes. Indeed, there is empirical evidence suggesting that in the majority of cases the prostitute does not subject herself to violence through prostitution, that many instances of such subjections violence are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due to something other than the prostitutes’ prostitution. On P2 Is it the case that the subjection of oneself to violence is an immoral-­ making consequence (i.e., is subjecting oneself to violence consequentially immoral)? As with the P2 of both the Mental Health Argument (Occupational Hazards Version) and the Degradation Argument (Consequentialist Version), I find this P2 to be more plausible than some of the other P2s, at least at first blush. And I do so for the same reasons. Behaving morally typically involves some minimal level of mental health. Engaging in an act through which one subjects oneself to violence might result in the loss of said level of mental health. In this vein, and writing about the violence to which some prostitutes subject themselves, Sanders et  al. note that “[h]igh levels of violence, particularly over a period of time, can have a considerable impact on the physical and mental health of sex workers.”145 Losing said level of mental health would, in turn, significantly increase the likelihood of one behaving immorally. And engaging in an act through which one significantly increases the likelihood of one behaving immorally might itself be immoral. But as with the P2s of the aforementioned arguments, it does not follow that this P2 is plausible, all things considered. And it is unlikely that it is, given that, as previously discussed, it rests upon claims that are tentative in nature, that restating these tentative claims as more definite claims does nothing to add to their plausibility, and that it is claiming that it is immoral to subject oneself to violence regardless of whether it results in the loss of the level of mental health required for behaving morally. Though more could be said about the Violence Argument, this will have to do for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that it fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

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The Premature Death Argument The Premature Death Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to premature death. P2: The subjection of oneself to premature death is an immoral-­making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to premature death (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to premature death)? To determine this, we need to know what is meant by a “premature” death. This is a death that occurs prior to the death one would have incurred had one lived out one’s natural life span. The actor Heath Ledger incurred a premature death, for example. Though not terminally ill, Ledger died at the age of 28 as a result of an accidental overdose of a mix of prescription medications. Given this understanding of “premature” death, P1 may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to a death that occurs prior to the death she would have incurred had she lived out her natural life span. Is this true? As with previous P1s, there is empirical evidence indicating that this is true of some prostitutes. Porter and Bonilla note that the risk for premature death is high among prostitutes.146 Indeed, according to Satz, the mortality rate of women in prostitution is 40 times higher than that of other women.147 One report indicates that, of the various sets of women studied, prostitutes are the most likely to be killed.148 And Sanders et al. add that prostitutes are 12 times more likely to be murdered than other women their own age.149 Having said that, said evidence does not establish that prostitutes generally subject themselves to premature death through prostitution. What’s more, there is empirical evidence indicating most prostitutes do not subject themselves to premature death through prostitution, that many instances of such subjections are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution. Beginning

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with the former, according to one study, the crude mortality rate of American prostitutes is 391 per 100,000.150 To be sure, this is higher than the crude mortality rate of other lines of work (e.g., the crude morality of American commercial fishermen is 147 per 100,000, according to another study).151 But it is also a far cry from even a bare majority. In addition, it is not clear just how many of these deaths are premature (not all, it is safe to say) or, for those that are premature, prostitution related. The vast majority of American prostitutes do not, then, subject themselves to a premature death through prostitution. And so it is, presumably, in countries where, unlike in the U.S., prostitution is not legally prohibited. With respect to many instances of such subjections being systemic in nature, consider the case of the previously mentioned Green River killer, a Seattle-area serial killer who murdered 48 prostitutes. After being arrested, the killer explained his choice of victims as follows: “I … picked prostitutes as victims because they were easy to pick up without being noticed. I knew they would not be reported missing right away, and might never be reported missing. I picked prostitutes because I thought I could kill as many of them as I wanted without getting caught.”152 There is little doubt that many if not most of these premature deaths would not have occurred if prostitution were legal and regulated. For, as such, many prostitutes would have provided their prostitutional services in brothels and, thus, would not have been easy to pick up without being noticed. Relatedly, the report that they were missing would not likely have been omitted or even delayed. Indeed, and as discussed in Chap. 1, many prostitutes and pimps knew who the Green River killer was before his arrest but were afraid to provide the local authorities with that information as they feared arrest for being prostitutes and pimps. (Leigh adds that serial murders of prostitutes are often not investigated thoroughly by police until at least ten have been murdered, and she cites the Green River killer as an example.)153 These premature deaths, then, are systemic in nature, at least in part. And there are many more cases like this, as researchers have found that serial killers account for up to 35 percent of all homicides involving prostitutes.154 As for some instances of such subjections being due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution, drug use rears its ugly head once more. As Sanders et al. note, some prostitutes—particularly those who use drugs intravenously—die of drug overdoses.155 Another source of premature death is likely that of accidents. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reports that there are roughly 170,000 accidental deaths a year in the U.S., making accidents the third leading cause of

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death.156 And it stands to reason that at least some of these deaths involve prostitutes. To sum up, though empirical evidence exists showing that in some cases the prostitute subjects herself to premature death through prostitution, said evidence does not settle whether this is, in fact, the case for prostitutes in general. In addition, there is empirical evidence indicating that most prostitutes do not subject themselves to premature death, that many instances of such subjections premature death are systemic in nature, and that some of them are due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution. On P2 Is it true that the subjection of oneself to premature death is an immoral-­ making consequence (i.e., is subjecting oneself to premature death consequentially immoral)? Certainly some people—philosophers and non-philosophers alike—think it can be. For instance, some people hold that subjecting oneself to premature death via suicide is consequentially immoral. Since suicide is, by its very nature, a direct way to subject oneself to premature death, focusing on it has the potential to bear much argumentative fruit. For if a direct way to subject oneself to premature death is not immoral, then, arguably, neither is one of the myriad indirect ways to do so, all else being equal, such as through prostitution. Let us turn, then, to consequentialist arguments for the immorality of suicide. Numerous philosophers have offered arguments for the immorality of suicide. Some of these arguments are nonconsequentialist in nature and, as such, not suitable for the purposes of this chapter. To wit, Locke’s argument for the immorality of committing suicide involves deriving a claim about suicide’s immorality from a claim about the immorality of undermining God’s property, and Kant’s argument for the immorality of committing suicide involves deriving a claim about suicide’s immorality from a claim about the immorality of violating the Categorical Imperative. But other arguments are consequentialist in nature, as is well documented by Jennifer Hecht in her Stay: A History of Suicide and the Arguments Against It.157 The consequentialist arguments for the immorality of suicide on which Hecht focuses are those that derive a claim about the immorality of suicide from a claim about the immorality of harming other people, either in general (e.g., one’s community, one’s city, humankind, etc.) or in particular

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(e.g., one’s family members, friends, acquaintances, et al.). The following consequentialist argument captures their essence: P1*: Suicide involves the harm of other people, either in general or in particular. P2*: The harm of other people is an immoral-making consequence. C1*: Therefore, suicide involves an immoral-making consequence. P3*: If suicide involves an immoral-making consequence, then suicide is immoral. C2*: Therefore, suicide is immoral. Like the primary featured and formalized arguments presented above and below, this secondary featured and formalized argument is deductively valid. So we need only evaluate the premises. On P1* Is it the case that suicide involves the harm of other people, either in general or in particular? There is empirical evidence indicating that this is generally true when it comes to harming particular people. Surviving family members are among the most obvious, common, and well-documented people harmed by someone’s suicide. And the harm they undergo is multifaceted in nature, including the experiences of depression and shame.158 That said, it is unclear whether said harm is global (overall) in nature or merely local (in some regard). And it is likely that, at least in some cases, the harm is local but not global. The cases I have in mind are those involving the voluntary, physician-assisted suicide of someone living with intense, protracted, and irremediable pain and suffering. In some such cases, the one who undergoes said suicide does so with the support of his friends and loved ones as they agree with him that his quality of life is bad enough as to render his life no longer worth living. In such cases, it seems that the harm said friends and loved ones incur is of a local, rather than global, nature. (As I see it, global harm would involve having to watch their friend continue to live with the aforementioned pain and suffering before dying.) Whether it is true with respect to harming people in general, however, is harder to establish. To be sure, some philosophers maintain that a person’s suicide does indeed harm people in general. Aristotle, for instance, argues that a person’s suicide harms his or her city. “A person who cuts his throat in a fit of anger,” he writes, “is doing this voluntarily, contrary to

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correct reason, and the law does not allow this; so he is acting unjustly. But towards whom? Surely towards the city, not himself, since he suffers voluntarily, and a kind of dishonor attaches to the person who has done away with himself, on the ground that he has perpetrated an injustice against the city.”159 But, as even Hecht—who is sympathetic to such arguments— recognizes, Aristotle fails to state in what way, exactly, the suicide of a city’s member is unjust toward the city. Michael Cholbi concurs, writing that Aristotle “concludes that suicide is somehow a wrong to the state or the community, though he does not outline the nature of this wrong or the specific vices that suicidal individuals exhibit.”160 One is left wondering, then, not only how, precisely, the suicide of a city’s member is unjust toward the city, but, relatedly, whether, in fact, it is. Maimonides goes even further than Aristotle, according to Hecht, arguing that one’s suicide harms—indeed, destroys—the world. Against the backdrop of the claims that “[o]ne should see the world, and see himself as a scale with an equal balance of good and evil. When he does one good deed the scale is tipped to the good—he and the world are saved. When he does one evil deed the scale is tipped to the bad—he and the world are destroyed,” Maimonides claims that “[h]e who destroys himself destroys the world.”161 Whether the latter claim is interpreted literally or figuratively, however, it is patently false. Both literally and figuratively speaking, the world is not destroyed even when a widely influential figure like, say, Alan Turing (or, in the other moral-political direction, Adolph Hitler) commits suicide, let alone when someone with little to no influence on the world commits suicide. All this to say, it is quite clear that, when one commits suicide, one generally harms particular people, such as members of one’s family (at least when one has family members to be so harmed). What is not so clear is whether the harm is global or merely local in nature. It is also not clear that when one commits suicide, one always harms particular people. After all, not everyone has (living) family members to harm. And it is even less clear that one harms people in general. On P2* Is it the case that the harm of other people is an immoral-making consequence (i.e., is harming other people consequentially immoral)? As with many of the other P2s above—particularly that of the generic consequentialist argument presented at the beginning of this chapter—that it is is neither obviously true nor intuitive, and it is open to counterexample.

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Regarding the latter, there seem to be conditions under which harming other people is not an immoral-making consequence, such as when the harm inflicted upon them is so with their voluntary, informed consent. When those who play (American) football do so with voluntary, informed consent, for instance, the football-related harm inflicted upon them does not seem to be an immoral-making consequence. That is to say, it does not appear to be immoral for one to inflict said harm on them. And so it is with myriad harmful activities, such as boxing, mixed-martial arts fighting, wrestling, paintballing, jousting, fencing, and other other-regarding activities. For those who engage in these activities do so with voluntary, informed consent, the activity-related harm inflicted upon them does not appear to be an immoral-making consequence—that is, inflicting said harm on them does not seem to be immoral. Of course, when one harms another through one’s suicide, one often does not do so with the other’s voluntary, informed consent. So, perhaps harming other people is consequentially immoral when the harm is inflicted upon them without their voluntary, informed consent. But even granting that it is does not entail that each and every suicide involves an immoral-making consequence. For some suicides are, in fact, committed with the voluntary, informed consent of the other relevant people, such as some of the aforementioned cases of voluntary, physician-assisted suicide. It also does not entail that the one who commits suicide is morally responsible for doing so. To motivate this, consider individuals who are analogous in a particular way (to be identified shortly) to some of those who commit suicide, namely, drug addicts. Some drug addicts become addicted to drugs under awful conditions (e.g., extreme poverty, systemic racism and sexism, lack of social services, draconian criminal laws and punishments, etc.). No doubt some of said drug addicts are causally responsible for their addiction insofar as they chose (initially) to use drugs. But that they are so does not entail that they are wholly morally responsible for it, in the sense that their choice to use drugs (and their subsequent use of drugs) is something for which they may be solely morally blamed. And, in some of these cases, the moral responsibility lies at least partly with those who are responsible for the horrible conditions which gave rise to the drug addiction—or so Jeff Reiman argues (and I concur). As he writes, Conditions that are so bad [so as to give rise to such drug addiction] must count as intolerable, virtually by definition. But, if someone confronts me with a choice between two alternatives where one is bad but tolerable and

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the other bad and intolerable, that person forces me to opt for the tolerable alternative. I am forced to hand over my wallet to a gunman though he leaves it to me to choose between my money and my life. If addiction is chosen as a bad but tolerable alternative to (soberly facing and experiencing) intolerable conditions, then it is forced by whomever it is who is responsible for the intolerable conditions. And that implies that the forcer is morally culpable for the addiction and its likely consequences … I think this description applies to the situation of at least a substantial number of drug addicts in America’s inner cities. They face awful circumstances that are unjust, unnecessary, and remediable, and yet that the society refuses to remedy. Addiction is for such individuals a bad course of action made tolerable by comparison to the intolerable conditions they face. In that case, I think that moral responsibility for their strong addictions, and for the vicious betrayal of human self-governance that they entail, passes to the larger society.162

Analogously, even if he who commits suicide is causally responsible for doing so insofar as he chose to do so, it does not follow that he is wholly morally responsible for it, in the sense that his choice to do so is something for which he may be solely morally blamed. And in some cases, the moral responsibility arguably lies in part with those who created the awful conditions (again, extreme poverty, systemic racism and sexism, lack of social services, draconian criminal laws and punishments, etc.) which gave rise to his committing suicide. Indeed, substitute “he who commits suicide” for “drug addict,” “suicide” for “addiction,” and “various parts of the world” for “America’s inner cities” in the preceding and, mutatis mutandis, a similar case can be made for at least some of those who commit suicide not being wholly morally responsible for their immoral act (ex hypothesi) of doing so. There is more one could say about the Premature Death Argument, of course. But the preceding will have to suffice. Nevertheless, given what has been covered here, it appears that it does not succeed in establishing that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

The Public Nuisance Argument The Public Nuisance Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the creation of and/or contribution to a public nuisance. P2: The creation of and/or contribution to a public nuisance is an immoral-making consequence.

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C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the creation of and/or contribution to a public nuisance (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute creates and/or contributes to a public nuisance)? In order to answer this question, we need to know what is meant by a “public nuisance.” As the reader may be aware, there are both legal and non-legal definitions of the term. According to the former (one of them, at any rate), it is “an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public.”163 (As a legal definition, the “right” invoked here is, at the very least, legal in nature.) According to the latter, on the other hand (as before, one of them), it is simply “someone or something that causes harm to people in general, rather than to particular people” (note, if you will, the lack of reference to the law).164 P1, then, may be understood in at least two ways: (1) Through prostitution, the prostitute creates and/or contributes to an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public. (2) Through prostitution, the prostitute creates and/or contributes to harm to people in general. I will evaluate P1 via both of these understandings of “public nuisance.” Beginning with the legal definition of “public nuisance,” is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute creates and/or contributes to an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public? There is empirical evidence indicating that this is true of some prostitutes. Drawing from numerous studies, both Sanders et al. and Weitzer provide examples of such interferences, including the infringement of residents’ private and public space, an increase in the harassment of women living in the area where prostitution takes place, some public spaces becoming “no-go” areas due to fears about safety, sex in public places, disorderly conduct, and more.165 With respect to the non-legal definition of “public nuisance,” is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute creates and/or contributes to harm to people in general? As with the legal definition, there is empirical evidence indicating that this is true of some prostitutes. Invoking the same

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studies as were referenced above, both Sanders et al. and Weitzer provide examples of prostitutes causing harm to people in general, including by contributing to an increase in noise, litter (including the discarding of condoms and syringes in public areas), incivilities, the lack of tolerance, the corruption of “family” space, the loss of business to merchants, and more.166 Public policy and economics professor Jim Leitzel paints a rather vivid picture of the public nuisance (legal and non-legal) prostitutes can create and/or contribute to through prostitution: Areas with rampant streetwalking often are marked by pavements littered with used condoms and hypodermic needles. The sexual activity might take place in semipublic fashion. Prostitutes might proposition unwitting passersby, and women and teenage girls passing through the neighborhood might be propositioned by johns. Traffic might be reduced to a standstill as prospective customers crawl along the streets in their cars to arrange a deal.167

However, said evidence does not establish that, in general, prostitutes create and/or contribute to a public nuisance through prostitution—that the majority of street-, brothel-, massage parlor-, sauna-, club-, bar-, window-, call girl-, girlfriend experience-working prostitutes so create and/or contribute through prostitution. In addition, there is empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes do not create and/or contribute to a public nuisance through prostitution, that some instances of creating and/or contributing to a public nuisance are systemic in nature, and that some of the public nuisance that is attributed to prostitutes’ prostitution is attributable to something other than that. Beginning with the former, after noting that indoor and outdoor prostitution have very different effects on their respective surrounding communities, Weitzer reports that indoor prostitution has “little, if any, negative impact on the environment and, if discreet, there is normally little public awareness of it.”168 As an example of this, he cites a study of legal brothels in Queensland, Australia, which found that they had no adverse effect on the local community.169 Sanders et al. agree with Weitzer, citing studies according to which many arrangements between prostitute and client are often sensitive to the local area, amenities, and community; many instances of prostitution solicitation and sexual transactions occur relatively inconspicuously; and people who live in neighborhoods containing brothels are often unaware of their neighborhood’s brothels’ existence.170

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Regarding some instances of creating and/or contributing to a public nuisance being systemic in nature, again, Weitzer notes that indoor and outdoor prostitution have very different effects on their respective surrounding communities, with the former having little to no adverse impact on the environment. With that in mind, to the extent that outdoor prostitution is a byproduct of the legal prohibition of prostitution—which it is significantly, of course, given the resulting legal prohibition of brothels, massage parlors, saunas, clubs, and so on—then to that extent instances of creating and/or contributing to a public nuisance involving outdoor prostitution is systemic in nature. In other words, such instances could be reduced in number, if not altogether eliminated, if prostitution were not legally prohibited and, thus, could take place within the confines of legal brothels. Another, related way in which some instances of creating and/or contributing to a public nuisance are systemic in nature pertains to a popular way of enforcing laws against prostitution, specifically that of the outdoor variety. According to Kuo, the enforcement of outdoor prostitution has historically focused on containment, which involves moving it out of public view and into poorer, marginalized neighborhoods. This results in said neighborhoods undergoing even further marginalization and, with it, “increases in the crimes that often accompany illegal streetwalking and a lowering of the quality of life on nonprostitute women, who may be mistaken for prostitutes and hence harassed or solicited.”171 As above, such instances of creating and/or contributing to a public nuisance are systemic in nature and, as such, could be reduced in number, if not altogether eliminated, if prostitution were not legally prohibited and, thus, could take place within the confines of legal brothels. Finally, with regard to some of the public nuisance that is attributed to prostitutes’ prostitution being attributable to something other than that, Sanders et  al. write of an association that some residents have between prostitution, on the one hand, and drug markets, on the other. And, after noting that the latter may contribute to some residents’ fear and anxiety, they claim that the relationship between the two markets not only is complex but varies significantly from one place to the next.172 Since, in such cases, it is not clear whether it is the prostitution market or the drug market that is the source of the public nuisance (the primary source of it, at any rate), then it is not clear that the public nuisance attributed to prostitutes’ prostitution in such cases is properly attributed to it—solely to it, at any rate.

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To summarize, though empirical evidence indicates that in some cases the prostitute creates and/or contributes to a public nuisance, said evidence does not settle whether this is generally true of prostitutes. What’s more, there is empirical evidence indicating that in some cases the prostitute does not create and/or contribute to a public nuisance, that some instances of creating and/or contributing to a public nuisance are systemic in nature, and that some of the public nuisance that is attributed to prostitutes’ prostitution is attributable to something other than that. On P2 Is it true that the creation of and/or contribution to a public nuisance is an immoral-making consequence (i.e., is creating and/or contributing to a public nuisance consequentially immoral)? To answer this question, let us consider it in light of both definitions of “public nuisance,” beginning with the legal definition. So, is creating and/or contributing to an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public consequentially immoral? At least at first glance (with the combination of “unwarranted” and “unlawful” doing a lot of the work), it seems that it is. The question, however, is what makes it so, assuming it is. One possibility is that such an interference with a right common to the general public is, in and of itself, an immoral-making consequence. But this is implausible, or so it seems to me. Specifically, it seems to me that, if an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public is to be immoral, it must be because of some further factor that makes it so. To motivate this, consider first that “an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public” may be interpreted in strictly descriptive (specifically, nonmoral) terms—at least when “right” is understood in aforementioned legal sense. Consider, next, that the question “What’s immoral about an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public?” is perfectly coherent—again, when “right” is understood in the legal sense, at any rate. And consider, finally, that answers in the form of more basic moral claims have been provided to the aforementioned question, indicating that there are others who, like me, do not find an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public to be immoral in and of itself.173

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Another possibility is that a claim about the immorality of an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public may be derived from a more basic moral claim. Assuming one cannot do so one the basis of a basic consequentialist moral claim (as, at this point, I am—see the nota bene at the end of my discussion of P2 of the Mental Health Argument [Occupational Hazards Version]), one might try to do so on the basis of a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim, something along the lines of “Violating the rights of others is immoral.” In the present context, however, this will not do, as the Public Nuisance Argument is a consequentialist argument. If, then, creating and/or contributing to an unreasonable, unwarranted, or unlawful interference with a right common to the general public is immoral and is so partly on the basis of a nonconsequentialist claim, a nonconsequentialist argument is required in order to show that it is. This brings us to the non-legal definition of “public nuisance.” Is it the case that creating and/or contributing to harm to people in general is consequentially immoral? As with many of the other P2s above, particularly that of the aforementioned generic consequentialist argument, that it is is neither obviously true nor intuitive, and it is subject to counterexample. Regarding the latter, again, there seem to be conditions under which harming other people does not involve an immoral-making consequence, such as when the harm is done with the other’s voluntary, informed consent. And, as with the legal definition of “public nuisance,” neither basic consequentialist moral claims nor nonconsequentialist (in the present context) moral claims will be of any help when it comes to outweighing such counterexamples. Of course, when one harms another through public nuisance, one typically does not do so with the other’s voluntary, informed consent. So, perhaps creating and/or contributing to harm to people in general is immoral when harm is inflicted upon them without their voluntary, informed consent. But even if one grants that it is, à la the previously discussed analogy involving drug addiction, it does not follow that the one who harms others through public nuisance is wholly morally responsible for doing so. And in some cases, the moral responsibility arguably lies in part, if not in whole, with those who created the horrible conditions (the previously mentioned conditions [e.g., extreme poverty] as well as, and perhaps most importantly, laws prohibiting brothels and containment policies) which gave rise to her creating and/or contributing to a public nuisance.

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Though more could be said about the Public Nuisance Argument, this will have to do for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that it fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

The Economic Costs Argument The Economic Costs Argument is as follows: P1: P2: C1: P3: C2:

Prostitution involves the contribution to substantial economic costs to society. The contribution to substantial economic costs to society is an immoral-making consequence. Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1

Is it the case that prostitution involves the contribution to substantial economic costs to society (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute contributes to substantial economic costs to society)? In order to answer this question, we need to select at least one “society” to serve as our touchstone. Since studies on the societal economic costs of prostitution are quite limited, I will focus on just one society: the U.S. It appears that only one study has ever been conducted on the issue of prostitution’s contribution to the economic costs to American society, the results of which were published by the University of California’s Hastings Law Journal in 1987. And it is rather limited in scope to boot, as it focuses on just the cost of policing prostitution borne by the law enforcement agencies of America’s biggest cities. (It has nothing to say about prostitution’s health care or productivity costs to society, for example.) Even so, a look at this study’s results can provide us with a rough estimate of prostitution’s contribution to the economic costs to society today. So, according to it, the cost of policing prostitution borne by said agencies amounted to $120 million a year at that time, with each agency spending an average of about $2000 per arrest of a prostitute.174 (For what it’s worth, the authors of the report described this as a “disproportionately high toll on law

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enforcement resources.”)175 That would be roughly $270 million a year at an average of $4500 per arrest of prostitution in today’s dollars. (For the sake of the argument, I will simply assume that this, too, is disproportionately high toll on law enforcement resources.) And this is just the cost of policing prostitution in the biggest cities in the U.S. Given the policing and other kinds of costs borne by America’s smaller cities and towns, by residents wherein prostitution (particularly outdoor prostitution) takes place, and by other members of society, prostitution’s economic cost to society is likely much higher. Indeed, for the sake of the argument, I will assume that it is twice as high: $540 million dollars a year. So, does $540 million a year constitute substantial economic costs to society? It is hard to say and is so for a variety of reasons. To begin with, judging a cost (or benefit) to be substantial is at once a relativistic and value-laden endeavor. Beginning with the former, childhood poverty’s economic cost to the U.S. is a little over $1 trillion a year, for instance.176 Relative to that, prostitution’s economic costs to society do not seem to be substantial. On the other hand, the White House maintenance’s economic costs to the U.S. is up to $1.6 million a year.177 Relative to that, prostitution’s economic costs to society seem to be substantial indeed. And the relativistic character of judging a cost to be substantial makes it difficult to judge whether prostitution’s economic costs to society are substantial. As for judging a cost (or benefit) to be substantial being a value-laden endeavor, “substantial” can refer to the importance or worth of that which is described as such. And, in many cases, this is exactly what it refers to in the context of costs and benefits. When someone inherits a “substantial” amount of money, for example, this often means that the amount of money is in some way significant to the one who inherits it. (Not all cases of inheritance are substantial in this sense, of course. Bill Gates inheriting $10,000 would not involve inheriting an amount of money that is in some way significant to him, arguably.) Similarly, when someone is fined a “substantial” amount of money, this often means that the amount is in some way significant to the one who is fined. (As with the inheritance example, not all cases of being fined are substantial in this sense.) So whether a cost is substantial is partly a value-laden judgment, one regarding the importance or worth of the cost in question. Given this, determining whether prostitution’s economic costs to society are substantial is a complicated affair. For it requires one to assess the importance or worth of the cost relative to the importance or worth of that which accounts for said costs,

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namely, prostitution. And to do that requires one to assess the importance or worth of prostitution itself. This, in turn, forces one to consider the moral, social, political, and other value-related aspects of prostitution. Once this is done, one must then weigh one’s assessment of the importance or worth of the cost against one’s assessment of the importance or worth of prostitution. All this to say, given that whether a cost is substantial is partly a value-laden judgment, determining whether prostitution’s economic costs to society are substantial is a complex endeavor, one that depends in part on the very thing that is at issue here, namely, the moral status of prostitution. Finally, in addition to prostitution’s economic costs to society (whatever they might be), prostitution contributes economic benefits to it as well. After all, prostitutes are paid for their services. And at least some, and probably most, of that money makes its way into the economy. Just how much of it does is hard to say, to be sure. But whatever the amount (and given the estimated number of prostitutes in the U.S., it is likely in the tens, if not hundreds, of millions of dollars), it offsets some of the $540 million that prostitution costs (ex hypothesi) society. What’s more, were it not for the fact that prostitution is (mostly) legally prohibited, the vast majority of said $540 million would not be spent in the first place, and whatever remained would be offset to some extent by the tax revenue that prostitution would generate were prostitution to be legalized. The harm of such costs, then, is systemic in nature. In summary, whether it is true that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally contribute to substantial economic costs to society is far from clear. This is due to a number of things, including that there is little empirical evidence on the matter of prostitution’s economic costs to society; that establishing whether a given cost is “substantial” is, at once, relativistic and value-laden in nature; and that, whatever the economic costs may be, they are offset to some extent by the money the prostitutes earn through their prostitution and contribute to society. On P2 Is it the case that the contribution to substantial economic costs to society is an immoral-making consequence (i.e., is contributing to substantial economic costs to society consequentially immoral)? That it is neither obvious nor intuitive, and it is open to counterexample. Take, for instance,

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adopting a lifestyle of poor diet and exercise. At the level of the individual, a lifestyle of poor diet and exercise is thought to be the main cause of obesity.178 And, according to the Brooking Institution’s report on the economic costs of obesity to American society, it is up to $223 billion.179 This includes costs related to healthcare, productivity, and transportation. (It is worth pausing for a moment to reflect upon what the economic costs of obesity to the U.S. would be if, like prostitution, obesity were illegal and, in turn, policing and other systemic costs were involved.) Now, for the sake of the argument, let us assume that a $223 billion economic cost to society is, in fact, substantial. Due to this cost, is adopting a lifestyle of poor diet and exercise resulting in obesity immoral? Arguably not. To be sure, it may be imprudent and perhaps even morally criticizable to one degree or another to adopt such a lifestyle. But it does not seem that, on the basis of said cost, it is morally impermissible and, as such, an act in which one has no moral right to engage. Related to the preceding, the fundamental problem with the Economic Costs Argument is that it derives a claim about the immorality of prostitution from a claim about the immorality of prostitution’s aggregate harm to society—that is, the total amount of societal harm produced by prostitution. And that it does is a problem. For why think that the aggregate harm of prostitution renders each and every individual instance of prostitution—or even prostitution in general—harmful and immoral? Even if an act is harmful in the aggregate, this does not entail that it is harmful— much less morally impermissible—in each and every individual instance. Indeed, reasoning that it does is to commit the fallacy of division. Nor does an act’s being harmful in the aggregate make it likely that it is immoral in each and every individual instance, as evidenced by the innumerable acts that are harmful in the aggregate but not thereby individually immoral. From driving cars to eating fatty food, riding bicycles to playing football, skateboarding to kick boxing, each of these acts is harmful in the aggregate but not thereby individually immoral. So, even if prostitution imposes substantial economic costs on society, this does not appear to render prostitution an act that one has no moral right to perform. There is more to say about the Economic Costs Argument, naturally. But the preceding will have to suffice. Nevertheless, given what has been covered here, it appears that it does not succeed in establishing that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

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The Undermined Marriage Argument Like the Mental Health Argument, there are two versions of the Undermined Marriage Argument: the client’s marriage version and the institution of marriage version. I will consider each in turn. The Undermined Marriage Argument (Client’s Marriage Version) P1: Prostitution involves the undermining of the client’s marriage. P2: The undermining of another’s marriage is an immoral-making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the undermining of the client’s marriage (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute undermines the client’s marriage)? Though there is no empirical evidence indicating that this is true of prostitutes in general, ostensibly, empirical evidence exists showing that this is true of some prostitutes.180 The degree to which said prostitutes undermine the client’s marriage varies from one case to another, unsurprisingly, ranging from merely straining the relationship to dissolving it altogether. For instance, in the case of former congressman David Vitter, it appears his having sex with a prostitute merely strained (though perhaps continues to strain) his marriage. In the case of the former governor of New York, Eliot Spitzer, however, it seems his having sex with a prostitute not only strained his marriage but (along with other factors, presumably) dissolved it. However, there also is empirical evidence indicating that this is not true of some prostitutes. To begin with, not all clients have a marriage to be undermined. According to one study involving just under 700 clients, only 41 percent of respondents reported to be married.181 Moreover, some clients have spouses who, for whatever reason, are not opposed to their husbands employing the services of prostitutes—at least, not so opposed as to leave them for doing so.182 In such cases, it is safe to say that when

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the husband employs the services of a prostitute, the prostitute does not thereby undermine her client’s marriage—not in the sense that she destroys it, at any rate. What’s more, some philosophers—including Augustine and Bertrand Russell—have argued that, rather than undermining the client’s marriage, prostitution supports it at times.183 Primoratz summarizes this as the view that prostitution offers “a safety valve for a force which will otherwise subvert the institution of marriage and destroy all the chastity and decency this institution makes possible.”184 Indeed, he goes on to cite a study according to which the majority of the participating prostitutes’ clients were married men who were dissatisfied with the sex life they had with their wives but satisfied with remaining married so long as they could have sex with prostitutes.185 “So prostitution may not be a threat to marriage,” Primoratz writes, “but complementary to and indeed supportive of it.”186 One prostitute echoes the sentiment of this study, claiming, “I would say that if I was married I would rather have my husband cheat on me with a sex worker than with anyone else. There are a lot of good sex workers out there that literally are only about the sex … I don’t think I’ve ever broken a marriage or anything. I’ve saved a whole bunch of them.”187 Summing up, though there does not appear to be any empirical evidence indicating that prostitutes generally undermine the client’s marriage through prostitution, there is such evidence indicating both that in some cases she does and that in some cases she does not. On P2 Is it true that the undermining of another’s marriage is an immoral-­making consequence (i.e., is undermining another’s marriage consequentially immoral)? No doubt some will think that it is, at least at first glance. But, as with the Public Nuisance Argument, the question is what makes it so, assuming it is (this assumption will be challenged shortly). One possibility is that undermining another’s marriage is, in and of itself, an immoral-­ making consequence. But this strikes me as false, as it seems to me that, if undermining another’s marriage is to be immoral, it must be because of some further factor that makes it so. To motivate this, consider that “undermining another’s marriage” may be interpreted in strictly descriptive terms. Consider, next, that the question “What’s immoral about undermining another’s marriage?” is perfectly coherent. And consider, finally, that answers in the form of more basic moral claims have been

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provided to the aforementioned question, indicating that there are others who, like me, do not find the undermining of another’s marriage to be immoral in and of itself.188 Another possibility is that a claim about the immorality of undermining another’s marriage may be derived from a claim about the significant harm the client’s spouse and (when applicable) children incur without their voluntary, informed consent as a result of said undermining (and perhaps other marriage-undermining-related factors—e.g., the spouse’s acquisition of a sexually transmitted disease from her husband, who acquired the disease from a prostitute). With such cases in mind, I am inclined to agree with the derivation—that undermining another’s marriage is—or, at least, can be—immoral when it harms the client’s spouse and children so. But agreeing in this case does not commit one to agreeing that prostitution is immoral when it undermines the client’s marriage; it only commits one to agreeing that it is when it undermines the client’s marriage in the aforementioned way. To be sure, when prostitution undermines the client’s marriage, it probably does so in said way in many, if not most, cases. But the latter is an empirical claim which requires empirical support. And even if there is empirical evidence to bear this out, it seems likely that at least some cases—however statistically small in number—do not involve such harm (e.g., cases in which the client was no longer loved by his spouse and children and they welcomed his departure from the family). Yet another possibility is that a claim about the immorality of undermining another’s marriage may be derived from a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim, something along the lines of “Violating the rights of others is immoral.” But, as before, this will not do, as the Undermined Marriage Argument a consequentialist argument. If undermining another’s marriage is immoral and is so partly on the basis of a nonconsequentialist moral claim, then a nonconsequentialist argument is required in order to show that it is. Of course, each of the preceding possibilities pertain to an affirmative answer to the question of whether it is true that the undermining of another’s marriage is a consequence that renders the act that produces it immoral. And there is at least one possibility—indeed, an actuality—that pertains to a negative answer to this question, that of a marriage wherein one of the spouses is abusive (physically, psychologically, or both) toward, or otherwise very harmful to, the other (without his or her voluntary, informed consent, if that is not already clear). In such a case, it seems rather obvious to me that undermining the other’s marriage is morally

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permissible. To make this more concrete, if Tina is married to someone who regularly mistreats her both physically and psychologically—indeed, he does so to the point where Tina contemplates suicide—then it seems quite clear to me that Diana’s (Tina’s friend) counseling Tina to leave her husband, assisting her in doing so, and thereby undermining Tina’s marriage is morally permissible. After all, among other things, Tina’s husband has no moral right to abuse Tina in these ways, and Tina is not morally required to undergo such abuse. The Undermined Marriage Argument (Institution of Marriage Version) The Undermined Marriage Argument (Institution of Marriage Version) is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the undermining of the institution of marriage. P2: The undermining of the institution of marriage is an immoral-­ making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it the case that prostitution involves the undermining of the institution of marriage (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute undermines the institution of marriage)? In order to answer this question, we must know what is meant by the “institution” of marriage. The word “institution” has various meanings, naturally, but argument-relevant and suitable examples include: “a significant practice, relationship, or organization in a society or culture,” “a custom or practice that has existed for a long time and is accepted as an important part of a society,” and “an important tradition on which society is based.”189 These definitions are not synonymous, to be sure, but they agree on this: that an institution is a custom, practice, tradition, or organization that is important to a society. On this understanding of “institution,” marriage qua institution is a custom, practice, or tradition that is important to a society. Of course, institutions are the kinds of things that may or may not be regulated by the state.

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Since marriage is generally state-regulated in those places that serve as a geographical focus of this book (Western societies), however, it will be understood here as such. With all of the preceding in mind, P1 may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute undermines a particular state-regulated custom, practice, or tradition that is important to a society, namely, marriage. Is this the case? Some people have certainly thought so. To wit, in the U.S. Supreme Court’s 1908 decision in U.S. v. Bitty, Justice John Marshall Harlan quotes and affirms Congress’ understanding of prostitution at the time, writing, [t]here can be no doubt as to what class was aimed at by the clause forbidding the importation of alien women for purposes of “prostitution.” It refers to women who, for hire or without hire, offer their bodies to indiscriminate intercourse with men. The lives and example of such persons are in hostility to “the idea of the family as consisting in and springing from the union for life of one man and one woman in the holy estate of matrimony; the sure foundation of all that is stable and noble in our civilization; the best guaranty of that reverent morality which is the source of all beneficent progress in social and political improvement.”190

Granted, claiming that the lives and example of prostitutes are in hostility to the idea of family and, with it, marriage is not one and the same as claiming that they undermine marriage. But it is safe to say that, in a 9-0 decision, the court thinks they can and, perhaps, often do. For its appeal to such hostility would make little sense if it thought that they could not. More recently, Focus on the Family’s Dave Quist contends that “[i]f prostitution is legal it affords men the ‘excuse’ to go find sex outside of marriage, when things in the marriage are difficult. That does nothing to enhance the relationship between a man and a woman.”191 In a similar vein, Dorn Checkley, Director of the Pittsburgh Coalition Against Pornography, maintains that “[l]egalized prostitution will proliferate and gain legitimacy, just like pornography has, but legal and social acceptance will never ameliorate the negative consequences to marriage … We don’t need any more negative pressure on marriage in our culture.”192 All this to say, some people have certainly thought that, through prostitution, the prostitute undermines the institution of marriage. Nevertheless, determining whether this is actually the case is much more difficult than some might think. To be sure, and as indicated in our

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discussion of the client’s marriage version of the Undermined Marriage Argument, it is true that the prostitute undermines the client’s marriage in some cases. But from this fact it does not follow that the institution of marriage is thereby undermined. And that prostitution undermines said institution is far from clear. To begin with, there seems to be no empirical evidence indicating that the majority of prostitutes undermine the institution of marriage through prostitution. Additionally, there is some empirical evidence suggesting that they do not. Despite periodic fluctuations in marriage and divorce rates (both domestically and globally), marriage remains a popular option for couples. In the U.S., for example, nearly half (48.2 percent) of all Americans age 15 and over are married.193 Of course, this may be due in part to the fact that prostitution is largely illegal in the U.S.  But even where prostitution is legal, marriage remains a popular option for couples. In the Netherlands, for example, nearly half (45 percent) of all Dutch people are married.194 Indeed, marriage remains so popular—at least, popular enough—such that individuals who historically have lacked the legal right to marry (e.g., those in homosexual or interracial relationships) have not only fought for and obtained it in some parts of the world, but continue to fight for it in many parts of the world where they have yet to obtain it. To be sure, plenty of people are not married, some never will be, and many are divorced.195 But unless prostitution is one of the primary causes of these things, such considerations are largely, if not entirely, irrelevant to the issue of whether prostitution undermines the institution of marriage. The question, then, is whether prostitution is, in fact, one of the primary causes of these things. And there appears to be no empirical evidence indicating that it is. With respect to the primary causes of people not being married, empirical evidence exists showing that they include not having found the “right” partner, advancements in technology (e.g., dating apps), considerations of future well-being, considerations of one’s financial situation, and more.196 But there seems to be no empirical evidence indicating that prostitution is one of the primary causes as well. Granted, this might be due to the fact that, given prostitution’s legal status and the stigma that goes along with it, people might be reluctant to admit that prostitution is such a cause for those for whom it is. Even so, as things stand, no empirical evidence exists, apparently, showing that prostitution is a primary cause of people not being married. Any claim that the prostitution is such a cause, then, is likely to be mere conjecture.

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As for the primary causes of divorce, prostitution is not on any of the lists of such causes of which I am aware. With respect to these lists, infidelity, financial issues, lack of compatibility, lack of communication, constant arguing, parenting issues, addiction and/or alcoholism issues, weight gain, unrealistic expectations, lack of intimacy, lack of equality, not being prepared for marriage, religious differences, lack of support from family, and emotional and/or physical abuse (among others) are included as primary causes of divorce.197 Prostitution, however, is not. Naturally, infidelity can be related to prostitution in that one way to be unfaithful to one’s spouse is by engaging in sexual activity with a prostitute. But being unfaithful to one’s spouse is not one and the same being unfaithful to one’s spouse by engaging in sexual activity with a prostitute. And empirical evidence exists suggesting that the vast majority of people who are unfaithful to their spouse are so with someone other than a prostitute (92 percent in one study).198 In sum, not only is there no empirical evidence indicating that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally undermine the institution of marriage, ostensibly, but empirical evidence exists suggesting that they do not. On P2 Is it the case that the undermining of the institution of marriage is an immoral-making consequence (i.e., is undermining the institution of marriage consequentially immoral)? Answering this question is a contentious affair, as it involves considering the value—moral, social, and/or political, at a minimum—of the institution of marriage, among other things. (Since this chapter is dedicated to nonreligious arguments, considering its religious value will not be done here.) Generally speaking, some have argued that the institution of marriage has negative moral, social, and/or political value (e.g., Simone de Beauvoir, who describes the institution of marriage as “very dangerous”).199 Others have argued that it has positive moral, social, and/or political value (e.g., the aforementioned Supreme Court justices, who seemingly agree with Congress’s description of the institution of marriage as “the sure foundation of all that is stable and noble in our civilization”). In order to determine whether P2 is true, then, I will do so by viewing it through the lens of each of these general valuations of the institution of marriage. Only after I have done this will I provide my view on the immorality of undermining the institution of marriage.

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Beginning with the view that the institution of marriage has negative moral, social, and/or political value, answering whether undermining said institution is immoral involves determining just how negative (ex hypothesi) the institution of marriage’s value is, in which way(s) the value is negative, and whether the negative value is local or global in nature. After all, that the institution of marriage has, say, significant overall negative value morally, socially, and politically is not the only possibility. To wit, it might be that the institution of marriage has significant negative value in some political regard, but not in any social or moral regard. It might be that it has only negligible overall negative value morally, socially, and politically. It might be that it has significant overall negative value morally, but negligible negative value in some social and political regard. And so on. Having said that, we need not attempt to consider answers to each and every possibility here. For present purposes, it will suffice merely to consider answers to the two most extreme possibilities: (1) that the institution of marriage has significant overall negative value morally, socially, and politically, and (2) that the institution of marriage has negligible negative value in some moral, social, or political regard (with “or” understood in exclusive terms). P2, then, may be understood in one of two ways: (1) The undermining of a particular state-regulated institution that has significant overall negative value morally, socially, and politically—marriage—is an immoral-making consequence. (2) The undermining of a particular state-­ regulated institution that has negligible negative value in some moral, social, or political regard—marriage—is an immoral-making consequence. I will evaluate P2 via each of these understandings in turn. Is it true, then, that the undermining of a particular state-regulated institution that has significant overall negative value morally, socially, and politically—marriage—is an immoral-making consequence? In her Against Marriage: An Egalitarian Defense of the Marriage-Free State, Clare Chambers contends that, given said value, it is not. One part of her argument is that the institution of marriage has been, and continues to be (albeit perhaps to a lesser extent than in the past, at least in some parts of the world), oppressive to women. As she writes, “marriage has played a significant role in maintaining the wider regime of gender inequality, since it has been used to consolidate legal, economic, cultural, and symbolic oppression by confining women to a private sphere in which they are seriously disadvantaged.”200 Her defense of this view involves a number of things. To begin with, it involves drawing on the arguments proffered by feminist critics of marriage, including John Stuart Mill (according to

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whom marriage is “the primitive state of slavery lasting on”), Juliet Mitchell (according to whom marriage is “utterly simple and rigid”), and many others.201 (For the sake of space, I will forgo presenting these arguments here. To read more about them, see the following endnote.)202 Her defense of the view that the institution of marriage has been and continues to be oppressive to women also involves invoking studies on the empirical effects of the institution of marriage on women. According to one such study, based on data from the U.S., marriage perpetuates various aspects of the oppression of women, with “oppression” being understood in terms of the diminishment of the opportunities they can have in their lives due to interactive and systematic legal, social, and economic factors.203 Two particular aspects of women’s oppression that marriage perpetuates are spousal violence and economic dependence based on gendered spousal roles.204 According to another study, this time based on data from the U.K., a major impediment to women’s equality, both professionally and domestically speaking, is the influence of the “normative ideology” of gender roles in marriage.205 Finally, in addition to involving a discussion of some of the institution of marriage’s empirical effects on women, her defense involves a discussion of some of its symbolic effects on women as well (which, as the reader will see, are not merely symbolic in nature). Specifically, she discusses how marriage harms women symbolically by making them out to be inferior to men. Following Pierre Bourdieu, Chambers refers to such a symbolic effect as “symbolic violence.”206 As she describes it, symbolic violence occurs “when, through social pressures, an individual feels herself to be inferior or worthless.”207 And she contends that the symbolic violence that marriage inflicts on women (at least, women in Western societies) is that of the feeling of being defective and/or failing if one is not married. “Many heterosexual women see single life as a temporary phase preceding marriage,” she writes, “and being single for longer or when older is construed as sad and shameful, and at least partially the fault of the single woman herself.”208 Indeed, as I write this, there is an opinion piece in today’s New York Times titled “Is Marriage a Prize?” in which the author claims that American social and pop culture taught her that “girls were to work toward one goal—getting married.”209 In addition to the institution of marriage being oppressive to women, Chambers provides other reasons for thinking that it ought to be undermined, such as that it is heterosexist and that it violates political liberal neutrality. But this will do for now. Suffice it to say that, as Chambers sees

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it, the institution of marriage has significant overall negative value morally, socially, and politically and, thus, undermining it is not immoral. What about the undermining of the state-regulated institution of marriage when it has negligible negative value in some moral, social, or political regard? Is this an immoral-making consequence? Whether it is seems to depend partly on whether the institution of marriage also has positive value and, if so, the nature and degree of said value. For if the institution of marriage has negligible negative value in some, say, political regard (e.g., suppose married people have a negligibly greater and, as such, unfair influence on politicians than do unmarried people), but it also has significant positive value in both moral and social regards (e.g., suppose married people do an overwhelmingly better job at raising children than do unmarried people), then it might be immoral to undermine it. (I write “might be” immoral deliberately, as one would like to know about the exact natures and degrees of the moral, social, and political values before judging one way or the other.) With that in mind, let us turn to the general view that the institution of marriage has positive moral, social, and/or political value. On this view, and similar to the preceding, answering whether undermining the institution of marriage is immoral involves determining just how positive (again, ex hypothesi) the institution of marriage’s value is, in which way(s) the value is positive, and whether the positive value is local or global in nature. And there are many possibilities. But, as before, it will suffice merely to consider answers to the two most extreme possibilities: (1) that the institution of marriage has significant overall positive value morally, socially, and politically, and (2) that the institution of marriage has negligible positive value in some moral, social, or political regard. P2, then, may be understood in one of two further ways: (1) The undermining of a particular institution that has significant overall positive value morally, socially, and politically—marriage—is an immoral-making consequence. (2) The undermining of a particular institution that has negligible positive value in some moral, social, or political regard—marriage—is an immoral-making consequence. I will evaluate P2 via each of these understandings in turn. So, is it true that the undermining of a particular state-regulated institution that has significant overall positive value morally, socially, and politically—marriage—is an immoral-making consequence? In their The Case for Marriage: Why Married People Are Happier, Healthier, and Better Off Financially, sociologist Linda Waite and writer/activist Maggie Gallagher

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maintain that, given said value, it is. Like Chambers, Waite and Gallagher invoke studies on the empirical effects of marriage. But unlike Chambers, the studies Waite and Gallagher rely on pertain to marriage’s empirical effects, not just on women, but on demographic groups beyond them (e.g., men, children, elderly people, people of color, rich and poor, etc.).210 According to one such study (on the relation between marriage and mental health), married people report less depression and anxiety as well as lower levels of other types of psychological distress than do those who are not, or are no longer, married.211 According to another (on the relation between marriage and child-rearing), children raised by a single parent are, on average, “more likely to be poor, to have health problems and psychological disorders, to commit crimes and exhibit other conduct disorders, have somewhat poorer relationships with both family and peers, and as adults eventually get fewer years of education and enjoy less stable marriages and lower occupational statuses than children whose parents got and stayed married.”212 According to yet another (on the relation between marriage and sexual satisfaction), married people have both more and better (read: more satisfying) sex than most unmarried people, with the possible exception of unmarried cohabitators.213 And so on. (Waite and Gallagher invoke other significant prudential goods that they claim can be, and generally are, actualized via marriage, but the preceding will suffice for our purposes.) And given that, via marriage, one can, and generally does, actualize these important prudential goods, the institution of marriage has significant overall positive value morally, socially, and politically and, thus, undermining it is—or, at least, can be—immoral, or so Waite and Gallagher maintain. What about the undermining of the state-regulated institution of marriage when it has negligible positive value in some moral, social, or political regard? Is this an immoral-making consequence? Similar to before, whether it is seems to depend partly on whether the institution of marriage also has negative value and, if so, the nature and degree of said value. For if the institution of marriage has negligible positive value in some, say, moral regard (e.g., suppose married people do a negligibly better job at raising children than do unmarried people), but it also has significant negative value in both social and political regards (e.g., it oppresses women and thereby significantly diminishes the opportunities—social, political, economic, and so on—they will have in life), then it might not be immoral to undermine it. (As before, I write “might not be” immoral deliberately, as one would like to know about the exact natures and degrees of the

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moral, social, and political values before judging one way or the other.) But this brings us full circle, as we are confronted once again with arguments like Chambers’s. Having viewed P2 through the lenses of two general valuations of the institution of marriage—that it has negative moral, social, and/or political value, on the one hand, and that it has positive moral, social, and/or political value, on the other—I will now offer my thoughts on whether it is true that the undermining of the state-regulated institution of marriage is an immoral-making consequence. Since I do not think that the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act is wholly a function of a supposed moral-making or immoral-making consequence the act is said to involve, intrinsically or typically, I do not think that the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of undermining the state-regulated institution of marriage is to be determined merely on the basis of such consequences. Accordingly, even if I granted that undermining said institution involves, say, greater immoral-making consequences than does not undermining it, I need not (and do not) think that this entails that undermining it is immoral or even morally criticizable. To be sure, I do hold that the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of undermining this institution not only can be but partly is a function of such consequences. But, as my criticisms of BC1–BC32 indicate, I do not believe that this constitutes the entire moral story. The issue for me, then, is whether undermining the state-regulated institution of marriage involves some other, nonconsequential moral-making property or set of properties such that undermining it is immoral. And that it does is not clear. To wit, even if one claimed that people have a right (nonconsequentially construed) to marriage, it would not follow that undermining the state-regulated institution of marriage violates such a right. After all, a right to marriage is not one and the same as a right to state-regulated marriage. Having the former, then, does not entail having the latter. So, if one claimed that people have the latter, further grounds for this claim would be needed. For, independent of state regulation, people could nevertheless not only possess a right to marriage but freely exercise it. After all, the lack of such state regulation is not one and the same as state prohibition. Whence, then, a right to state-regulated marriage?214 All this to say, that undermining the state-­ regulated institution of marriage is immoral is far from clear to me. Though more could be said about the Undermined Marriage Argument, this will have to do for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that it fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

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The Crime Argument The Crime Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the commitment and/or enablement of crime. P2: The commitment and/or enablement of crime is an immoral-­ making consequence. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence. P3: If prostitution involves an immoral-making consequence, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the commitment and/or enablement of crime (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute commits and/or enables crime)? In order to answer this question, we need to know what, exactly, is meant by “enables” and “crime.” Beginning with the former, “enable” has both a (purely) descriptive sense and a normative sense. An argument-relevant and suitable example of the former is “to provide with the means or opportunity.”215 And a likewise example of the latter is “to give legal power, capacity, or sanction to.”216 The meaning of “enable” at work in the Crime Argument is that of the aforementioned descriptive sense—to provide with the means or opportunity. As for “crime,” an argument-relevant and apt sense of the word is “an illegal act for which someone can be punished by the government.”217 In what way, exactly, the convicted criminal can be punished by the government for his crime varies from case to case, naturally. But a fundamental distinction for our purposes—albeit one whose importance will only become clear when we evaluate P2—is that of punishments that involve imprisonment (whether in a local jail or state or federal prison) and, with it, a significant deprivation of freedoms that the criminal would likely otherwise possess—for example, of movement, of association, and so on— and punishments that do not involve this. With that in mind, crime that is punishable by imprisonment (assuming there is any) will be referred to here as “freedom-deprivable crime,” whereas crime that is not so punishable will be referred to here as “freedom-preservable crime.” Given these understandings of “enable” and “crime,” P1 may be understood in one of two ways: (1) Through prostitution, the prostitute commits and/or

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provides another with the means or opportunity to commit freedom-­ deprivable crime. (2) Through prostitution, the prostitute commits and/ or provides another with the means or opportunity to commit freedom-­ preservable crime. I will evaluate P1 via each of these understandings in turn. Is it true, then, that, through prostitution, the prostitute commits and/ or provides another with the means or opportunity to commit freedom-­ deprivable crime? It is, of course, where prostitution and prostitution-­ related activities (e.g., pimping) are freedom-deprivable crimes, such as in Iran, Saudi Arabia, and most of the U.S. But it is not true where prostitution and (at least some) prostitution-related activities are not crimes (let alone freedom-deprivable crimes), such as in the Netherlands, Sweden, and parts of Nevada. More precisely, it is not true that the prostitute commits and/or enables crime merely through her prostitution. To be sure, the prostitute might commit and/or enable freedom-deprivable crime in other ways. Indeed, and as de Marneffe points out, there is empirical evidence indicating that petty larceny is closely linked with prostitution.218 But she does not do so simply through providing her prostitutional services. Regarding the second understanding of P1, is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute commits and/or provides another with the means or opportunity to commit freedom-preservable crime? As before, it is where prostitution and prostitution-related activities are freedom-­ preservable crimes. But it is not true where prostitution and (at least some) prostitution-related activities are not crimes (much less freedom-­ preservable crimes). It is not true, that is, that the prostitute commits and/or enables crime merely through her prostitution. As above, the prostitute might commit and/or enable freedom-preservable crime in other ways, of course, but she does not do so simply through prostitution. To summarize, though in some cases it is true that, in general, prostitutes commit and/or enable crime (both freedom-preservable and freedom-­deprivable) through prostitution, in other cases it is not. On P2 Is it true that the commitment and/or enablement of crime is an immoral-­ making consequence (i.e., is committing and/or enabling crime consequentially immoral)? As with P2 of the Undermined Marriage Argument,

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answering this question is a complicated and contentious affair, since it involves determining whether the mere fact that there is a criminal law prohibiting an act—a genuine criminal law prohibiting it, that is, where “genuine” is understood (as it is, standardly) to be a function of the law’s substance and/or the procedure by which it came to be—generates a moral obligation to obey said law, among other things. Some philosophers argue that it does, of course (e.g., natural law theorists); others argue that it does not (e.g., philosophical anarchists).219 I will not attempt to settle this debate as to do so is well beyond the scope of this work. Instead, I will merely assume that natural law theorists (and similarly minded philosophers) are correct in this regard and, thus, that a genuine criminal law prohibiting an act does, in fact, generate a moral obligation to obey said law. For even on this assumption, not all criminal laws prohibiting an act are, in fact, genuine criminal laws. Accordingly, criminal laws that are not genuine do not generate a moral obligation to obey them. A standard example of this (for natural law theorists, at least) is an unjust criminal law. (As Augustine puts it, “a law that is not just is not a law.”)220 There are, of course, various views on what, exactly, an “unjust” law is. For present purposes, the following will suffice: an unjust law is one that violates one or more of the moral rights of those who live under it. With the preceding in mind, I will attempt to answer the question of whether committing and/or enabling crime—freedom-deprivable or freedom-preservable—is immoral by focusing on a particular token of it: Is committing and/or enabling the crime of prostitution immoral? And I will attempt to answer this latter question by determining whether criminal laws prohibiting prostitution (and prostitution alone—not, for example, criminal laws prohibiting the prostitution-related activities of loitering, soliciting, pimping, etc.) are just, that is, are laws that do not violate one or more of the moral rights of those who live under them. For if criminal laws prohibiting prostitution are not just—if, that is, they are unjust— then they are not genuine laws. And if they are not genuine laws, then they fail to generate moral obligations to obey them, even by the standards of natural law theorists. So, are criminal laws prohibiting prostitution—both those that construe prostitution to be a freedom-deprivable crime and those that do not—just? More specifically (lest there be any confusion), are criminal laws prohibiting the providing of oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex by one mentally competent adult to at least one other mentally competent adult primarily and explicitly for his or her money laws that do not violate

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one or more of the rights of those who live under them? In order to answer this question, I will do so in steps, beginning with determining whether criminal laws prohibiting prostitution that construe prostitution to be a freedom-deprivable crime are just, followed by determining whether those that construe prostitution to be a freedom-preservable crime are just. One reason to think that criminal laws prohibiting prostitution that construe prostitution to be a freedom-deprivable crime are not just pertains to something that was discussed in Chap. 2: the moral right (hereafter, simply “right”) to bodily autonomy. If (as I argued there) prostitutes have a right to bodily autonomy and they exercise said right through their prostitution, then criminal laws prohibiting prostitution that construe prostitution to be a freedom-deprivable crime violate one of their rights. For depriving someone of her freedom (again, of movement, of association, etc.) is one of, if not the, worst punishments the government can impose on her. As such, it is strongly coercive and, in turn, very effective. Through criminal laws prohibiting prostitution that construe prostitution to be a freedom-deprivable crime, then, the prostitute is given virtually every reason not to exercise her right to bodily autonomy through prostitution. But if the history of rights and, in particular, rights-expansion is any indication (consider, for example, the abolitionist, women’s suffrage, and civil rights movements in the U.S.), a strongly coercive and very effective punishment for the exercise of a right not only constitutes but epitomizes a violation of said right. Given, then, that prostitutes exercise their right to bodily autonomy through their prostitution as well as that one way for a law to be unjust is for it to be rights-violating, criminal laws prohibiting prostitution that construe prostitution to be a freedom-­ deprivable crime are thereby unjust. (I cannot help but note here that even de Marneffe, whose argument for laws prohibiting the purchase of prostitutional services is one of the most compelling that I have read, also argues that laws prohibiting the sale of prostitutional services [i.e., that which what I am currently morally defending] that construe the latter to be a freedom-deprivable crime violate the prostitutes’ right to sexual autonomy—a token of the right to bodily autonomy, as understood here—and, as such, are unjust.)221 What about criminal laws prohibiting prostitution that construe prostitution to be a freedom-preservable crime? Are they just? À la the preceding argument, one could argue that they are not on the grounds that they violate prostitutes’ right to bodily autonomy. For even though the

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punishment for transgressing such laws is freedom-preserving, it is punishment nonetheless. And, when it comes to acts that one has a right to perform, any kind of punishment for performing such acts (freedom-preserving or not) violates one’s right to do so—or so one could contend. Two obvious replies to the preceding are as follows. First, one could argue against the claim that any kind of punishment for performing acts that one has a right to perform violates one’s right to do so. Second, one could grant the claim that any kind of punishment for performing acts that one has a right to perform violates one’s right to do so, but argue that rights violations can be, and in some cases are, morally justified. Beginning with the former, one could contend that only certain kinds of punishments for performing acts that one has a right to perform violate one’s right to do so. More specifically, one could argue that only punishments that are strongly coercive and, in turn, very effective (such as those of freedom-deprivable crime) violate one’s right. After all, if a punishment for performing an act that one has a right to perform is only very weakly coercive and, in turn, hardly effective at all, it does little to nothing to impede one from performing the act. As a result, it is hard to see how such a punishment violates one’s right to perform the act—beyond merely in name, at any rate. (And it should go without saying that the kind of rights violations with which we are concerned are not those that are so in name only.) If this is correct, then criminal laws prohibiting prostitution that construe prostitution to be a freedom-preservable crime and whose punishments are only very weakly coercive and, in turn, hardly effective at all would not violate prostitutes’ right to bodily autonomy and, in that respect, be unjust. As for the latter—granting the claim that any kind of punishment for performing acts that one has a right to perform violates one’s right to do so but arguing that rights violations can be, and in some cases are, morally justified—one could do so via a number of different kinds of arguments. For the purposes of this chapter, the most obvious way in which one could do so is via a consequentialist argument wherein a claim regarding the ultima facie moral permissibility of violating someone’s right to X is derived from at least one consequentialist moral claim—specifically, a claim that understands the ultima facie moral permissibility of violating the person’s right to X to be wholly a function of a supposed moral-­ making consequence of doing so—and no nonconsequentialist moral claims whatsoever. Naturally, I do not think that arguing so will succeed, as I do not think that an act’s moral permissibility or moral

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impermissibility is wholly a function of a supposed moral-making or immoral-making consequence it is said to involve. Another way that one could grant the claim that any kind of punishment for performing acts that one has a right to perform violates one’s right to do so but argue for the claim that rights violations can be, and in some cases are, morally justified is by assigning rights lexical priorities. John Rawls introduced the concept of lexical priority in order to refer to a method for ordering principles. As he describes it, the method “requires us to satisfy the first principle in the ordering before we can move on to the second, and the second before we consider the third, and so on. A principle does not come into play until those previous to it are either fully met or do not apply. A serial ordering avoids, then, having to balance principles at all; those earlier in the ordering have absolute weight, so to speak, with respect to later ones, and hold without exception.”222 With the concept of lexical priority in mind, one could employ a rights-oriented version of it and argue that when one right (X) has lexical priority over another right (Y) and X comes into conflict with Y (i.e., one cannot exercise X without violating Y), then violating Y via exercising X is morally justified. (Some would prefer the language of “overriding” Y via exercising X. But this linguistic/semantic difference makes no moral difference, ultimately— either way, the exercise of one right [Y] is impeded so that the exercise of another right [X] can occur.) Applying such lexical prioritization to criminal laws prohibiting prostitution, in order for it to render such laws just, there would need to be a right that has lexical priority over the prostitute’s right to bodily autonomy. And, at least with cases of prostitution wherein both the prostitute and the client engage in sexual activity with each other’s voluntary, informed consent, it is difficult to conceive of what that right might be. (The difficulty of so conceiving will be especially evident after one reads Chap. 4.) Summing up, in answer to the question of whether criminal laws prohibiting prostitution are just, there is reason to think that they are not, though the reason is stronger with respect to criminal laws that construe prostitution to be a freedom-deprivable crime, I submit, than those that construe it to be a freedom-preservable crime. There is more one could say about the Crime Argument, of course. But the preceding will have to suffice. Nevertheless, given what has been covered here, it appears that it does not succeed in establishing that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

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Conclusion Nonreligious consequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution fail to establish that prostitution intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, involves an immoral-making consequence—or so I have argued here. In the next chapter, I will attempt to determine whether nonreligious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution succeed in establishing that prostitution intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property.

Notes 1. Ole Martin Moen, “Is Prostitution Harmful?” Journal of Medical Ethics Vol. 40 (2014): 73. 2. Debra Satz, “Markets in Women’s Sexual Labor,” in Prostitution and Pornography: Philosophical Debates about the Sex Industry, edited by Jessica Spector (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006), 395. On the essentialist view, she continues, “Prostitution is wrong not simply because it causes harm; it constitutes a harm” (Satz, 402, 2006). 3. Shelly Kagan, Normative Ethics (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), 84. 4. Kagan, 85, 1997. 5. Kagan, 85, 1997. 6. Kagan, 86, 1997. 7. Ben Bradley, “Doing Away with Harm,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research Vol. 85, No. 2 (2012): 397. 8. Bradley, 397–398 and 405–412, 2012. 9. Margerita Alegria, Mildred Vera, Daniel H. Freeman, Jr., Rafaela Robles, Maria del C.  Santos, and Carmen L.  Rivera, “HIV Infection, Risk Behaviors, and Depressive Symptoms Among Puerto Rican Sex Workers,” American Journal of Public Health Vol. 84, No. 12 (1994): 2000–2002. 10. Janet Lever and Deanne Dolink, “Call Girls and Street Prostitutes: Selling Sex and Intimacy,” in Sex for Sale: Prostitution, Pornography, and the Sex Industry, 2nd edition, edited by Ronald Weitzer (New York: Routledge, 2010), 187–203. 11. Ronald Weitzer, “New Directions in Research on Prostitution,” Crime, Law, & Social Change Vol. 43 (2005): 218. 12. See Lucy Platt, Pippa Grenfell, Rebecca Meiksin, Jocelyn Elmes, Susan G.  Sheman, Teela Sanders, Peninah Mwangi, and Anna-Louise Crago, “Associations Between Sex Work Laws and Sex Workers’ Health: A Systematic Review and Meta-Analysis of Quantitative and Qualitative

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Studies,” PLOS Medicine (Dec. 11, 2018), available at https://journals. plos.org/plosmedicine/article/file?id=10.1371/journal.pmed.1002680 &type=printable, accessed June 2019; Umberto Bacchi, “Legalizing Prostitution Lowers Violence and Disease, Report Says,” Reuters (Dec. 11, 2018), available at https://www.reuters.com/article/us-­global-­ women-­p rostitution/legalizing-­p rostitution-­l owers-­v iolence-­a nd-­ disease-­report-­says-­idUSKBN1OA28N, accessed June 2019. 13. Teela Sanders, Maggie O’Neill, and Jane Pitcher, Prostitution: Sex Work, Policy and Politics (Los Angeles: SAGE Publications, 2009), 44–45. 14. As Richard Symanski observes, “For all kinds of reasons prostitutes withhold information from investigators; often they lie” (Richard Symanski, The Immoral Landscape: Female Prostitution in Western Societies [Toronto: Butterworths & Co., 1981]), xiii. 15. Weitzer, 214, 2005. 16. Ine Vanwesenbeeck, Prostitutes’ Well-Being and Risk (Amsterdam: VU University Press, 1994), 279. 17. Julie Bindel, “‘It’s Abuse and a Life of Hell,’” The Guardian (Feb. 28, 2008), available at https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2008/ feb/29/women.ukcrime, accessed Jan. 2021. 18. Weitzer, “New Directions in Research on Prostitution,” 215, 2005. Kuo concurs, writing, “American statistical studies of prostitution have focused almost exclusively on streetwalking. Given that streetwalking is estimated to constitute only 10 to 20 percent of prostitution activity, any analysis based solely on U.S. data becomes inexcusably skewed toward a negative assessment of the industry as a whole” (Leonore Kuo, Prostitution Policy: Revolutionizing Practice through a Gendered Perspective [New York: New York University Press, 2002], 2). 19. Sanders et al., 111, 2009. 20. Jody Raphael and Deborah Shapiro, “Violence in Indoor and Outdoor Prostitution Venues,” Violence Against Women Vol. 10 (2004): 132. 21. Ronald Weitzer, Legalizing Prostitution: From Illicit Vice to Lawful Business (New York: New York University Press, 2012), 63. 22. Weitzer, 214, 2005. 23. See Peter de Marneffe, “An Argument for Drug Prohibition,” in The Legalization of Drugs: For & Against, edited by Douglas Husak and Peter de Marneffe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 109. 24. Igor Primoratz, “Prostitution,” in Sex from Plato to Paglia: A Philosophical Encyclopedia, Vol. 2, edited by Alan Soble (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2006), 850. 25. Lucy Platt et al., “Associations Between Sex Work Laws and Sex Workers’ Health: A Systematic Review and Meta-Analysis of Quantitative and Qualitative Studies,” PLOS Medicine (Dec. 11, 2018), available at

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https://journals.plos.org/plosmedicine/article/file?id=10.1371/journal.pmed.1002680&type=printable, accessed June 2019. 26. Priscilla Alexander, “Why This Book?” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, edited by Frédérique Delacoste and Priscilla Alexander (London: Women’s Press, 1988), 17. Harry Benjamin and R. E. L. Masters concur in the main, writing, “Probably the worst aspect of the profession in many parts of the world is its illegality…” (Harry Benjamin and R. E. L. Masters, Prostitution and Morality [New York: The Julian Press, 1954], 112). 27. See Alison Bass, Getting Screwed: Sex Workers and the Law (Lebanon, NH: ForeEdge, 2015), xiii; Scott A. Anderson, “Prostitution and Sexual Autonomy: Making Sense of the Prohibition of Prostitution,” in Prostitution and Pornography, 359, 2006. 28. As they should, or so it seems to me. After all, inferring the immorality of prostitution—or the immorality of any other act for that matter—from claims about its systemic harms seems misguided. (Consider someone who, during the days of alcohol prohibition in the U.S., inferred that drinking alcohol is immoral from the claim that in order to do so one must first suffer the systemic harm that comes with trafficking in the black market.) 29. As the reader can see, I distinguish “obvious” from “intuitive.” For it seems to me that a claim’s truth value might be intuitive but not obvious and vice versa. For a defense of this distinction, see Philip Stratton-Lake, “Intuition, Self-Evidence, and Understanding,” in Oxford Studies of Metaethics Vol. 11 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), Chapter 2. 30. At the very least, at any rate. It might be that, in addition to voluntary, informed consent, other factors contribute the moral permissibility of harming oneself in such conditions. 31. Another difficulty pertains to what Battin et al. refer to as “foregrounding” and “sidelining.” As they discuss this distinction in the context of drug use, “All drugs pose harms if misused; most familiar drugs offer benefits, even if the benefits are merely perceived and lack objective verification. But the degree to which the harms or the benefits are ‘foregrounded’ or ‘sidelined’—made central or left out of any risk/benefit calculation—varies dramatically from one area of professional concern to another. This is one of the deepest difficulties in the conceptual underpinnings of drug theory and policy with respect to harm … It is here that real trouble is born” (Margaret P. Battin, Erik Luna, Arthur G. Lipman, and Paul M.  Gahlinger, Drugs and Justice: Seeking a Consistent, Coherent, Comprehensive View [New York: Oxford University Press, 2008], 161). Soon thereafter, they claim that “Benefits associated with common-use drugs—especially alcohol—are very heavily advertised and … harms are

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often sidelined in the public consciousness” while “[w]ith illegal drugs, only harms … are foregrounded, while benefits are completely sidelined; no harm versus benefit weighing is tolerated in the case of public policy concerning illegal drugs at all” (Battin et al., 161–162, 2008). 32. “Talent,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/talent, accessed Nov. 2019. 33. Shelia Jeffreys, The Idea of Prostitution (New Melbourne, Australia: Spinifex Press, 1997), 167. For empirical support of Jeffreys’ claim, see Cecilie Høigård and Liv Finstad, Backstreets: Prostitution, Money and Love (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992), 51. 34. I owe this observation to my friend and colleague, Steve Morris. 35. Sarah Jane Blithe, Anna Wiederhold Wolfe, and Breanna Mohr, Sex and Stigma: Stories of Everyday Life in Nevada’s Legal Brothels (New York: New York University Press, 2019), 155. 36. Julia O’Connell Davidson, “Prostitution and the Contours of Control,” in Sexual Cultures: Communities, Values and Intimacy, edited by Jeffrey Weeks and Janet Holland (Basingstoke: Macmillan Press, 1996), 187. 37. Teela Sanders, “‘It’s Just Acting’: Sex Workers’ Strategies for Capitalizing on Sexuality,” Gender, Work and Organization Vol. 12, No. 4 (July 2005): 328. 38. Sanders, 328–329, 2005. 39. Yet another puts it this way: “You go into a mode; like, I am ‘Belinda’ (like, that is not my real name), and I become her. It is just like acting, like you are on the telly. If they ask me questions I will answer them, but it is not the truth and they don’t know that. Like, I make up where I live, and I lie, because that is Belinda. Belinda is nineteen, she is single, she likes going out for a drink, she lives in Solihull on her own” (Sanders, 329, 2005). 40. Høigård and Finstad, 47, 1992. 41. Satz, 396, 2006. 42. JaneMaree Maher, Sharon Pickering, and Alison Gerard, Sex Work: Labour, Mobility and Sexual Services (New York: Routledge, 2013), 75ff; and Blithe et al., Chapter 6, 2019. 43. Blithe et al., 129, 2019. 44. Blithe et al., 132, 2019. Another prostitute echoes this sentiment. “The things I learned in the brothel, I transferred to this job [selling high-end jewelry] and I think the reason that I got to be successful at this job—I don’t think that I would have been able to do had I not been at the brothels” (Blithe et al., 113, 2019). 45. Blithe et al., 139–140, 2019. 46. “General,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/general, accessed May 2020;

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“General,” Cambridge Dictionary, available at https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/general, accessed May 2020. 47. Maher et al., 76, 2013. 48. To wit, what is it about oneself that indicates, or even suggests, that how one ought to treat others is not within morality’s purview? That one’s well-­being is one’s own? That one cares about one’s well-being more than anyone else’s? As I see it, neither of these things even suggests that how one ought to treat others is not within morality’s purview. (This becomes especially clear once one considers that others can say the same things about their well-being.) Given this, why should the extension of morality’s “ought” be limited just to oneself? There is no good reason to think that it should, ostensibly. 49. This, of course, assumes a particular view on the relation of good and bad, namely, that they can exist independently of each other (unlike, say, big and small). And such a view is not without its dissenters. It is, however, the view that the typical consequentialist embraces. 50. See Danny Frederick, “Pro-Tanto Versus Absolute Rights,” Philosophical Forum, 45 (2014): 275–294. 51. “Neptune’s Discovery,” Encyclopedia Britannica, available at https:// www.britannica.com/place/Neptune-­p lanet/Neptunes-­d iscover y, accessed Aug. 2019. 52. To wit, consequentialist moral theories are very commonly objected to on the grounds of their basic consequentialist moral claims’ in-principle logical implications. Take act-utilitarianism, the basic consequentialist moral claim of which is that engaging in an act that produces the greatest total net pleasure for oneself and others is morally required (and thus, morally ­permissible) and failing to produce the greatest total net pleasure for oneself and others is immoral, with “others” referring to those individuals who are affected by the act, directly or indirectly, including, but not necessarily limited to, other human beings. Given this basic moral claim, any act can be morally permissible or immoral, at least in principle. If, for example, Barbara’s accusing an innocent person of a crime would produce the greatest total net pleasure for herself and others, then her doing so would be morally required and, thus, morally permissible. But that it would, in fact, be morally permissible strikes me as incorrect and counts against act-utilitarianism. 53. Philip Pettit, “Consequentialism,” in A Companion to Ethics, edited by Peter Singer (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991), 230–240. 54. For an “average outcome” approach, see John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971). 55. For an “expected outcome” approach, see J.  J. C.  Smart, “Free Will, Praise, and Blame,” Mind Vol. 70, No. 279 (1961): 291–306.

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56. I owe this counterexample to Michael Tooley. 57. BC6: Failing to perform an act that usually results in a good in some regard for oneself is consequentially immoral. BC7: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the greatest overall good for oneself and others is consequentially immoral. BC8: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the best overall outcome for others is consequentially immoral. BC9: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the best overall average outcome for others is consequentially immoral. BC10: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the best overall expected average outcome for others is consequentially immoral. 58. BC11: Failing to produce a good—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—in some regard for oneself is consequentially immoral. BC12: Failing to produce the greatest overall good—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—for oneself and others is consequentially immoral. BC13: Failing to produce the best overall outcome—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. BC14: Failing to produce the best overall average outcome—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. BC15: Failing to produce the best overall expected average outcome— that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. BC16: Failing to perform an act that usually results in a good—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—in some regard for oneself is consequentially immoral. BC17: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the greatest overall good—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof— for oneself and others is consequentially immoral. BC18: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the best overall outcome—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. BC19: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the best overall average outcome—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. BC20: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the best overall expected average outcome—that is, well-being and the equal distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral.

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59. BC21: Failing to produce a good—that is, well-being and the fair distribution thereof—in some regard for oneself is consequentially immoral. BC22:  Failing to produce the greatest overall good—that is, wellbeing and the fair distribution thereof—for oneself and others is consequentially immoral. BC23:  Failing to produce the best overall outcome—that is, wellbeing and the fair distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. BC24: Failing to produce the best overall average outcome—that is, well-being and the fair distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. BC25: Failing to produce the best overall expected average outcome— that is, well-being and the fair distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. BC26: Failing to perform an act that usually results in a good—that is, well-being and the fair distribution thereof—in some regard for oneself is consequentially immoral. BC27: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the greatest overall good—that is, well-being and the fair distribution thereof—for oneself and others is consequentially immoral. BC28: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the best overall outcome—that is, well-being and the fair distribution thereof— for others is consequentially immoral. BC29: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the best overall average outcome—that is, well-being and the fair distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. BC30: Failing to perform an act that usually results in the best overall expected average outcome—that is, well-being and the fair distribution thereof—for others is consequentially immoral. 60. Maher et al., 96, 2013. 61. Michael Shively, Kristina Kliorys, Kristin Wheeler, and Dana Hunt, A National Overview of Prostitution and Sex Trafficking Demand Reduction Efforts, Final Report, available at https://www.ncjrs.gov/pdffiles1/nij/ grants/238796.pdf, accessed June 7, 2019, emphases mine. 62. Sanders et al., 46–47, 2009. 63. Maher et al., 92, 2013. 64. Weitzer, 217, 2005. 65. Maher et al., 91, 2013. 66. Kuo, 126, 2002. 67. Judith Porter and Louis Bonilla, “The Ecology of Street Prostitution,” in Sex for Sale: Prostitution, Pornography, and the Sex Industry, 2nd edition, edited by Ronald Weitzer (New York: Routledge, 2010), 165.

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68. Weitzer, 217, 2005. 69. Priscilla Alexander, “Feminism, Sex Workers, and Human Rights,” Whores and Other Feminists, edited by Jill Nagle (New York: Routledge, 1997), 89. 70. Sanders et al., 47–48, 2009. 71. Sanders et al., 47–48, 2009. 72. See Vednita Carter and Evelina Giobbe, “Duet: Prostitution, Racism, and Feminist Discourse,” in Prostitution and Pornography, 28, 2006. 73. Carter and Giobbe, 28, 2006. 74. Ronald Weitzer, Sex for Sale: Prostitution, Pornography, and the Sex Industry, 2nd edition, edited by Ronald Weitzer (New York: Routledge, 2010), 11–13. 75. Ann M.  Lucas, “The Work of Sex Work: Elite Prostitutes’ Vocational Orientations and Experiences,” Deviant Behavior Vol. 26, No. 6 (2005): 541. 76. Weitzer, 12, 2010. 77. Weitzer, 12, 2010. 78. Weitzer, 12, 2010. See also Bass, 67, 2015. For those wondering why self-esteem would be high or increase among call girls and other indoor prostitutes, Weitzer contends that there are at least two contributing factors: income and what I will call “positive feedback.” After acknowledging that numerous factors are at work when it comes to one’s mental health, Weitzer notes that income is one such factor, and a rather significant one among call girls. As he puts it, “Income is a major source of self-esteem among call girls. While middle range call girls earn $200– $500 an hour, top-tier workers charge between $1000–$6000 an hour (or a session) and they are also lavished with fringe benefits, such as expensive gifts and paid travel to meet clients” (Weitzer, 12, 2010). With respect to positive feedback, he describes prostitutes who report to have felt “sexy,” “beautiful,” and “powerful” only after they began working as prostitutes, due largely to the positive feedback they received from their clients (Weitzer, 12, 2010). Weitzer is quoting from Ann M. Lucas, “The Work of Sex Work: Elite Prostitutes’ Vocational Orientations and Experiences,” Deviant Behavior Vol. 26, No. 6 (2005): 541. 79. Weitzer, 11, 2010. 80. Sanders et al., 47–48, 2009. 81. Teela Sanders, “Reviewing the Occupational Risks of Sex Workers in Comparison to Other ‘Risky’ Professions,” (July 2017), available at https:// www2.le.ac.uk/departments/criminology/people/teela-­s anders/ BriefingPaperSexWorkandMentalHealth.pdf, accessed Oct. 2019, 4. 82. Teela Sanders, Sex Work: A Risky Business (New York: Routledge, 2012), 120.

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83. Maher et al., 100–101, 2013. 84. Sanders et al., 3, 2017. 85. Maher et al., 100, 2013. 86. Maher et al., 100–101, 2013. 87. Maher et al., 100, 2013. 88. Maher et al., 100, 2013. 89. Lars Ericsson, “Charges Against Prostitution,” Ethics Vol. 90, No. 3 (April 1980): 344. 90. Sanders et al., 3, 2017. 91. Kuo, 102, 2002. 92. National Institute on Drug Abuse, “Mental Health Effects,” available at https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/health-­consequences-­drug-­ misuse/mental-­health-­effects, accessed March 2020. 93. See Carter and Giobbe, 28, 2006 and Høigård and Finstad, 24, 1992. 94. Sanders et al., 47–48, 2009. 95. Mimi H. Silbert, “Sexual Child Abuse as an Antecedent to Prostitution,” Child Abuse & Neglect Vol. 5, No. 4 (1981): 407–411. 96. See, for example, P. E. Mullen, J. L. Martin, J. C. Anderson, S. E. Romans, and G.  P. Herbison, “Childhood Sexual Abuse and Mental Health in Adult Life,” The British Journal of Psychiatry Vol. 163, No. 6 (Dec. 1993): 721–732 and Josie Spataro, Paul E. Mullen, Philip M. Burgess, David L. Wells, and Simon A. Moss, “Impact of Child Sexual Abuse on Mental Health: Prospective Study in Males and Females,” The British Journal of Psychiatry Vol. 184, No. 5 (May 2004): 416–421. 97. Kuo, 96, 2002. 98. For a moral defense of the last two activities listed—drinking alcohol and smoking marijuana—see Rob Lovering, A Moral Defense of Recreational Drug Use (Palgrave Macmillan, 2015). 99. See, for example, Sean Gregory, “The Problem with Football: How to Make It Safer,” Time, available at http://www.time.com/time/nation/ ar ticle/0,8599,1957046,00.html?hpt=C1#ixzz0eE21SQ0I, accessed 2013. 100. Michael Levin, “Why Homosexuality is Abnormal,” in Ethics in Practice, 2nd edition, ed. Hugh LaFollette (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2002), 233. 101. Jeffreys, 188, 1997. 102. Levin, 262, 2002. 103. Levin, 235, 2002. 104. Julie Morgan, Andrew T.  Olagunji, Frances Corrigan, and Bernhard T.  Baune, “Does Ceasing Exercise Induce Depressive Symptoms? A Systematic Review of Experimental Trials Including Immunological and Neurogenic Markers,” Journal of Affective Disorders Vol. 234 (July 2018): 180–192.

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105. As Russ Shafer-Landau writes regarding value theory, “One thing is sure—the debate in this area of ethical theory is still very much alive, and certainly very much worth pursuing, focusing as it does on our efforts to identify what is most valuable—in human life and in the world around us” (Russ Shafer-Landau, “Introduction to Part V,” in Ethical Theory: An Anthology, 2nd edition, edited by Russ Shafer-Landau (Malden, MA: Wiley-­Blackwell, 2013), 257. 106. Mark Vonnegut, “Introduction,” in Armageddon in Retrospect, Kurt Vonnegut (New York: Berkeley Publishing Group, 2008), 3–4. 107. This is not to say, of course, that the misuse of their bodily parts is not a cause of unhappiness. But the question at hand is whether it is the primary cause of unhappiness. And if it is not, then it is not at all clear that those who misuse their bodily parts should quit doing so or that we ought to encourage them to do so, even if happiness is the sole measure of a life well lived and those who misuse their bodily parts are generally not as happy as they could be were they to refrain from doing so. 108. Peter de Marneffe, Liberalism and Prostitution (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 15 and 50–51. I would be remiss not to note two things about de Marneffe’s Liberalism and Prostitution. First, it is a work of political philosophy whose central question pertains to what the legal status of prostitution should be. Second, de Marneffe never argues that prostitution is immoral. 109. See Robin West, “The Harms of Consensual Sex,” in Philosophy of Sex: Contemporary Readings, 5th edition, edited by Alan Soble and Nicolas Power (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2008), 319. 110. West, 319, 2008. 111. Cécile Fabre, Whose Body is it Anyway? Justice and the Integrity of the Person (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 162. 112. Høigård and Finstad, 114–115, 1992. 113. See Evelina Giobbe, “Prostitution: Buying the Right to Rape,” in Rape and Sexual Assault III: A Research Handbook, edited by Ann Wolpert Burgess (New York: Garland Publishing, 1991), 156. 114. Sanders, 147–155, 2012. Other strategies include creating a framework in the room for the provision of affective labor beyond sex; managing the allotted time with clients; exercising “control” in client interactions; talking to other prostitutes to “skill up,” learn about specific clients, and debrief; talking to managers and receptionists about clients and situations; and more (see Maher et al., 57–58 and 77, 2013). 115. Sanders, 148, 2012. In a similar vein, another prostitute puts it this way, “My fella hasn’t been home for three weeks. That is when I last had sex. It is personal at home, in here it is clinical. At home it is for my pleasure. I swear to god it [prostitution] is like something you hate doing but it

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comes to me like washing up, like, it has got to be done. When you are with a punter you are thinking of something, and that is it, done” (Sanders, 148, 2012). 116. Sanders, 152, 2012. In a similar vein, another prostitute puts it this way, “If I kiss customers and then kiss my boyfriend I cannot see any difference between my boyfriend and the customer—there is no difference. For me not kissing is for personal reasons … I have to keep things for myself. I can say that I am selling my body but I am not selling everything” (Sanders, 152, 2012). 117. Maher et al., 66, 2013. 118. Blithe et al., 84, 2019. Cultural anthropologist Katherine Frank argues that a useful way to think about the Belindas and Breannas of prostitution is to recognize there is what she calls a “processual negotiation of intimacy,” by which she means an extended performance of authenticity, involved. See Katherine Frank, “The Production of Identity and the Negotiation of Intimacy in a ‘Gentleman’s Club,’” Sexualities Vol. 1 (1998): 196. 119. Sanders, 145, 2012. 120. Sanders, 145–146, 2012. 121. David A. J. Richards, Sex, Drugs, Death, and the Law: An Essay on Human Rights and Overcriminalization (Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Littlefield, 1982), 113. 122. Richards, 146 n. 251, 1982. 123. Sibyl Schwarzenbach, “Contractarians and Feminists Debate Prostitution,” in Prostitution and Pornography, 222–223, 2006. The evidence to which she appeals while claiming that the prostitute’s level of sexual satisfaction could be higher than the average women’s is found in Richards, Chapter 3, 1982. 124. See Naomi F. Sugie and Kristin Turney, “Beyond Incarceration: Criminal Justice Contact and Mental Health,” American Sociological Review Vol. 82, No. 4 (2017): 719–743 and April D. Fernandes, “How Far Up the River? Criminal Justice Contact and Health Outcomes,” Social Currents (online version only—volume and number forthcoming), available at https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/2329496519870216, accessed Nov. 2019. 125. Sugie and Turney, 721–722, 2017. 126. Kuo, 125–126, 2002. 127. Regarding the effects of drug use on the user’s ability to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships, for example, see Michael D. Newcomb, “Drug Use and Intimate Relationships among Women and Men: Separating Specific from General Effects in Prospective Data Using Structural Equation Models,” Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology Vol. 62, No. 3 (1994): 463–476.

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128. See “Violence,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/violence, accessed November 2020 and “Violence,” Cambridge Dictionary, available at https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/violence, accessed November 2020. 129. Sanders et al., 43, 2009. 130. Citing multiple studies on the matter (Parriot’s, CSERI’s, Farley and Barkan’s), Carter and Giobbe write that “[t]he emotional impact of prostitution can be life threatening. Nineteen percent of Parriot’s sample engaged in self-injurious behavior including self-mutilation. Forty-six percent attempted suicide, and within that group, sixty-five percent made subsequent attempts. Fifty-three percent of the entire CSERI study A sample, and fifty-three percent of Black women surveyed attempted suicide. Seventeen percent of Farley and Barkan’s sample stated that they would choose ­immediate admission to a hospital for an acute emotional problem, drug addiction or both” (Carter and Giobbe, 31, 2006). 131. The following data come from Carter and Giobbe, 29, 2006. 132. The view that prostitution is inherently violent is known as the “essentialist” view, according to which “prostitution involves not only specific acts of violence but is a form of violence by definition. Violence is depicted as ‘intrinsic’ and ‘endemic’ to prostitution—categorically, universally, and trans-historically … any distinction between forced and voluntary prostitution is a myth, since some coercion is claimed to always be involved, even if the worker is unaware of it” (Weitzer, “New Directions in Research on Prostitution,” 211–212, 2005). See, for example, Suzanne Hatty, “The Desired Object: Prostitution in Canada, United States and Australia,” in Sex Industry and Public Policy, edited by Sally-Anne Gerrull and Boronia Halstead (Canberra: Australian Institute of Criminology, 1992), 73. 133. Sanders et al., 44, 2009. 134. Høigård and Finstad, 57, 1992. 135. Bass, 112, 2015. 136. Sanders et al., 4, 2017. 137. Ronald Weitzer, “Sex Work: Paradigms and Policies,” in Sex for Sale: Prostitution, Pornography, and the Sex Industry, 2nd edition, edited by Ronald Weitzer (New York: Routledge, 2010), 9–10. 138. Barbara Brents and Kathryn Hausbeck, “Violence and Legalized Brothel Prostitution in Nevada,” Journal of Interpersonal Violence Vol. 20 (2005): 289. 139. Crime and Misconduct Commission, Regulating Prostitution: An Evaluation of the Prostitution Act 1999, Queensland (Brisbane, Australia: Crime and Misconduct Commission, 2004), 75 and 89. 140. Maher et al., 82–83.

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141. A.  L. Dalder, Lifting the Ban on Brothels (The Hague: Netherlands Ministry of Justice, 2004), 30. 142. Bass, 132, 2015. Another describes it thus: Here you do a night shift here, you could still make $1500 a night but here I’m protected, there’s security, people’s IDs are checked, for any problems, I’m safe. People can’t get out unless they’re buzzed out, there’s panic buttons upstairs … The gentlemen can’t come in or come out without a buzz from the receptionist, that’s one of the main things because especially say for example you’ve been hurt upstairs or something like that, the man can’t get out until you’ve buzzed down. We have an intercom when we enter the room and we’ll say “yeah we’re in, we’re safe, time we start and we’re out, we’re good, we’re safe” and then time’s finished. There’s also our little panic button upstairs so we have any issues we press that and they’ll come straight up and help us out. There [are] cameras and things like that, if there are any issues. They’re the kind of things that are important and no mobiles on the floor for anybody, not even the girls, we put our phones away. (Maher et al., 85, 2013) Further displays of such safety features and their effects can be found in the Netherlands, where brothel-working prostitutes have a call button that is directly wired to a local police station, the result of which has been a lower rate of their incurring violence relative to prostitutes who work outdoors (see Martha C.  Nussbaum, “‘Whether from Reason or Prejudice’: Taking Money for Bodily Services,” in The Philosophy of Sex: Contemporary Readings, 5th edition, edited by Alan Soble and Nicolas Power [New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2008], 375). They can also be found in Nevada, where violence against said prostitutes is rare (see Jim Leitzel, Regulating Vice: Misguided Prohibitions and Realistic Controls [New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008], 205). 143. Sanders et  al., 2, 2017, emphasis mine. According to one such study, 81  percent of outdoor-working prostitutes had experienced violence from clients, whereas 48 percent of indoor-prostitutes had experienced this (Teela Sanders, Sex Work: A Risky Business [Cullompton, U.K.: Willan, 2005], 73). 144. Carter and Giobbe, 28, 2006. 145. Sanders et al., 48, 2009, emphasis mine. 146. Judith Porter and Louis Bonilla, “The Ecology of Street Prostitution,” in Sex for Sale, 164, 2010. 147. Satz, 413, 2006. 148. Bass, 112, 2015. 149. Sanders et al., 43, 2009.

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150. J.  J. Potterat, D.  D. Brewer, S.  Q. Muth, R.  B. Rothenberg, D. E. Woodhouse, J. B. Muth, H. K. Stites et al., “Mortality in a Long-­ Term Open Cohort of Prostitute Women,” American Journal of Epidemiology Vol. 159. No. 8: 778–785, available at https://www.ncbi. nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/15051587, accessed Nov. 2019. 151. Devin L. Lucas and Samantha L. Case, “Work-Related Mortality in the US Fishing Industry During 2000–2014: New Findings Based on Improved Workforce Exposure Estimates,” American Journal of Industrial Medicine Vol. 61, No. 1: 21–31, available at https://www. ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5958543/, accessed Nov. 2019. 152. Quoted in Leitzel, 197, 2008. 153. Carol Leigh, “Prostitution: A Difficult Case for Feminists,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, 201, 1988. 154. Bass, 112, 2015. Jack the Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe (the Yorkshire Ripper), Robert Hansen, Joel Rifkin, Robert Pickton, Steven Wright, Samuel Little—these are just some of the serial killers of which we are aware whose victims included prostitutes. 155. Sanders et al., 48, 2009. 156. Center for Disease Control and Prevention, “Accidents or Unintentionally Injuries,” available at https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/accidental-­ injury.htm, accessed March 2020. 157. Jennifer Hecht, Stay: A History of Suicide and the Arguments Against It (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2015). 158. See C. A. Sveen and F. A. Walby, “Suicide Survivors’ Mental health and Grief Reactions: A Systematic Review of Controlled Studies,” Suicide and Life-Threatening Behavior Vol. 38, No. 1 (2008): 13–29; J. G. Cvinar, “Do Suicide Survivors Suffer Social Stigma: A Review of the Literature,” Perspectives in Psychiatric Care Vol. 41, No. 1 (2005): 14–21; and S.  Kučukalić and A.  Kučukalić, “Stigma and Suicide,” Psychiatria Danubina Vol. 29 (2017): 895–899. 159. Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, translated by Roger Crisp (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 101–102. 160. Michael Cholbi, “Suicide,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/suicide/#AncClaVieSui, accessed Oct. 2020. 161. Quoted in Hecht, 119–120, 2015. 162. Jeffrey Reiman, Critical Moral Liberalism: Theory & Practice (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1997), 90–91. 163. Ann O’Connell, “Private vs. Public Nuisance Claims Against Property Owners,” All Law, available at https://www.alllaw.com/articles/nolo/ personal-­injury/private-­public-­nuisance-­claims-­property-­owners.html, accessed Oct. 2019.

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164. “Public Nuisance,” Cambridge Dictionary, available at https://dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/public-­nuisance, accessed Oct. 2019. 165. Sanders et al., 131–132, 2009; Weitzer, 219, 2005. 166. Sanders et al., 131–132, 2009; Weitzer, 219, 2005. 167. Leitzel, 197, 2008. 168. Weitzer, 219, 2005. 169. Weitzer, 219, 2005. 170. Sanders et al., 132–133, 2009. 171. Kuo, 127, 2002. 172. Sanders et al., 132, 2009. 173. See, for example, A.  John Simmons, Moral Principles and Political Obligations (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979) and Michael Huemer, The Problem of Political Authority: An Examination of the Right to Coerce and the Duty to Obey (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012). 174. Laurie Becklund, “Prostitution Arrests Cost $2,000 Each, Study Finds,” Los Angeles Times (July 10, 1987), available at https://www.latimes. com/archives/la-­xpm-­1987-­07-­10-­mn-­1941-­story.html, accessed Oct. 2019. 175. Ibid. 176. Neil Schoenherr, “Childhood Poverty Costs U.S. $1.03 Trillion in a Year, Study Finds,” The Source (April 16, 2018), available at https://source. wustl.edu/2018/04/childhood-­p overty-­c ost-­u -­s -­1 -­0 3-­t rillion-­i n-­a -­ year-­study-­finds/, accessed 2018. 177. “See How Much It Costs to Keep the White House Looking Great,” People Magazine, available at https://people.com/home/see-­how-­ much-­it-­costs-­to-­keep-­the-­white-­house-­looking-­great/, accessed Nov. 2019. 178. D. C. Lau, James D. Douketis, Katherine M. Morrison, Irene M. Hramiak, Arya M. Sharma, and Ehud Ur, “Canadian Clinical Practice Guidelines on the Management and Prevention of Obesity in Adults and Children,” Canadian Medical Association Journal Vol. 176, No. 8 (April 10, 2007): 1–13. 179. Ross A. Hammond and Ruth Levine, “The Economic Impact of Obesity in the United States,” Brookings Institution, available at http://www. brookings.edu/~/media/research/files/articles/2010/9/14%20obesity%20cost%20hammond%20levine/0914_obesity_cost_hammond_ levine, accessed 2013. 180. See, for example, Vesna Main, “‘I Want to Hurt the Women Who Took My Husband.’ Meet the Forgotten Victims of Prostitution,” The

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Telegraph (April 10, 2015), available at https://www.telegraph.co.uk/ women/sex/11520000/Sex-­and-­prostitution-­W ives-­and-­girlfriends-­ are-­the-­real-­victims.html, accessed Dec. 2019. 181. Martin A.  Monto, “Why Men Seek Out Prostitutes,” in Sex for Sale, 72, 2010. 182. The writer Gay Talese, for example, used to employ the services of a prostitute with his spouse’s permission. See “Gay Talese Tells Alec Baldwin about Sinatra’s Cold,” Here’s the Thing with Alec Baldwin, available at https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/heresthething/episodes/gay-­ talese, accessed Feb. 2020. 183. Bernard Mandeville argues for this view as follows: “If Courtezans and Strumpets were to be prosecuted with as much Rigour as some silly People would have it, what Locks or Bars would be sufficient to preserve the Honour of our Wives and Daughters? For ‘tis not only that the Women in general would meet with far greater Temptations, and the Attempts to ensnare the Innocence of Virgins would seem more excusable to the sober part of Mankind than they do now: But some Men would grow outrageous, and Ravishing would become a common Crime. Where six or seven Thousand Sailors arrive at once, as it often happens at Amsterdam, that have seen none but their own Sex for many Months together, how is it to be supposed that honest Women should walk the Streets unmolested, if there were no Harlots to be had at reasonable Prices? … There is a Necessity of sacrificing one part of Womankind to preserve the other, and prevent a Filthiness of a more heinous Nature” (quoted in Igor Primoratz, Ethics and Sex [New York: Routledge, 1999], 97). 184. Primoratz, 97, 1999. 185. Primoratz, 97, 1999. 186. Primoratz, 852, 2006. 187. Blithe et al., 124, 2019. 188. See, for example, Linda J.  Waite and Maggie Gallagher, The Case for Marriage: Why Married People Are Happier, Healthier and Better Off Financially (New York: Broadway Books, 2002). 189. “Institution,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/institution, accessed April 2020; “Institution,” Cambridge Dictionary, available at https://dictionary. cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/institution, accessed April 2020; “Institution,” Macmillan Dictionary, available at https://www.macmillandictionary.com/us/dictionary/american/institution, accessed April 2020. 190. U.S. v. Bitty, 208 U.S. 393, (1908). 191. Dave Quist, LifeSiteNews, Nov. 13, 2006.

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192. Dorn Checkley, Wholehearted, January 22, 2007. 193. Grant Suneson, “These States Have the Highest—and Lowest— Percentage of Married People in the U.S.,” USA Today (March 7, 2019), available at https://www.usatoday.com/story/money/2019/03/07/ marriage-­u s-­s tates-­h ighest-­p ercentage-­m arried-­p eople/39043233/, accessed Nov. 2019. 194. “The Netherlands,” Every Culture, available at https://www.everyculture.com/Ma-­Ni/The-­Netherlands.html, accessed Nov. 2019. 195. With respect to the former, roughly 43  percent of Americans (aged 18 and up) were not married in 2016 (see United States Census, “America’s Families and Living Arrangements: 2016,” available at https://www.census.gov/data/tables/2016/demo/families/cps-­2016.html, accessed April 2020). And of those 43  percent, it stands to reason that some (much) smaller percentage of them never will be. Regarding the latter, somewhere between 40 and 50 percent of marriages in the U.S. end in divorce (see American Psychological Association, “Marriage and Divorce,” available at https://www.apa.org/topics/divorce/, accessed April 2020). 196. See Kim Parker and Renee Stepler, “As U.S.  Marriage Rate Hovers at 50%, Education Gap in Marital Status Widens,” Fact Tank: News In The Numbers (Sept. 19, 2014), available at https://www.pewresearch.org/ fact-­tank/2017/09/14/as-­u-­s-­marriage-­rate-­hovers-­at-­50-­education-­ gap-­in-­marital-­status-­widens/, accessed April 2020; Francesca Friday, “More Americans Are Single Than Ever Before—And They’re Healthier, Too,” Observer (Jan. 16, 2018), available at https://observer. com/2018/01/more-­a mericans-­a re-­s ingle-­t han-­e ver-­b efore-­a nd-­ theyre-­healthier-­too/, accessed April 2020; Stephanie Hanes, “Singles Nation: Why So Many Americans are Unmarried,” The Christian Science Monitor (June 14, 2015), available at https://www.csmonitor.com/ USA/Society/2015/0614/Singles-­nation-­Why-­so-­many-­Americans-­ are-­unmarried, accessed April 2020. 197. See, for example, Institute for Divorce Financial Analysis, “Survey: Certified Divorce Financial Analyst Professionals Reveal the Leading Causes of Divorce,” available at https://institutedfa.com/Leading-­ Causes-­Divorce/, accessed April 2020; Gabbi Shaw, “These Are the 11 Most Common Reasons People Get Divorced, Ranked,” available at https://www.insider.com/why-­people-­get-­divorced-­2019-­1, accessed April 2020; and Shellie Warren, “10 Most Common Reasons for Divorce,” available at https://www.marriage.com/advice/divorce/10-­ most-­common-­reasons-­for-­divorce/, accessed April 2020. 198. L. T. Labrecque and M. A. Whisman, “Attitudes Toward and Prevalence of Extramarital Sex and Descriptions of Extramarital Partners in the 21st Century,” Journal of Family Psychology Vol. 31, No. 7 (2017): 952–957.

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199. She makes her case for this view of marriage as follows: “I think marriage is a very alienating institution, for men as well as for women. I think it’s a very dangerous institution—dangerous for men, who find themselves trapped, saddled with a wife and children to support; dangerous for women, who aren’t financially independent and end up by depending on men who can throw them out when they are 40; and very dangerous for children, because their parents vent all their frustrations and mutual hatred on them. The very words ‘conjugal rights’ are dreadful. Any institution which solders one person to another, obliging people to sleep together who no longer want to is a bad one” (Caroline Moorehard, “A Talk with Simone de Beauvoir,” New York Times (June 2, 1984), available at https://www.nytimes. com/1974/06/02/archives/a-­talk-­with-­simone-­de-­beauvoirr-­marriage­is-­an-­alienating.html, accessed Nov. 2019). 200. Clare Chambers, Against Marriage: An Egalitarian Defense of the Marriage-Free State, Kindle edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), 13. 201. John Stuart Mill, On Liberty and the Subjection of Women (Ware: Wordsworth, 1996 [1859 and 1869]), 121; Juliet Mitchell, Woman’s Estate (London: Verso, 2015 [1971]), 151. 202. This list may be found in Chambers, 46, 2017: Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (London: Constable and Company Ltd, 1996 [1792]); John Stuart Mill, On Liberty and the Subjection of Women (Ware: Wordsworth, 1996 [1859 and 1869]); Emma Goldman, “Marriage and Love,” in Anarchism and Other Essays, edited by Emma Goldman (Createspace, 2011 [1910]); Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex (London: Vintage, 1997 [1949]); Betty Friedan, The Feminine Mystique (London: Penguin Books, 1963); Sheila Cronan, “Marriage,” in Radical Feminism, edited by Anne Koedt, Ellen Levine, and Anita Rapone (New York: Times Books, 1973 [1970]); Shulamith Firestone, The Dialectic of Sex (London: The Women’s Press, 1979); Marjorie M. Shultz, “Contractual Ordering of Marriage: A New Model for State Policy,” California Law Review Vol. 70, No. 204 (1982); Lenore J.  Weitzman, The Marriage Contract: Spouses, Lovers and the Law (London: Free Press, 1983); Carole Pateman, The Sexual Contract (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1988); Paula L.  Ettelbrick, “Since When is Marriage a Path to Liberation?” in We Are Everywhere: A Historical Sourcebook of Gay and Lesbian Politics, edited by Mark Blasius and Shane Phelan (London: Routledge, 1997 [1989]); Susan Moller Okin, Justice, Gender, and the Family (New York: Basic Books, 1989); Martha Albertson Fineman, The Neutered Mother, The Sexual Family, and Other Twentieth Century Tragedies (London: Routledge, 1995); Claudia Card, “Against Marriage and Motherhood,” Hypatia Vol. 11, No. 3 (1996); Jane Lewis,

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The End of Marriage? Individualism and Intimate Relations (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2001); Janet C. Gornick, “Reconcilable Differences,” The American Prospect Online (25 March 2002), available at http://prospect.org/article/reconcilable-­differences; Petra Boynton, “Abiding by The Rules: Instructing Women in Relationships,” Feminism & Psychology Vol. 13, No. 2 (2003); Virginia Braun, “Thanks to my Mother…A Personal Commentary on Heterosexual Marriage,” Feminism & Psychology Vol. 13, No. 4 (2003); Sarah-Jane Finlay and Victoria Clarke, “A Marriage of Inconvenience? Feminist Perspectives on Marriage,” Feminism & Psychology Vol. 13, No. 4 (2003); Merran Toerien and Andrew Williams, “In Knots: Dilemmas of a Feminist Couple Contemplating Marriage,” Feminism & Psychology Vol. 13, No. 1 (2003); Maria Bevacqua, “Feminist Theory and the Question of Lesbian and Gay Marriage,” Feminism & Psychology Vol. 14, No. 1 (2004); Anne Kingston, The Meaning of Wife (London: Piatkus, 2004); Celia Kitzinger and Sue Wilkinson, “The Re-branding of Marriage: Why We Got Married Instead of Registering A Civil Partnership,” Feminism & Psychology Vol. 14, No. 1 (2004); Martha Albertson Fineman, “The Meaning of Marriage,” in Marriage Proposals: Questioning a Legal Status, edited by Anita Bernstein (New York: New York University Press, 2006); Nancy D. Polikoff, Beyond (Straight and Gay) Marriage: Valuing All Families Under the Law (Beacon Press, 2008); Brook J. Sadler, “Re-Thinking Civil Unions and Same-Sex Marriage,” The Monist Vol. 91, Nos. 3/4 (2008); Tamara Metz, Untying the Knot: Marriage, the State, and the Case for their Divorce (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010); Elizabeth Brake, Minimizing Marriage: Marriage, Morality, and the Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). 203. Elizabeth Brake, Minimizing Marriage: Marriage, Morality, and the Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 114. 204. Brake, 114, 2012. 205. Sara Arber and Jay Ginn, “The Mirage of Gender Equality: Occupational Success in the Labour Market and within Marriage,” The British Journal of Sociology Vol. 46, No. 1 (1995): 26. 206. Chambers, 22, 2017. 207. Chambers, 22, 2017. 208. Chambers, 22, 2017. 209. Amisha Padnani, “Is Marriage a Prize?” New York Times (May 15, 2020), available at https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/15/arts/women-­ marriage-­pop-­culture.html, accessed May 2020. 210. Waite and Gallagher, Chapter 5, 2002. 211. Waite and Gallagher, 67, 2002. 212. Waite and Gallagher, 125, 2002.

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213. See Edward Laumann, John H. Gagnon, Robert T. Michael, and Stuart Michaels, The Social Organization of Sexuality: Sexual Practices in the United States (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). 214. To motivate this, many people believe that we have a right to use drugs such as marijuana, cocaine, and heroin recreationally. Assuming this is correct, do we thereby have a state-regulated right to do so? Obviously not. If, then, one were to claim that we do have the latter, further grounds for this claim would be needed. For, independent of state regulation, people could nevertheless not only possess a right to use such drugs recreationally but freely exercise it, since the lack of such state-regulation is not one and the same as state prohibition. Whence, then, a right to stateregulated use of such drugs? 215. “Enable,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/enable, accessed Jan. 2020. 216. Ibid. 217. “Crime,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/crime, accessed April 2020. 218. De Marneffe, 8, 2010. 219. For examples of the former, see John Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Rights (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979). For examples of the latter, see A. John Simmons, Moral Principles and Political Obligations (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979) and Michael Huemer, The Problem of Political Authority: An Examination of the Right to Coerce and the Duty to Obey (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012). 220. Augustine of Hippo, On Free Choice of the Will (New York: Library of Liberal Arts, 1964), 11. 221. De Marneffe, 114–120, 2010. 222. John Rawls, A Theory of Justice, revised edition (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 38.

CHAPTER 4

Nonconsequentialist Arguments Against Prostitution

Introduction In this chapter, I critique seven nonreligious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution. As nonreligious, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of prostitution is derived from at least one nonreligious claim and no religious claims whatsoever. And as nonconsequentialist, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of prostitution is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever. Again, by a “nonconsequentialist moral claim,” I mean a claim that understands the moral permissibility or moral impermissibility of an act to be a function, not of a purported moral-making or immoral-making consequence the act is said to involve, but of some other alleged moral-making or immoral-making property—a nonconsequentialist moral-making or immoral-making property. By a “nonconsequentialist moral-making property,” I mean a property, other than that of being a consequence of an act, that renders the act that involves it morally permissible. Similarly, by a “nonconsequentialist immoral-making property,” I mean a property, other than that of being a consequence of an act, that renders the act that involves it morally impermissible. Unlike with consequentialist arguments, wherein the intention behind the acts involved in such arguments is morally irrelevant, all else being equal, nonconsequentialist arguments typically deem the intention behind © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 R. Lovering, A Moral Defense of Prostitution, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-75863-9_4

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the acts involved in such arguments to be morally relevant. Accordingly, nonconsequentialist arguments’ claims regarding what the prostitute does through prostitution are usually construed as claims about what she intentionally does through prostitution. Of course, from the mere claim that, through prostitution, the prostitute intentionally does something (X), it does not follow that she does, in fact, intentionally do X. In order to go beyond merely claiming that, through prostitution, the prostitute intentionally does X, one would need to show that this is the case which, in turn, would involve determining what her intentions are. And one way to do the latter (some have proposed, at any rate) is by asking her the following counterfactual question: If you could avoid doing X through prostitution, would you do so?1 The idea here is that if she answers this question in the affirmative, then her doing X through prostitution is not intended but merely foreseen. In any case, whether her intentions are to be determined in this way or some other, one would need to determine what they are if one is to show that the prostitute intentionally does X through prostitution. Yet, there is no empirical evidence that settles what, in general, prostitutes’ intentions are, save for that of making money (or its equivalent) in order to acquire prudential goods. As one sex worker puts it, There is no standard sex worker. Each woman has her own reasons for working, her own responses of boredom, pleasure, power, and/or trauma, her own ideas about the work and her place in it. This work can be oppression or freedom; just another assembly-line job; an artistic act that also pays well; comic relief from street realities; healing social work for an alienated culture. What is at work within each woman that lets her accommodate this situation? Intense denial, infallible sense of humor, co-dependency, incredible strength, a liquid sense of self? The only safe thing to say is that we’re all in it for the money.2

Given this, I merely ask that the reader keep this discussion of what the prostitute intentionally does through prostitution in mind as he or she reads through the arguments.

On Argumentative Organization Before I present and critique the first nonconsequentialist argument for the immorality of prostitution—“nonconsequentialist argument,” for short—a word about the way in which I have organized these arguments

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is in order. As stated previously, one of the things that differentiates one nonconsequentialist argument from another is the nonconsequentialist immoral-making property that prostitution is alleged to possess. Some nonconsequentialist arguments claim that prostitution involves the nonconsequentialist immoral-making property of being a degradation of oneself (with “degradation” this time construed in nonconsequential terms); others claim that it involves that of being a subjection of oneself to exploitation; still others claim that it involves that of being a subordination of oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts; and so on. And when it comes to nonconsequentialist immoral-making properties, some properties are more morally severe than others—or so I have assumed here. With that in mind, the way in which I have organized the arguments that follow is in terms of the moral severity of the nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property, moving from what I take to be the least morally severe nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (that of being an enablement of an acquisition of an unearned pleasure) to the most morally severe nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (that of being a subordination of oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts, although I consider the final three nonconsequentialist immoral-making properties to be more or less tied for most morally severe). Naturally, there is room for disagreement with regard to the order in which I have placed the arguments vis-à-­ vis severity and, thus, I am amenable to changing it. As of this writing, however, I am inclined to order them in the way that follows. With that said, let us now turn to the Unearned Pleasure Argument.

The Unearned Pleasure Argument The Unearned Pleasure Argument is as follows: P1:  Prostitution involves the enablement of an acquisition of an unearned pleasure. P2: Being an enablement of an acquisition of an unearned pleasure is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. C1:  Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral.

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On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the enablement of an acquisition of an unearned pleasure? In other words, is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute enables an acquisition of an unearned pleasure? In order to answer this question, we need to know what is meant by both “enable” and “unearned pleasure.” As discussed in Chap. 3, the term “enable” has both a (purely) descriptive sense (“to provide with the means or opportunity”) and a normative sense (“to give legal power, capacity, or sanction to”). The meaning of “enable” at work in the Unearned Pleasure Argument is that of its aforementioned descriptive sense—to provide with the means or opportunity. Regarding “unearned pleasure,” and beginning with the “pleasure” part of that term, what is typically meant by this is what Fred Feldman identifies as “attitudinal” pleasure (a propositional attitude of a certain sort, that of enjoying or being pleased about something) and/or “sensory” pleasure (a pleasurable feeling or sensation).3 Though Feldman deems sensory pleasure a species of attitudinal pleasure, the former is distinct from the latter in that the sensory pleasure necessarily involves feelings or sensations whereas attitudinal does not. As for the “unearned” part of the term, what is usually meant by this is that the work that one otherwise would have had to perform to experience the desired or preferred (hereafter, simply “desired”) sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure is somehow bypassed. With these understandings of “enable” and “unearned pleasure” in mind, P1 may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute provides the client with the means or opportunity to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure. Is this the case? In order to answer this question, let us begin by addressing just whether there is empirical evidence indicating that the prostitute provides the client with the means or opportunity to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure (i.e., independent of whether she also enables him to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience it). There is indeed empirical evidence indicating that this is true of prostitutes in general. Sanders et al. provide a long list of reasons that clients have reported to have had for purchasing prostitutional services, including the desire for and/or to: sexual pleasure and gratification, different types of sex acts, sex with women with different characteristics, temporary relationships, intimacy that they do not find in

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conventional relationships, emotional support and friendship, engage in an unconventional activity, overcome loneliness, overcome difficulty with forming sexual or social relationships (due to disability, caring for elderly parents, etc.), avoid an adulterous affair that could result in devastating the family home, and remove themselves from the larger obligations of traditional, family-based relationships.4 As one can see, the aforementioned list includes both acts and states involving sensory and attitudinal pleasures. Accordingly, by providing her prostitutional services to a client whose desire is to experience any of the aforementioned acts or states, the prostitute provides him with the means or opportunity to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure. There is, then, empirical evidence indicating that, in general, prostitutes provide the client with the means or opportunity to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure. But is it also true that the prostitute provides the client with the means or opportunity to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure? To determine whether it is, we need to know what is meant by said “work.” In the context of the Unearned Pleasure Argument, the understandings often employed vary, with some being direct in nature (e.g., wooing, courting, and the like) and others being indirect in nature (e.g., contributing to society by marrying and starting a family). In any case, empirical evidence exists suggesting that it is, in fact, true that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally provide the client with the means or opportunity to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure. Indeed, as discussed previously, this is one of the many reasons men purchase the services of prostitutes. According to one study on the matter, nearly half of the clients interviewed reported that one of their reasons for employing the services of prostitutes was that they deemed prostitution to be an easy and/or non-committal solution to their sexual desires.5 As a client participating in another study on the matter puts it, “After a working day of 8–9 hours, I am not interested in looking for vague company in a bar … [Prostitution] is the easiest option in my life situation for satisfying my sexual needs.”6 Relatedly, another client reports, “I am attracted to prostitutes because there are no emotional entanglements.”7 Given the way “work” is often understood in the context of the Unearned Pleasure Argument, then, there is empirical evidence suggesting that, through prostitution, prostitutes in general provide the client with the means or

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opportunity to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure. There is, however, another understanding of “work” according to which this is not true, namely, the more fundamental sense in which “work” is understood merely along the lines of “activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a purpose or result” or “activity in which one exerts strength or faculties to do or perform something.”8 Given that, by prostitution’s very nature, the client must purchase the prostitute’s sexual services, he must have the means to do so. And most clients have to work in one way or another in order to come into possession of said means. (I write “most” as some clients no doubt acquire said means through trust funds, inheritances, and the like.) On this understanding of “work,” then, it is not true that, through prostitution, prostitutes generally provide the client with the means or opportunity to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure. For prostitutes require payment for their services, and most clients have to work in order to provide it. Summing up, though empirical evidence exists suggesting that on some meanings of “work” prostitutes generally enable the client to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure through prostitution, there also is empirical evidence indicating that on another, more fundamental meaning of “work,” they do not. On P2 Is it true that being an enablement of an acquisition of an unearned pleasure is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property? In other words, is enabling an acquisition of an unearned pleasure nonconsequentially immoral? That it is is neither obvious nor intuitive, and it is subject to counterexample. Suppose Lennon desires the pleasure that comes with eating chocolate ice cream. Suppose, also, that he lacks the money to purchase it. Suppose, finally, that Pat purchases it for him, thereby enabling him to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure. Does Pat do something that is immoral, something she has no moral right to do? That she does strikes me as incredible. A basic moral claim (or claims, as the present case seems to require) that can not only underpin P2 but outweigh counterexamples such as the

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preceding, then, appear to be needed. They need to be claims that are nonconsequentialist in nature, of course, as the Unearned Pleasure Argument is a token of a nonconsequentialist argument. With an eye toward parsimony, relevance, salience, and basicality, the following are two of the simplest and most pertinent, conspicuous, and fundamental nonconsequentialist moral claims—“BN”s, for short—there are in the present context: BN1: Acquiring an unearned pleasure is nonconsequentially immoral. BN2: Enabling an act that is nonconsequentially immoral is nonconsequentially immoral. From the combination of BN1 and BN2, one may derive P2: Being an enablement of an acquisition of an unearned pleasure is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., enabling an acquisition of an unearned pleasure is nonconsequentially immoral). Are BN1 and BN2 any more plausible than P2? Arguably not. Beginning with BN1, given that it, too, is neither obvious nor intuitive, one naturally wonders on what grounds one would think that acquiring an unearned pleasure is nonconsequentially immoral. Some would argue that such acquiring involves cheating society, since experiencing one’s desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure should occur only as a result of having contributed to society. And cheating society is immoral—or so the argument goes. Writing of this view as it manifests itself in the context of recreational drug use, psychologist Mitch Earleywine observes that an “unstated assumption in a lot of Western countries is pleasure should only reward contribution to society … Consuming a drug is therefore morally wrong because it creates pleasures that some people do not believe are properly earned.”9 But is it true that when one acquires an unearned pleasure—that is, when one bypasses the work that one otherwise would have had to perform to experience one’s desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure— one cheats society? No doubt it is in some cases. For example, when, in order to experience the pleasure of being at the front of a movie line, one cuts in front of the others who are in the line, one cheats society (not in a very extensive or serious way, of course, but one cheats society nonetheless). In other cases, however, it is not true. When, in order to experience the pleasure of seeing one’s favorite performing artist, one allows another

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to purchase a ticket for oneself (with money that has been obtained legitimately, to be clear), one does not cheat society. So, what about in the case of prostitution? When, in order to experience the pleasure of having sex with someone, the client has sex with a prostitute, does the client cheat society? It is hard to see how he does. Even in the worst-case scenario vis-à-vis society, wherein the client has decided never to date, marry, or procreate with anyone but, instead, only to have sex with prostitutes, it is hard to see how society is cheated by his doing so. Does society contain one fewer eligible bachelor, boyfriend, husband, and father than it otherwise would? Yes. Is it thereby and to that extent more difficult for other eligible individuals to find a boyfriend, husband, and so on? Naturally. But is society thereby cheated? I fail to see how it is. Simply put, society has no claim to one’s sex/romantic life, ostensibly (all else being equal). And, assuming the client is forthright about his decision (which I am here), his decision involves no deception. Even if BN1 is true in some cases, then, it does not appear to be true in others, including that of a client purchasing the services of a prostitute. So, again, why think that acquiring an unearned pleasure is nonconsequentially immoral? Another, more philosophical possibility pertains to a qualitative difference between earned and unearned pleasures. In order to understand this possibility, one must first understand what is meant by “qualitative” differences between pleasures. As Benjamin Gibbs notes, “quality” has at least two meanings and, thus, the quality of a pleasure may refer to one or both of two things: its kind (type, class) or its value (merit, degree of excellence).10 Talk of a given pleasure, X, being qualitatively different from another pleasure, Y, then, can mean that pleasures X and Y are different in kind, different in value, or different in both kind and value. With the preceding in mind, one might hold that earned and unearned pleasures are qualitatively different in the second sense of “quality”: that unearned pleasure is less valuable or less excellent (hereafter, “less valuable”) than earned pleasure. On this view, for any two pleasures, if one pleasure is unearned, the other is earned, and all else is equal (including the intensities of the pleasures, the durations of the pleasures, and so on), then the former is less valuable than the latter. And one might defend this view in the same way that Mill defends the view that the “lower” pleasures are qualitatively less valuable than the “higher” pleasures—by establishing which of the pleasures under consideration are preferred by the majority of those who have experienced them sufficiently. As he puts it,

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If I am asked what I mean by difference in quality in pleasures, or what makes one pleasure more valuable than another, merely as a pleasure, except its being greater in amount, there is but one possible answer. Of two possible pleasures, if there be one to which all or almost all who have experience of both give a decided preference, irrespective of any feeling or moral obligation to prefer it, that is the more desirable pleasure.11

Given this Millian method for determining which pleasures are more or less valuable than others, whether pleasure X is more or less valuable than pleasure Y, then, is to be settled by establishing which of these pleasures is preferred by the majority of those who have experienced them sufficiently. If the majority prefers pleasure X to pleasure Y, then X is more valuable than Y (Y is less valuable than X). If, on the other hand, the majority prefers pleasure Y to pleasure X, then Y is more valuable than X (X is less valuable than Y). With these three things in mind—the distinction between more valuable and less valuable pleasures, the Millian method for determining which pleasures are more or less valuable than others, and the view that unearned pleasure is less valuable than earned pleasure—one could argue for the immorality of bypassing the work that one otherwise would have had to perform to experience one’s desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure as follows. First, using Mill’s method for determining which pleasures are more or less valuable than others, one could argue that unearned pleasure is less valuable than earned pleasure. Specifically, one could argue that the majority of those who have experienced both earned and unearned pleasures sufficiently prefer the former. (Of course, in order to do so successfully, one would need to provide empirical evidence for this claim. But, for the sake of the argument, I will assume that the claim is true.) Next, one could argue that the pleasure the client experiences through prostitution is unearned and, thus, less valuable pleasure. Finally (and perhaps most controversially), one could hold that producing a less valuable pleasure— particularly when doing so in lieu of a more valuable pleasure—is nonconsequentially immoral. (The nonconsequentialist grounds—which, given that this is a nonconsequentialist argument, they need to be—on which one might do so may vary. One candidate involves a view to be discussed in greater detail below, namely, that morality is grounded in rationality. Briefly, if one is choosing between two activities—one of which will produce a less valuable pleasure, the other of which will produce a more valuable pleasure—and if choosing that which will produce the less valuable

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pleasure is irrational, then it is nonconsequentially immoral to do that which will produce the less valuable pleasure.) In any case, one could hold that it is nonconsequentially immoral to produce a less valuable pleasure, especially when one could produce a more valuable pleasure. To sum up, one could argue that bypassing the work that one otherwise would have had to perform to experience one’s desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure is nonconsequentially immoral as follows: P1*: Bypassing the work that one otherwise would have had to perform to experience one’s desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure involves the production of an unearned pleasure. P2*: Unearned pleasure is less valuable pleasure. C1*: Therefore, bypassing the work that one otherwise would have had to perform to experience one’s desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure involves the production of less valuable pleasure. P3*: Being a production of less valuable pleasure is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. C2*: Therefore, bypassing the work that one otherwise would have had to perform to experience one’s desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. P4*: If bypassing the work that one otherwise would have had to perform to experience one’s desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then said bypassing is immoral. C3*: Therefore, said bypassing is immoral. Like the primary featured, formalized arguments presented above and below, this secondary featured, formalized argument is deductively valid. Accordingly, one need only scrutinize the premises. Since my thoughts on P1* are more or less identical to my thoughts on P1 of the Unearned Pleasure Argument, I will limit myself to evaluating P2*, P3*, and P4*. On P2* Is it the case that unearned pleasure is less valuable pleasure? Before answering this, it is worth pausing, making explicit, and reflecting on one of P2*’s underlying presuppositions, namely, that pleasures can be, and sometimes are, qualitatively different—specifically, more or less valuable— even when they are quantitatively identical (i.e., equal in intensity,

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duration, and so on). As the reader is likely aware, some philosophers (Jeremy Bentham, most notably) deny this. As Bentham famously puts it, “Prejudice apart, the game of push-pin is of equal value with the arts and sciences of music and poetry.”12 And, if the view that pleasures are not qualitatively different is correct, then P2* is false. So, is it correct? Obviously, the activities that can, and sometimes do, give rise to pleasure—playing games, eating sweets, reading novels, listening to music, and so on—can be, and in some cases are, qualitatively different. But that this is so does not entail that the pleasures to which they give rise (when they do) are qualitatively different as well. And that the latter is the case is not clear to me. I am reminded here of a scene in the movie Trainspotting, wherein a heroin addict is having someone inject heroin into her system. As she begins to experience the pleasure induced by the drug, she describes it as “better than sex.” But that she describes the pleasure so does not entail that it is qualitatively different from the pleasure that she experiences through having sex. Such a description is consistent with the pleasure being merely, say, more intense than the pleasure she experiences when having sex. Of course, in this case, I am not in the heroin addict’s shoes; I am, instead, on the outside looking in. However, even in cases where I am on the inside, as it were, it is not clear to me that pleasures differ qualitatively (though it is clear to me that they differ quantitatively). Is the pleasure that I experience while listening to my favorite music—not the means to said pleasure, to be clear, but the pleasure in and of itself— qualitatively different from the pleasure that I experience while eating my favorite meal? They are, to be sure, quantitatively different on occasion. But are they qualitatively different on occasion as well? In some moods, I am inclined to think that it is; in others, I am inclined to think that it is not. It is, then, hard for me to say. But even if one grants the aforementioned assumption and pleasures are, in some cases, qualitatively different despite being quantitatively identical, problems arise. First, though many might agree that, in some cases, unearned pleasure is qualitatively less valuable than earned pleasure, hardly anyone would agree that it is in all cases. To wit, many people seem to agree that the pleasure one experiences upon receiving an unexpected, no-­ strings-­attached gift (say, an anonymous financial donation) can be, and sometimes is, qualitatively more valuable than earned pleasure—some earned pleasures, at any rate. Take, for example, an individual who has to work two jobs in order to save enough money to open her dream business (whatever it might be). Suppose that before she has saved enough to do

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so, she is informed that someone has gifted her the remainder of the amount she needs to do so—an amount that otherwise would have taken her a year to earn. Many people in this scenario would shed tears of joy— tears that many of the very same people would not shed had they been required to continue working for a year to save the rest of the money. Such joy suggests that said people find the pleasure they experience upon receiving an unexpected, no-strings-attached gift to be qualitatively more valuable than at least some earned pleasures. Perhaps this is due to the fact that the gift is just that, a gift. Perhaps it is due to the unexpectedness of the gift. Perhaps it is due something else altogether. Whatever the case may be, some would maintain that such unearned pleasure can be, and sometimes is, more valuable than earned pleasure. Moreover, Mill’s method notwithstanding, it is not entirely clear how we are to determine which pleasures are more or less valuable than others. After all, not all philosophers find Mill’s method satisfactory, arguing that claims about which pleasure are, in fact, more or less valuable are not adequately supported by claims about what the majority of those who have sufficiently experienced the pleasures under consideration prefer.13 To be sure, that a pleasure is preferred by such people may be some indication that the pleasure is more valuable than other pleasures. But being preferred is not one and the same as being valuable. (Indeed, this is precisely how some people argue against prostitution, contending that even though the client prefers the pleasure that he experiences through prostitution, it does not follow that said pleasure is, in fact, valuable, let alone more valuable than the pleasure obtained through nonprostitutional sex.) To have greater confidence that pleasures that are preferred by the majority of those who have sufficiently experienced them are more valuable than others, then, more than just Mill’s method seems to be required. And yet, beyond Mill’s method, it can be difficult to think of another way to determine which pleasures are more or less valuable than others—a plausible one, in any case. On P3* Is it true that being a production of less valuable pleasure is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., is producing less valuable pleasure nonconsequentially immoral)? This is very hard to believe. In one’s daily life, one is often presented with a choice between two or more self-­ regarding activities, some of which will produce a more valuable pleasure

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for oneself, others of which will produce a less valuable pleasure for oneself (e.g., reading a Pulitzer-prize winning novel vs. watching a universally panned movie.) (Or, if pleasures do not, in fact, differ qualitatively, some of which will produce what one takes to be a more valuable pleasure for oneself, others of which will produce what one takes to be a less valuable pleasure for oneself.) And sometimes one chooses an activity that will produce (what one takes to be) a less valuable pleasure for oneself. Even so, one appears to do nothing immoral, or even morally criticizable, in so choosing. Accordingly, even if unearned pleasure is less valuable than earned pleasure, it does not seem that producing unearned pleasure is immoral or morally criticizable. It might be imprudent, of course, but that is another matter. Granted, those who embrace the view that morality is grounded in rationality will judge one’s choosing the less valuable pleasure to be morally impermissible when one’s doing so is irrational. But that morality is grounded in rationality is subject to objections that render it implausible, as will be addressed shortly. On P4* Is it the case that if bypassing the work that one otherwise would have had to perform to experience one’s desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then said bypassing is immoral? Given the way “immoral-making property” has been construed here—namely, a property that renders the act that involves it immoral—not only is this true, it is so analytically. On P2 (Redux) The preceding defense (P1*–C3*) of BN1 and, with it, P2 fails to show that being an acquisition of an unearned pleasure is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. What’s more, beyond the lack of positive reasons to think that BN1 is plausible, there are positive reasons to think that BN1 is implausible, the foremost of which is that it is open to counterexample. Suppose Victoria’s life is barely worth living. Suppose, also, that, in order to rectify this, a total stranger to Victoria, Grace, offers to provide Victoria with various, no-strings-attached pleasures in the form of both material objects and experiences. Suppose, finally, that Victoria accepts Grace’s offer and, as a result, acquires not only unearned pleasures but, with them, a life worth living. Is Victoria’s acquiring of said pleasure

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nonconsequentially immoral? This is very hard to believe.14 It appears false, then, that acquiring an unearned pleasure is nonconsequentially immoral. As for the other basic consequentialist moral claim from which we are attempting to derive P2 (BN2: Enabling an act that is nonconsequentially immoral is nonconsequentially immoral), this basic nonconsequentialist moral claim strikes me as true, at least when “immoral” is understood as it is here (i.e., morally forbidden). In other words, enabling an immoral act—whether the act is consequentially immoral or nonconsequentially immoral—strikes me as itself an immoral act. For instance, it seems to me that enabling someone to murder another is itself immoral, and it seems that way to me because murder is immoral. Even so, as argued above, enabling another to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure does not appear to be immoral. But even if BN2 were true with respect to enabling another to bypass the work that he otherwise would have had to perform to experience his desired sensory and/or attitudinal pleasure, the truth of P2 would not be derivable. For we are attempting to derive P2, not just from BN2, but from the combination of BN2 and BN1. And BN1 is false, or so I have argued. To be sure, despite their simplicity, relevance, salience, and basicality, BN1 and BN2 might not be optimal when it comes to deriving P2 from one or more basic nonconsequentialist moral claims. But rather than discussing other possibilities here, I will leave it at that. For some of the other possibilities that could be discussed here will be presented shortly as they are central to my evaluations of arguments to come. On P3 Is it true that if prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property, then prostitution is immoral? As with P4*, given the way “immoral-making property” has been construed here—namely, a property that renders the act that involves it immoral—not only is this true, it is so analytically. Whether a given nonconsequentialist immoral-making property is also an outweighing immoral-making property—that is, one that renders P6 of the Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument false—is a separate question. And as my critiques of this and the rest of the nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution indicate, I do not

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think that prostitution involves—intrinsically or generally extrinsically— any outweighing immoral-making properties. It should be noted here that every nonconsequentialist argument for the immorality of prostitution hereafter explicitly contains a premise identical in substance to P3—indeed, in each case, it is referred to as “P3” as well. But since P3 is analytically true, I will forego addressing it explicitly in the arguments to come. Conclusion As with the Squandered Talents Argument of Chap. 3, given the position of my discussion of the Unearned Pleasure Argument (first among the nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution), a few concluding remarks seem appropriate. To begin with, though more could be said about the Unearned Pleasure Argument, this will have to do for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that the Unearned Pleasure Argument fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral. Of course, even if it does, it might still be morally criticizable or imprudent for the prostitute to enable the client to acquire an unearned pleasure through prostitution. But it is not clear to me that it is either of these things. Like the issue of whether it is immoral, the issue of whether enabling the client to acquire an unearned pleasure through prostitution is morally criticizable depends on whether there is a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that can undergird the claim that it is as well as overcome potential counterexamples. And that there is such a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim seems doubtful. (This will be clearer upon finishing the book, as there are many more basic nonconsequentialist moral claims to be given consideration.) Whether it is imprudent, on the other hand, turns on the prostitute’s desires, interests, purposes, and needs, and these things can vary from prostitute to prostitute. Similar concluding remarks could be made with regard to each of the nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution that follow. But I will forgo making them and, instead, merely ask that the reader keep that in mind as he or she finishes reading about said arguments.

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The Deception Argument The Deception Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the deception of the client. P2:  Being a deception of another is a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. C1:  Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. Before moving on to my evaluation of the premises, a caveat about the focus of this argument is in order. Notice that the subject of deception on which P1 focuses is that of the client. There is, however, empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes deceive people beyond their clients (e.g., their children, spouses, friends, neighbors, etc.). Accordingly, P1’s subject of deception could include individuals beyond the prostitute’s client. Having said that, including all of these individuals would result in a rather unruly premise and, with it, evaluation of P1. Given this, as well as the fact that every prostitute has a client but not every prostitute has children, a spouse, a family, and so on, I have elected to focus on the client as the subject of deception. Even so, much of what I argue here is applicable (mutatis mutandis) to cases wherein the subject of deception is someone other than a client. On P1 Is it the case that prostitution involves the deception of the client (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute deceives her client)? There is certainly empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes at least attempt to do so. As de Marneffe observes, “[a] successful sex worker must typically pretend to enjoy the company of her clients and to be sexually interested in and aroused by them even when they strike her as stupid, offensive, pathetic, or repulsive.”15 This is due in part to the fact that most clients desire mutually enjoyable sexual activity or, at least, that which most closely approximates it. Briefly, if the client comes to believe that the sexual activity in which he is engaging with a prostitute is not mutually

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enjoyable and does not closely approximate it, his desire and, with it, ability to perform are adversely affected. As a result, prostitutes “do what they can to make the whole process less transparent—acting aroused, groaning, breathing, moving,” according to Høigård and Finstad.16 (They add that prostitutes “believe that men are easily fooled.”)17 Indeed, de Marneffe speculates that this is where the “trick” of “turning tricks” comes from— the prostitute “fools the client into thinking that she is attracted to him and is enjoying his company in order to get his money.”18 To make this less abstract and more concrete, let us consider particular examples of this. Three examples were covered already in Chap. 3. Two more examples are as follows: [S]ometimes, fortunately not every day, I meet a man I do not like. And then I have to force myself to smile, show a positive attitude and act like a high-class hooker. We have to look eager to please and appear sexually excited because that’s what they expect. With some men, I have to close my eyes and think of the money, otherwise I would get up and run out of the room yelling, “Keep your money and get out of here. I don’t want to see you, don’t touch my face.”19 Some of the guys that come in here, you’re just like, oh my god, I have to lay under that? And you better believe we’re gonna make this man think he’s the most hottest, sexiest thing there is because we want that money and we want ‘em to come back.20

And on it goes (see the following endnote).21 Indeed, Maher et al. observe that a lot of the literature on prostitution and other sex work focuses on findings that indicate that prostitutes pretend to be intimate with clients.22 That some prostitutes attempt to deceive their clients, then, is supported by empirical evidence. And even though said evidence does not establish that prostitutes generally attempt to deceive their clients—that the majority of street-, brothel-, massage parlor-, sauna-, club-, bar-, window-, call girl-, girlfriend experience-working prostitutes attempt to do this through prostitution—it seems rather likely that this is so, given what we have covered thus far. That said, there is empirical evidence indicating that not all prostitutes attempt to deceive their clients through prostitution. Recall, if you will, Belinda (from Chap. 3), who claimed that she did not attempt to deceive her clients on the grounds that it was “too draining” for her. Another

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prostitute reports, “I have a few clients that I can say I am completely 100 percent myself around. It feels good to not have to put on a show, but at the same time I wonder if it’s a bad decision on my end.”23 Regarding specifically the provision of emotional labor, for instance, one study indicates that though some of the participating prostitutes claimed that they were acting while providing it to their clients, others said they were not.24 Indeed (and, perhaps one might think, ironically), Maher et al. report that the use of fake names and personas allows some prostitutes to engage otherwise authentically with their clients by creating space between their prostitutional life and their life outside of prostitution.25 (Sociologist Elizabeth Bernstein refers to this phenomenon as “limited” or “bounded” authenticity.)26 Though it is true that prostitutes commonly, and probably generally, attempt to deceive their clients, then, this is not true for all prostitutes and, with them, all instances of prostitution. But even if it is the case that, in general, prostitutes attempt to deceive their clients, the truth value of P1 remains an open question. For P1 claims, not just that the prostitute attempts to deceive her client, but that she actually deceives him. And though there is empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes actually deceive their clients, there is none indicating that prostitutes do so in general. In addition, there is both philosophical and empirical evidence indicating that not all prostitutes succeed in deceiving their clients. Beginning with the empirical evidence that shows that some prostitutes actually deceive their clients, consider, for example, one client’s answer to the question, “Do the prostitutes you’re with usually come [i.e., have an orgasm]?”: I’ve had the experience twice that they’ve said they don’t want to. Otherwise they probably have. When a woman comes, more happens than just in the cunt—you can notice it, on her stomach and difference places. I don’t think that I’m one of the more easily fooled that way. It may have happened that she’s been pretending, but in that case, it was well done. If we’ve done it mutually, then I’ve come first and then she has. By then we’ve talked a lot beforehand and I don’t think I’ve been fooled—it’s all seemed honest and above-board.27

Given that (as Høigård and Finstad put it) prostitutes “do what they can to make the whole process less transparent—acting aroused, groaning, breathing, moving,” it seems rather likely that in at least some of this client’s sexual transactions with prostitutes, the prostitute actually deceived

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him. (If I had to place my bets on particular instances of this, I would do so on those wherein the client came before the prostitute [purportedly] did.) As for the philosophical evidence indicating that not all prostitutes actually deceive their clients, from the fact that one attempts to do something, it of course does not follow that one actually does it. So, the prostitute’s attempt to deceive her client is not logically guaranteed to succeed. And there is reason to believe that it does not in many cases. This bring us to the empirical evidence indicating that not all prostitutes actually deceive their clients. As one client, Rune, puts it, “I don’t believe they experience sexual pleasure from being with customers. It’s just the money they’re after. They moan and groan like others do, but I think it’s mostly acting. When you feel their bodies they don’t seem especially excited. They haven’t reacted to being touched down there.”28 Another, Harald, puts it this way: “Everything like that from their side is a game, empty gestures— but I’ve never paid much attention to it. I know it’s just a game. And I see it as completely natural; it’s the way it should be.”29 There is reason to believe, then, that not every prostitute actually deceives her client and, thus, that not all prostitution involves the actual deception of the client. To summarize, no empirical evidence exist which settles whether, in general, prostitutes actually deceive their clients through prostitution. And though empirical evidence exists showing that in some cases the prostitute does, there also is empirical evidence indicating that in some cases she does not. On P2 Is it true that being a deception of another is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., is deceiving another nonconsequentially immoral)? That it is is neither obvious nor intuitive, and it is open to counterexample. Consider, for example, the basketball player who bypasses a defender by pump faking, the wife who offers encouragement to her husband by feigning laughter after he tells a joke, and the military general who assuages his or her soldiers’ fears by pretending to have courage. Each of these acts involves the deceiving of another. Yet, none seems to be immoral or even morally criticizable. Even a case discussed by one of, if not the, most adamant and notable defenders of the view that deceiving another (intentionally doing so, to be clear) is immoral, Kant, shows that P2 is vulnerable to counterexample.

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Suppose someone is at your door and asks whether an innocent friend of yours is home with you, and he is. Suppose, also, that it is clear that the person inquiring intends to murder your friend. How, morally speaking, should you answer? Kant claims that you should not deceive the would-be murderer but, rather, tell him the truth. He argues for this as follows: After you have honestly answered the murderer’s question as to whether this intended victim is at home, it may be that he has slipped out so that he does not come in the way of the murderer, and thus that the murder may not be committed. But if you had lied and said he was not at home when he had really gone out without your knowing it, and if the murderer had then met him as he went away and murdered him, you might justly be accused as the cause of his death. For if you had told the truth as far as you knew it, perhaps the murderer might have been apprehended by the neighbors while he searched the house and thus the deed might have been prevented. Therefore, whoever tells a lie, however well-intentioned he might be, must answer for the consequences, however unforeseeable they were, and pay the penalty for them even in a civil tribunal. This is because truthfulness is a duty which must be regarded as the ground of all duties based on contract, and the laws of these duties would be rendered uncertain and useless if even the least exception to them were admitted. To be truthful (honest) in all declarations, therefore, is a sacred and absolutely commanding decree of reason, limited by no expediency.30

In short, even when telling the truth could—or, indeed, will—result in the loss of an innocent standard adult human life, it is immoral for one to do otherwise. (To repeat: “To be truthful [honest] in all declarations, therefore, is a sacred and absolutely commanding decree of reason, limited by no expediency.”) But some of us find this to be strongly counterintuitive.31 Indeed, there is at least a prima facie case to be made for thinking that deceiving another is morally commendable, and perhaps even morally required, in certain circumstances. Suppose, for example, that the mayor of coastal city has been alerted to the fact that a tsunami is headed toward the city and will bring about the deaths of hundreds of thousands of its citizens if the city is not evacuated in time. Suppose, second, that she’s been informed that the tsunami is scheduled to hit the city in four hours. Suppose, third, that the way to evacuate the city so as to prevent the aforementioned hundreds of thousands of deaths is to have the citizens leave in a calm, orderly fashion. Finally, suppose that if the mayor does not deceive the citizens about when the tsunami is scheduled to hit the city, they will

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not leave in a calm, orderly fashion; but if she does deceive them, they will. At least at first glance, it seems that it is not just morally permissible for the mayor to deceive the citizens, but morally commendable and perhaps even morally required. (Imagine, well after truthfully informing the city’s citizens that the tsunami is scheduled to hit the city in four hours and, in turn, hundreds of thousands of them die, the mayor defends her decision by saying, “But deceiving them would have been immoral!” It would be hard not to characterize such a defense as not only misguided but naive. And lest a charge of inconsistency be issued, it is worth recalling here that I am inclined to think that the empirical consequences of acts matter morally to some extent [see Chap. 3].) With the preceding in mind, a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that can not only underpin P2 but outweigh counterexamples such as the preceding appears to be needed. Since, again, Kant is one of the most adamant and notable defenders of the view that deceiving another is immoral, I will rely on a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim attributable to him, namely: BN3: Violating the Categorical Imperative is nonconsequentially immoral. From the combination of BN3 and the view that deceiving another violates the Categorical Imperative, one may derive P2: Being a deception of another is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., deceiving another is nonconsequentially immoral). Of course, in order to evaluate BN3 and, with it, the Deception Argument, we must know what is meant by a “violation” of the “Categorical Imperative.” Though many readers will likely have a sufficient understanding of these things, I would be remiss not to provide an analysis of them here nonetheless, even if briefly. Beginning with “Categorical Imperative,” Kant offers multiple formulas of it, two of which are commonly referred to as the “Formula of Universal Law” and the “Formula of End in Itself.” According to the former formula, one is to act only according to that maxim by which one can (rationally speaking), at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.32 According to the latter formula, one is to act in such a way that one always treats humanity, whether in one’s own person or in the person of any other, never simply as a means but always, at the same time, as an end. By “Categorical Imperative,” then, what is meant here is that which is captured by these two formulas. (Whether that

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which is captured is singular in nature, as Kant believed, I will not attempt to determine. For present purposes, I will simply grant that it is.) As for what is meant by a “violation” of the Categorical Imperative, the shorthand meaning is “a failure to comply with the Categorical Imperative.” The longhand meaning is (à la the Formula of Universal Law) “a failure to act only according to that maxim by which one can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law” and (à la the Formula of End in Itself) “a failure to act in such a way that one always treats humanity, whether in one’s own person or in the person of any other, never simply as a means but always, at the same time, as an end.” With these understandings of “violation” of the “Categorical Imperative” in mind, we may now discuss Kant’s reasons for thinking that (1) being a deception of another is being a violation of the Categorical Imperative—that is, deceiving another violates the Categorical Imperative and, thus, (2) deceiving another is thereby nonconsequentially immoral. (Having just granted that that which is captured by the preceding formulas of the Categorical Imperative is singular in nature, I will limit myself to discussing said reasons in terms of just the Formula of End in Itself.) Beginning with (1), deceiving another violates the Formula of End in Itself, Kant contends, in that to deceive another is to treat the other as a mere means to an end. But what is meant by “to treat the other as a mere means to an end”? This is an issue over which much ink has been spilled, of course. But a common and plausible understanding is “to treat the other in a way that the other, qua rational moral agent, cannot rationally agree to be treated.”33 (By “rational moral agent,” what is generally meant is someone capable of formulating and acting on the basis of moral and nonmoral reasons.) It behooves me to reiterate the last few words, emphasizing the second: cannot rationally agree to be treated. Treating another as a mere means to an end (as opposed to just a means to an end) turns on whether the other, qua rational moral agent, can rationally agree to such treatment. If, qua rational moral agent, the other cannot so agree, and if one treats the other in this way nevertheless, then one treats the other as a mere means to an end. So, again, Kant contends that deceiving another violates the Formula of End in Itself in that to deceive another is to treat the other as a mere means to an end— that is, to treat the other in a way that, qua rational moral agent, he cannot rationally agree to be treated. As Kant puts it with regard to his deceiving another via a false promise, “For, he whom I want to use for my purposes by such a promise cannot possibly agree to my way

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of behaving toward him, and so himself contain the end of this action.”34 Exactly why the other cannot possibly agree (purportedly) to Kant’s behaving toward him in this way is a matter of some debate. One of the more popular explanations for this begins with the claim that the other must be aware of the maxim or principle underlying Kant’s behavior (which, as deceived, he is not) in order for him to agree to Kant’s behaving toward him in this way, and ends with the claim that the other would not agree to said behavior were he so aware. As Parfit describes this explanation, “For people to be able to consent to our way of treating them, they must know what we are doing. If people knew that we were trying to deceive them, we would be unable to deceive them. So we cannot possibly deceive people with their consent.”35 Another, related explanation is that the other necessarily wills that he not be deceived. This explanation is derived from the conjunction of Kant’s claim that each one of us (standard adult human beings, minimally) possesses a natural capacity for awareness of one’s rational moral agency—one which gives rise to a “feeling of one’s inner worth, according to which he is above all price and involves an inalienable dignity, which inspires him with respect for himself”—and his claim that being deceived is inconsistent with respect for oneself.36 (These proposed explanations are not mutually exclusive, of course.) In any event, what is rather clear is that, for Kant, the reason the other cannot possibly agree to Kant’s making a false promise to him is that such a promise is that it is deceptive in nature and, as such, something to which rational moral agents cannot rationally agree. Hence his view that deceiving a rational moral agent involves treating her as a mere means to an end and, thus, violates the Formula of End in Itself. Kant’s reason notwithstanding, however, there also are reasons to be skeptical of the claim that deceiving another violates the Formula of End in Itself. To see this, consider once more the second of the two explanations for why the other cannot possibly agree to Kant’s making a false promise to him: because the other necessarily wills that he not be deceived. (I will address the first of the two explanations shortly.) It is not at all clear that rational moral agents do, in fact, necessarily desire that they not be deceived. If this is an empirical claim, then one naturally wonders whether there is any empirical evidence indicating that it is true. And I, for one, am not aware of any such empirical evidence. Indeed, given the metaphysically nebulous nature of what necessarily desiring something would involve, it is not clear to me that empirical evidence could indicate this. What’s more, there is empirical evidence indicating that it is false that

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rational moral agents necessarily desire that they not be deceived (e.g., studies according to which individuals desire to be deceived by themselves in order to better deceive others).37 Naturally, that rational moral agents necessarily desire that they not be deceived may not be an empirical claim. But if it is not, one then wonders on what grounds (if any) its truth is to be established. Philosophical arguments have been offered, of course, by both Kant and others. But they do not strike me as very convincing. To take just one, consider Kant’s. Even if it is true that each one of us possesses a natural capacity for awareness of one’s rational moral agency which gives rise to a “feeling of one’s inner worth, according to which he is above all price and involves an inalienable dignity, which inspires him with respect for himself,” it does not follow that each one of us necessarily desires that his or her rational moral agency be respected. For a feeling of one’s inner worth which inspires one to respect oneself does not entail that one always, much less necessarily, desires that one respect oneself, let alone desires that others do so. Simply put, to be inspired to do something (X) is not one and the same as to desire to do X, either in principle or, in many cases, practice. One can have a feeling of the inner worth of something and, in turn, be inspired to respect it (e.g., Martin Luther King’s leadership and oratory skills, Picasso’s “Guernica,” the office of the presidency) without, in turn, always desiring to respect it, let alone necessarily desiring this. And so it is even when the inner worth in question involves “inalienable dignity” that is “above all price”—both of these things can characterize something without the one who is aware of this necessarily desiring to respect that which is so characterized. To be sure, it may be that one should desire this. But what one should do and what one necessarily does (assuming one does anything necessarily) are not one and the same—as before, either in principle or, in many cases, practice. What’s more, philosophical arguments can be offered that show rather clearly that rational moral agents do not necessarily desire not to be deceived. Indeed, the previously discussed case involving the tsunami is a case a point. As a rational moral agent myself, I can declare without hesitation that I desire that my mayor deceive me and my fellow citizens when he or she is faced with such a choice. Indeed, if, when faced with such a choice, he or she were to choose not to deceive us and thereby allow hundreds of thousands of us to die, I would be the first to call for his or her removal from office (were I to survive, naturally). And I suspect that very many other rational moral agents would agree with me in this regard.

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But even if one does, in fact, necessarily desire that one not be deceived and, thus, deceiving another involves treating him in a way that he cannot rationally agree to be treated, should we agree with Kant that (and this bring us to [ii]) deceiving another is thereby nonconsequentially immoral? That we should is neither obviously true nor intuitive, and that deceiving another is nonconsequentially immoral is subject to objection. To wit (and here is where I address the first of the two explanations for why the other cannot possibly agree to Kant’s making a false promise to him), after claiming (correctly, as I see it) that life-saving surgery performed on unconscious people is not immoral, all else being equal, despite the fact that said people cannot consent to such surgery, Parfit offers a case that challenges the first explanation. He refers to it as the case of “Fatal Belief,” according to which he (Parfit) knows that, unless he tells you a lie, you will correctly believe that Brown committed a murder, not be able to hide said belief from Brown, and, as a result, be murdered by Brown. Parfit then contends that lying to you in this case is morally comparable to performing life-saving surgery on unconscious people—which, again, does not involve immorality, as he sees it: If I say nothing, you could reasonably complain with your dying breath that I ought to have saved your life by deceiving you. I could not defensibly reply that, since I could not have deceived you with your consent, this way of saving your life would have been wrong. My life-saving lie would be like life-­ saving surgery on some unconscious person. Just as this person would consent to this surgery if she could, you would consent to my deceiving you. It is a merely technical problem that, if I asked you for your consent, that would make my deceiving you impossible. We could solve this problem if you had the ability to make yourself lose particular memories. After you had given your consent, you could deliberately forget our conversation, so that my lie could save your life. Since you would consent to my deceiving you if you could, my lie would be morally as innocent as some lie that was needed to give someone a surprise party.38

In short, that you cannot rationally agree to Parfit’s lying to you seems to fail to show that Parfit’s lying to you would be immoral. It appears, then, that an even more basic nonconsequentialist moral claim is required if P2 is to be shown to be true. And the most obvious candidate is: BN4: Doing that which is irrational is nonconsequentially immoral.

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(I describe this as the “most obvious” candidate given Kant’s view that morality is grounded in rationality.) But is this the case? That it is is also neither obvious nor intuitive and open to counterexample. To wit, it may be irrational for a person who is struggling to make ends meet to refuse a $10 million, no-strings-attached donation from a loving, devoted grandparent, but it does not seem to be immoral or even morally criticizable for him to do so. Or, to use one of Kant’s own (and related) examples, it may be irrational for a person to desire that no one ever helps her when she is in need, but it does not seem to be immoral or even morally criticizable for her to do so. What’s more, beyond BN4, it is very difficult to conceive of a nonconsequentialist moral claim that not only is more fundamental than P2 but can adequately support it. To wit, “risking doing that which is irrational is immoral” is more fundamental than “doing that which is irrational is immoral” (one cannot, logically speaking, do that which is irrational without first risking doing that which is irrational). But it fails to sufficiently support P2, as it, too, is subject to counterexample. Even if, for example, another cannot rationally agree to being deceived for the benefit of someone else, there seems to be nothing immoral with one’s risking this possibility. Suffice it to say that one is hard pressed to come up with another basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that is more fundamental than P2 and can adequately support it. Of course, even if it is false that deceiving another is always immoral, it does not follow that it never is. And it may be that a prostitute deceiving her client is a case wherein the deception is immoral. The question, then, is whether there is reason to think that this is so. And it seems to me that there is, at least in certain cases. Take, for instance, a case wherein the prostitute deceives her client, who is also a husband and father, into thinking that she actually loves him and wants to be his romantic partner. As a result, he leaves his wife and kids, only to be spurned by her. This strikes me as immoral deception, given the combination of the degree of the manipulation involved and its destructive effect on the client, his wife, and his kids.39 But what about less extreme cases, such as when the prostitute attempts to make the sexual transaction with her client less transparent by acting aroused, groaning, breathing, and/or moving? Is this a case of immoral deception? I am inclined to think that it is not on the twofold ground that such deception is typically (1) both expected and desired by the client (recall, if you will, Harald’s judgment that such deception is “completely

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natural” and “the way it should be”) and thereby carried out with the client’s voluntary, informed consent and, thus, (2) neither entirely successful nor harmful in any significant way, if at all. Such deception is the former since, as noted above, the client’s desire and ability to perform is adversely affected without it. And such deception is the latter given the glaring backdrop against which it occurs, namely, a financial transaction. In other words, that the client is completely duped by the prostitute’s attempts to make the sexual transaction with him less transparent by acting aroused, groaning, breathing, and/or moving is quite improbable given his awareness of the fact that he had to pay for the prostitute’s sexual services. One client’s experience with a prostitute reflects the essence of the two preceding claims quite well: “I couldn’t believe how involved in the fantasy I became as a customer. I felt affection for the woman I spent an hour with, even though I knew it was just business for her. I felt that she was special, and I had a hard time accepting that we were just another appointment to her. But it didn’t make any difference in the end. If I had wanted emotional involvement, I would have placed a personal ad.”40 Even the previously discussed client who thinks that most of the prostitutes with whom he has had sex had come was fully aware that they might have pretended to do so. With such an awareness, it is hard to believe that he is always successfully deceived. That such deception is typically both expected and desired, neither entirely successful nor harmful in any significant way (if at all) and, thus, not immoral is perhaps best supported by appeals to analogous cases. Bartenders, for example, often attempt to deceive their customers into thinking that they care for them, not just as customers, but as persons— not maliciously, of course, but merely for the customer’s money, particularly in the form of tips. (It is worth noting here that some psychologists argue that, when it comes to such deception, prostitutes and other customer-­service employees are psychologically comparable.)41 Yet, such deception appears to be morally permissible and does so on the grounds that it is both expected and desired by the customer and, thus, neither entirely successful nor harmful in any significant way, if at all. (To be sure, the customer’s ideal desire might be that the bartender’s care for himself or herself be authentic. But barring that, the customer desires what he or she accepts as the next best thing: feigned care on the part of the bartender.) And so it is with innumerable other customer-service employees: flight attendants, bank tellers, waiters, cashiers, baristas, retail salespeople, ski instructors, and so on. At times, each of these engages in deception

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that is morally permissible, ostensibly, and is so since it is both expected and desired by their respective customers and, thus, neither entirely successful nor harmful in any significant way, if at all. All this to say, though some cases of the prostitute deceiving her client appear to involve immoral deception (e.g., when such deception involves a significant degree of manipulation resulting in the destruction of the client’s marriage and family), others do not (e.g., when such deception is both expected and desired and, thus, neither entirely successful nor harmful in any significant way, if at all). There is more one could say about the Deception Argument, of course. But this will have to suffice. Nevertheless, given what has been covered here, it seemingly fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

The Viciousness Argument The Viciousness Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the performance of how a vicious agent would characteristically perform in the circumstances. P2: Being a performance of how a vicious agent would characteristically perform in the circumstances is a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. C1:  Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3:  If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the performance of how a vicious agent would characteristically perform—that is, perform qua vicious agent—in the circumstances (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute acts how a vicious agent would characteristically act in the circumstances)? To determine whether it is, we need to know what is meant by a “vicious agent.” And in order to know that, we need to understand the normative ethical theory of which this concept is constitutive, namely,

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virtue ethics. Though a thorough understanding of virtue ethics is beyond the scope of this work, a basic understanding will suffice. There are, of course, different understandings of virtue ethics, just as there are different understandings of natural law theory, utilitarianism, deontology, and seemingly every other normative ethical theory. That said, for present purposes, I will begin with Rosalind Hursthouse’s analysis of “virtue ethics” and will do so since, among other things, it is an instance of a moral (rather than non-moral) virtue ethical theory.42 (This is, after all, a book about the moral status of prostitution.) According to it, virtue ethics is the view that “an act is right if and only if it is what a virtuous agent would characteristically do (i.e., acting in character) in the circumstances.”43 (In this vein, I will understand an act to be wrong if and only if it is what a vicious agent would characteristically do in the circumstances.) Since Hursthouse writes in terms of “right” whereas I am writing in terms of “moral permissibility,” it would be prudent to put Hursthouse’s analysis in the latter terms. Doing so give us the following: virtue ethics is the view that an act is morally permissible (at the very least) if and only if it is what a virtuous agent would characteristically do in the circumstances. (Once more, in this vein, I will understand an act to be immoral (i.e., morally impermissible) if and only if it is what a vicious agent would characteristically do in the circumstances.) But what makes a virtuous agent virtuous, and what makes a vicious agent vicious? The typical virtue ethical answer is the possession of certain characteristics (often construed as dispositions). Exactly which characteristics can vary from one virtue ethicist to the next, naturally. That said, those that have been proposed as virtues include benevolence, prudence, temperance, wisdom, courage, honesty, compassion, and justice, among others. And those that have been proposed as vices include malevolence, imprudence, intemperance, licentiousness, foolishness, cowardice, dishonesty, cruelty, and injustice, among others.44 With the latter in mind, P1 may be understood in terms of various vices. But the usual suspects are licentiousness and imprudence. P1, then, may be understood in at least two ways: (1) Through prostitution, the prostitute acts licentiously. (2) Through prostitution, the prostitute acts imprudently. I will evaluate P1 through the lens of each of these understandings in turn. Is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute acts licentiously? To determine whether it is, we need to know what is meant by acting “licentiously.” The word “licentious” has both (purely) descriptive meanings and normative—specifically, moral—meanings. An argument-relevant and

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suitable example of the former is “disregarding sexual restraints.”45 Likewise examples of the latter include “lacking legal or moral restraints” and “behaving in a way that is considered sexually immoral.”46 The moral meanings cannot be used here, of course, as to do so would result in defining the prostitute’s act (as described in P1) as immoral and, in turn, render the Viciousness Argument question begging. That leaves us with the descriptive meaning. So, is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute disregards sexual restraints? It depends, in part, on the sexual restraint in question. If it is that of a restraint against, say, sexual activity with someone other than one’s spouse or otherwise romantic partner, then it is true that, in general, prostitutes disregard sexual restraints through prostitution. If, however, the sexual restraint in question is that of a restraint against, say, kissing or having anal sex with someone other than one’s partner, then it is not true that all prostitutes disregard sexual restraints. For, as discussed in Chap. 3, empirical evidence exists showing that many prostitutes do not engage in such activities with their clients. Whether they do in general, however—whether the majority of street-, brothel-, massage parlor-, sauna-, club-, bar-, window-, call girl-, girlfriend experience-working prostitutes engage in such activities through prostitution—the empirical evidence does not establish. This is not surprising since, among other things (and as covered in Chap. 3), most studies on prostitution focus on the least prevalent type of prostitution, namely, outdoor prostitution. As for the second understanding of P1—through prostitution, the prostitute acts imprudently—in order to settle whether it is true, we need to know what is meant by acting “imprudently.” Argument-relevant meanings of “imprudent” include “lacking discretion, wisdom, or good judgment” and “not acting in accordance with one’s desires, interests, purposes, and/or needs.”47 Beginning with the former, is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute exhibits a lack discretion, wisdom, or good judgment? However common this may or may not be, no empirical evidence exists which establishes that this is generally the case for prostitutes. There is, however, empirical evidence indicating that it is true of at least some prostitutes. For instance, as covered previously, not all prostitutes require their clients to use condoms, and some prostitutes are high on drugs or otherwise intoxicated while they provide their prostitutional services. In doing so, they exhibit a lack of discretion, wisdom, and/or good judgment, arguably. In addition, some prostitutes report to have allowed drunken, first-time and unfamiliar clients to drive them around in

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their cars before they provided their prostitutional services. As Moran describes her experience with doing so, [I]t’s a very disconcerting experience to be driven by somebody under the influence of alcohol, and of course, the more alcohol involved, the more disconcerting the experience. Assuming you arrive at your location in one piece, you can almost be sure of a row over money, with the man either forgetting or choosing to forget the agreed-upon fee. Should this matter be amicably resolved (and it usually won’t) he will almost invariably have trouble either achieving or maintaining an erection, and you, as the women paid to ensure he does, will certainly be assigned blame when he does not. At this or any other point, you may find yourself being attacked by an angry drunk in a car from the inside. I have had this experience more than once.48

But there also is empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes do not exhibit a lack discretion, wisdom, or good judgment. To begin with, and as de Marneffe notes, working as a prostitute not only may benefit some prostitutes in various ways, but said benefits may outweigh whatever costs they accrue, if any.49 He elaborates on this idea as follows: [P]rostitution may be an advisable choice for some people under some circumstances. Making money in this way can offer young people a means of survival and some measure of independence from their families, which, if their families are sufficiently abusive, can be a good thing for them (given the bleak alternatives). If a woman has small children, it may be easier for her to find and pay for child care for the time it takes her to turn the necessary tricks than for a full-time job, and she may be able to do sex work near her home whereas she must travel long distances to reach other jobs. The available job alternatives may also be unappealing, such as boring and exhausting factory work. Finally, people have different attitudes toward sex and their own bodies and have different capacities for intimacy. Not everyone is equally vulnerable to feelings of shame and rejection by others. Bearing these possibilities in mind, it seems likely that the decision to work as a prostitute is advisable on balance for some women.50

In this vein, one prostitute writes, “Many women have left jobs as waitresses or secretaries for sex work, which they find gives them better working hours, more freedom to work as they wish, and a better economic return on their investment of time and effort … [A]ntiprostitution crusaders should not assume that women—either in the industrialized or in the developing world—would necessarily be better off doing low-wage

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domestic, factory, office, or agricultural labor than they are doing sex work.”51 Another (former) prostitute says this, “I provided as full of a life for my son as I could, and money was the key. Prostitution provided that money, and, even more importantly, it gave me the spare time I wouldn’t have had with any nine-to-five ‘real’ job. It provided the best private schooling, the chance to travel, the best medical care.”52 There is reason to believe, then, that it is not always true that, through prostitution, the prostitute exhibits a lack discretion, wisdom, or good judgment. For there can be conditions under which the decision to engage in prostitution is a good one, prudentially speaking. Indeed, and as argued in Chap. 2, there is reason to believe that prostitutes generally act prudentially through prostitution. What about the latter? Is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute does not act in accordance with her desires, interests, purposes, and/or needs? It depends, of course, on what her desires, interests, purposes, and/or needs are. If one of her desires, interests, purposes, and/or needs is, say, to be held in great esteem by today’s society, then it is true that prostitutes generally do not act in accordance with this desire, interest, purpose, and/or need. But if one of them is to acquire an assortment of prudential goods (e.g., food, clothing, shelter, money, etc.), then it is not the case that prostitutes do not generally act in accordance with her desires, interests, purposes, and/or needs. And, again, as argued in Chap. 2, the acquisition of prudential goods is one of the reasons that prostitutes generally have for engaging in prostitution. To motivate this a little further, Sanders et al. observe that the following are among the reasons prostitutes have for engaging in prostitution: (1) to make more money in less time than they otherwise could and to use the gained time and money to provide for their children, (2) to pay off their debts, and (3) to pay for their, or their children’s, education.53 Clearly, when a woman becomes a prostitute for one or more of these reasons, she acts in accordance with one or more of her desires, interests, purposes, and/or needs. (Hence sociologist Wendy Chapkis describing some prostitutes’ decision to become a sex worker as a “rational choice.”)54 To sum up, though there is empirical evidence indicating that, vis-à-vis certain understandings “licentiousness” and “imprudence,” prostitutes generally perform how a vicious agent would characteristically perform in the circumstance, vis-à-vis other understandings of these terms, there is empirical evidence indicating that this is not so.

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On P2 Is it the case that being a performance of how a vicious agent would characteristically perform in the circumstances is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., is acting as a vicious agent would characteristically act in the circumstances nonconsequentially immoral)? As with some of the P2s of previously discussed arguments, this is neither obvious nor intuitive, and it is subject counterexample. To wit, suppose Greg behaves cowardly when a bully challenges him to a fight—one who, let us stipulate, is qualitatively identical to Greg in terms of physique, mental toughness, and fighting abilities. Given that cowardice is a vice—more specifically, given that acting cowardly in the circumstance is how a vicious agent would characteristically act in it—Greg behaves as a vicious agent would characteristically act in the circumstance. But does he thereby behave immorally? More specifically, does he thereby do something that he has no moral right to do—something that someone has a valid claim against his doing and, as a result, could be morally justified in punishing him for having done? Hardly, or so it seems to me. Indeed, it does not even seem that he does that which is morally criticizable. What’s more, a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that can undergird P2 as well as overcome counterexamples like the preceding appears to be lacking. Simply put, it is difficult to imagine a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that could not only logically precede P2 but adequately support it. To wit, “Acting as a vicious agent would act in the circumstances is immoral” is more fundamental than “Acting as a vicious agent would characteristically act in the circumstances is immoral” (one cannot, logically speaking, act as a vicious agent would characteristically act in the circumstances without first acting as a vicious agent would act in the circumstances). But it fails to adequately support P2 as it, too, is open to counterexample. Given the absence of “characteristically,” how a vicious agent would act in the circumstances is, for all intents and purposes, without restriction. Accordingly, one way a vicious agent would act in the circumstances is, say, altruistically. But that one way a vicious agent would act in the circumstances is altruistically renders acting altruistically immoral is implausible. “Acting as an agent would characteristically act in the circumstances is immoral” is also more fundamental than “Acting as a vicious agent would characteristically act in the circumstances is immoral” (one cannot, logically speaking, act as a vicious agent would characteristically act in the circumstances without first acting as an agent would

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characteristically act in the circumstances). But, it too, is problematic, since how an agent would characteristically act is very difficult to determine without knowing about said agent’s constitutive traits (beyond the trait of agency, of course). One is hard pressed, then, to come up with another basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that is more fundamental than P2 and can provide sufficient support for it. Accordingly, P2 is perhaps best understood to be a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim itself (to be designated here as BN5)—specifically, one that is constitutive of virtue ethics. Given this, another way to object to P2 (BN5) is to raise more general criticisms of virtue ethics. Many criticisms of virtue ethics have been raised over the years, of course. For the sake of space, however, I shall discuss just two (related but distinct) here, to be referred to as the “application objection” and the “logical priority objection.” Beginning with the former, Helga Kuhse and Peter Singer correctly point out that “in any particular moral dilemma, different virtues may be applicable, and even a particular virtue will not always give unequivocal guidance.”55 As a result, applying virtue ethics to a given moral dilemma may be of little to no use when it comes to determining what, morally speaking, one should do. Suppose, for example, that after meeting and talking at length with his friend Susan’s parents, Peter is asked by Susan what he thinks of them. Though Peter does not think well of them at all—indeed, he despises them—he is reluctant to tell Susan the truth since she thinks very well of them and, thus, will be saddened to hear the news. What is the morally permissible thing for Peter to do in this situation? According to virtue ethics, the morally permissible thing for Peter to do is what a virtuous agent would characteristically do in such a situation. So, what is that? It depends on which virtues are relevant to the situation and, in this case, at least two are: honesty and compassion. Honesty directs Peter to tell Susan what he really thinks about her parents, while compassion does not—at least, it does not do so as obviously as honesty does. What, then, would a virtuous agent characteristically do in this situation? It is not clear. Even introducing more virtues—such as, say, benevolence or wisdom—seems unlikely to provide much guidance. Would a benevolent or wise agent tell Susan the truth or not? Better yet, would an honest, compassionate, benevolent, and wise agent tell Susan the truth or not? It is, once more, unclear. If this is correct (as it seems to me), then applying virtue ethics to this moral dilemma will be of little to no use when it comes to determining what, morally speaking, Peter should do.

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To be sure, one could reply to the preceding that an account of moral permissibility and immorality is one thing, a procedure for determining whether this or that action is morally permissible in a given circumstance is another, and, like most other Western normative ethical theories, virtue ethics is fundamentally the former (again, moral virtue ethical theories, at any rate). Such a reply is fair enough as far as it goes. The problem is that it does not go very far. For unless virtue ethics is merely an account of moral permissibility and immorality, it does not escape the preceding objection. And if there is one thing on which seemingly all virtue ethicists agree, it is that virtue ethics is not merely an account of moral permissibility and immorality. Indeed, Hursthouse and Glen Pettigrove identify “practical wisdom” as one of just two core concepts shared by all virtue ethical theories (the other is “virtue,” naturally).56 And, as they construe it, practical wisdom is a knowledge that enables its possessor to “do the right thing” in any given situation. A procedure for determining whether this or that action is morally permissible in a given circumstance, then, is part and parcel of practical wisdom—which, again, is claimed to be one of just two core concepts shared by all virtue ethical theories. This brings us to the second objection of virtue ethics—again, one related to but distinct from the first—namely, the logical priority objection. In order to understand it, one must first be aware of an essential feature of virtue ethics. Some normative ethical theories (e.g., classical utilitarianism) derive an understanding of human virtue and vice from an understanding of moral permissibility (or, as the case may be, moral requiredness) and immorality. In so doing, they give logical priority to moral permissibility and immorality over human virtue and vice. Virtue ethics, on the other hand, derives an understanding of moral permissibility and immorality from an understanding of human virtue and vice. (When it so derives, at any rate—not all understandings of virtue ethics do.)57 In so doing, it gives logical priority to human virtue and vice over moral permissibility and immorality. With the preceding in mind, let us now turn to the logical priority objection. Simply put, it seems that issues of moral permissibility and immorality must be settled first before the issue of a how a virtuous agent would characteristically act in the circumstances can be settled. As Kuhse and Singer write, “The question is … whether we can have a notion of what a virtuous person would do in a specific situation without making a prior decision about what it is right to do.”58 Advocates of the logical priority objection (as am I) maintain that we cannot.59 This is especially

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conspicuous on certain understandings of virtue ethics, such as “Virtue ethics is a type of moral theory whose central and organizing concept is virtue, which is a trait or characteristic that disposes the person who has it to judge, act, or feel rightly in the relevant situation.”60 On such an understanding, it would be impossible to know what a virtuous person what a virtuous agent would characteristically do in a situation without first settling issues of moral permissibility and immorality. In another work of mine, I motivate the logical priority objection by way of a dialogue between a virtue ethicist (an environmental virtue ethicist, to be specific) and another as follows: Smith: Jones: Smith: Jones: Smith: Jones:

How was your weekend? Great! I went hunting. I thought you believed that hunting is immoral? Not under certain conditions. Such as…? Such as when one exercises and hones environmental virtues through it. Smith: Environmental virtues? What are they? Jones: They are traits one can develop through one’s interaction with the environment that lead to an environmentally good life: a right relationship between the human agent, on the one hand, and Earth and its nonhuman inhabitants, on the other. Smith: And how does hunting contribute to one’s development of these environmental virtues? Jones: Well, take the environmental virtue of humility. Hunting helps us to recognize that humans are part of nature and not separate from it, thereby nurturing the virtue of humility. Or consider the environmental virtue of gratitude. Hunting enables us to be grateful both for the opportunity to hunt and the food it provides, reinforcing the fact that all of nature is a gift, one that we need for survival. Or take the environmental virtue of connectedness …. Smith: Okay, okay, I understand. But can’t these environmental virtues be developed in a less harmful way? I mean, is it necessary to kill animals in order to develop these virtues? Jones: Yes, it is. For the very act of killing animals instills these environmental virtues in a way impossible with other activities. To wit, the sense of gratitude that comes from being fed by another creature would be impossible without the kill.

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Smith: I can see that, and I trust you can deliver similar arguments for the other environmental virtues. You know, Jones, I find your environmental virtue ethics justification of hunting to be quite compelling. Jones: Glad to hear it. Smith: So, what did you hunt? Pheasants? Elk? Jones: Humans.61 Even granting that, through hunting, one exercises and hones what Jones considers to be environmental virtues, it seems we must first settle whether hunting humans in particular is morally permissible before we can settle what a virtuous agent would characteristically do in the circumstances. More generally, then, it seems that issues of moral permissibility and immorality must be settled first before the issue of a how a virtuous agent would characteristically act in the circumstances can be settled. Though more could be said about the Viciousness Argument, this will have to do for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that it does not succeed in establishing that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

The Blocked Basic Goods Argument The Blocked Basic Goods Argument is as follows: P1:  Prostitution involves the blocking, damaging, or destroying of basic goods. P2: Being a blocking, damaging, or destroying of a basic good is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. C1:  Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it the case that prostitution involves the blocking, damaging, or destroying of basic goods (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute blocks, damages, or destroys [hereafter, simply “blocks”] basic goods)? In

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order to answer this question, we need to know what is meant by “basic goods.” And to know that, we need to understand the normative ethical theory of which this concept is constitutive, namely, natural law theory. Natural law theory is a normative ethical theory of which there are numerous understandings. As Stephen Buckle puts it, “The idea of natural law in ethics has had a long and varied history—so much so, in fact, that it is difficult to pick out the essential ingredients in a natural law ethic.”62 Given this, there is a question as to how this discussion should proceed. Perhaps the most obvious way is to rely on an authoritative understanding of natural law theory. And most moral philosophers seem to agree that if there is such an understanding of natural law theory, it is Thomas Aquinas’s.63 But there are at least two interpretations of Aquinas’s understanding of natural law theory: that of conventional natural law theory, according to which the moral permissibility and immorality of acts are functions of human nature (as Patrick Lee puts it, “Actions are morally permissible if they conform to the teleologies inscribed within human nature, morally wrong if not”), and that of new natural law theory, according to which the moral permissibility and immorality of acts are functions of basic human goods (“[M]orally good actions are choices in line with a love and respect for all of the basic goods realisable in oneself and in others,” Lee writes, “while morally bad actions are choices that involve a diminishing of love and respect for some human good in oneself or in others”).64 For various reasons, I will rely on the latter interpretation here, not the least of which is that attempting to derive an account of morally permissibility and immorality merely from teleologies that are allegedly inscribed within human nature strikes me as deeply misguided (as new natural law theorists [among others] would agree). According to new natural law theory, the moral permissibility and immorality of acts and, in turn, our (human beings’) moral goodness and badness are functions of basic human goods (hereafter, simply “basic goods”).65 More specifically, acts that are (as Lee put it) in line with a love and respect for all of the basic goods—that is, acts that bring about or are otherwise consistent with the basic goods—are thereby rational and morally permissible.66 (The presence of “rational” in the preceding and forthcoming claims—as well as that of “irrational” in forthcoming claims—will be explained shortly.) Acts that are not so in line—that is, acts that block or are otherwise inconsistent with the basic goods—are thereby irrational and immoral. Relatedly, individuals who love and respect the basic goods— that is, those who deliberately bring about or otherwise act in a way that

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is consistent with the basic goods—are, to that extent, rational and morally good (i.e., they have, to that extent, morally good characters). And individuals who do not so love and respect—that is, those who deliberately block or otherwise act in a way that is inconsistent with the basic goods—are, to that extent, irrational and morally bad (i.e., they have, to that extent, morally bad characters). But what, according to new natural law theorists, are basic goods? To begin with, they are understood to be goods in that they are deemed essential to a flourishing or otherwise worthwhile life. And they are understood to be basic goods in that they are taken to be intrinsic, and thereby fundamental, goods—goods in and of themselves and, as such, neither reducible to one another nor derivable from other, more general goods (i.e., goods even more basic than the basic goods themselves). Relatedly, basic goods are considered to be incommensurable in that none is intrinsically superior to any other; accordingly, each basic good “provides a distinct, ultimate reason for acting.”67 The following are some of the basic goods that have been proposed by new natural law theorists: life, physical health, mental health, procreation, social life, knowledge, rational conduct, authenticity, justice, friendship, religion, aesthetic experience, fairness, achievement, excellence in work and play, inner peace, marriage, and self-integration.68 (Note the absence of pleasure—most new natural law theorists deny that pleasure is a basic good. Indeed, I know of only one new natural law theorist who considers it to be one. I will have more to say about this in due time.)69 With the preceding in mind, we can now address the presence of “rational” and “irrational” in the preceding claims. As one new natural law theorist, John Finnis, puts it: The proposed destroying, damaging, or blocking of some basic aspect of some person’s reality provides, of itself, a reason not to choose that option … And that reason could be set aside, and the option reasonably adopted, only if one could, prior to the choice, identify some rationally preferable reason for choosing that option: that is, some greater good involved in or promised by that option than is involved in or promised by the options which do not include that choice to destroy, damage, or block a basic human good. But … such a commensurating of goods is rationally impossible … To be the subject of a morally significant choice, the option to destroy, damage, or impede a basic human good must have some rational appeal, must involve some intelligible goods.70

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In other words, since it is always rational to bring about basic goods as they are essential to a flourishing or otherwise worthwhile life, blocking said goods is not just immoral, but irrational as well. Indeed, as alluded to in the preceding quotation, the immorality of blocking said goods is grounded in the irrationality of doing so. As Lee puts it, “Morally false propositions are those that, while in accord with some of the practical principles, are not fully in accord with all of them: in some way or other, one fails to act in a way that reason, informed by all of these principles, would recommend.”71 Hence new natural law theorists’ claims that acts that bring about basic goods are thereby rational and, in turn, morally permissible; that acts that block basic goods are thereby irrational and, in turn, immoral; that those who deliberately bring about basic goods are, to that extent, rational and, in turn, morally good; and that those who deliberately block basic goods are, to that extent, irrational and, in turn, morally bad. With all of this in mind, let us revisit the Blocked Basic Goods Argument. New natural law theorists who invoke this argument claim that, through prostitution, the prostitute blocks certain basic goods, such as physical health, mental health, marriage, and self-integration. Yet, these basic goods are essential to a flourishing or otherwise worthwhile life. Blocking said goods via prostitution, then, is irrational and thereby immoral. Since I covered some of the physical and mental health effects of prostitution in Chap. 3, I will forgo presenting and evaluating here versions of P1 that pertain to the blocking of such basic goods. Suffice it to say that there is empirical evidence indicating that not all prostitutes and, with them, all instances of prostitution involve the blocking of such basic goods. Indeed, empirical evidence exists showing that, through prostitution, some prostitutes actualize them (e.g., according to one study, the overall physical health of the prostitutes who participated in it was found to be not only good but due to the physical demands of their work).72 And since I address the blocking of the basic good of self-integration in my discussion of the Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version) below, I will forgo presenting and evaluating here a version of P1 that pertains to the blocking of self-integration. Of the relevant basic goods left, that of marriage is the most conspicuous and pertinent to the present discussion. Is it true, then, that, through prostitution, the prostitute blocks the basic good of marriage? In order to answer this question, we must know what is meant by this basic good. According to Finnis, the basic good of

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marriage is best understood in terms of a collection of acts, states, and dispositions. He writes, Marrying is an act, the chosen act of the two spouses who thereby commit themselves to living as husband and wife. Marriage as a state or way of life— being married—is the couple’s living out of that constitutive act of commitment in countless further acts, and in each spouse’s disposition or readiness both to do such acts of carrying out their commitment, and to abstain from choices inconsistent with it, until they are parted by death.73

With this understanding of marriage in mind, Finnis argues for its basic goodness as follows: Marriage is a distinct fundamental human good because it enables the parties to it, the wife and husband, to flourish as individuals and as a couple, both by the most far-reaching form of togetherness possible for human beings and by the most radical and creative enabling of another person to flourish, namely, the bringing of that person into existence as conceptus, embryo, child, and eventually adult, fully able to participate in human flourishing on his or her own responsibility.

In this vein, he elsewhere describes the basic good of marriage as being actualized via spouses becoming a “biological unit” through “orgasmic union” which, in turn, allows for two other (alleged) basic goods that are constitutive of the basic good of marriage, namely, procreation and friendship: Marriage is a basic good that can be both actualized and experienced in the orgasmic union of the reproductive organs of a man and a woman united in commitment to that good … [T]hat orgasmic union therefore can actualize and allow [husband and wife] to experience their real basic good—their marriage with the two goods, children and friendship, which are parts of its wholeness as an intelligible basic good. But the basic good of friends who are not and cannot be married (man and man, man and boy, woman and woman) has nothing to do with their having children by each other, and their reproductive organs cannot make them a biological (and therefore personal) unit.74

Given Finnis’s understanding of the basic good of marriage (and those that are similar to it), one can see why new natural law theorists think that,

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through prostitution, the prostitute blocks it.75 To begin with, prostitution does not involve the aforementioned acts, states, and dispositions constitutive of marriage. The prostitute and her client (qua prostitute and client) are not marrying each other, let alone “living out of that constitutive act of commitment in countless further acts, and in each spouse’s disposition or readiness both to do such acts of carrying out their commitment, and to abstain from choices inconsistent with it, until they are parted by death” and flourishing “as individuals and as a couple, both by the most far-reaching form of togetherness possible for human beings and by the most radical and creative enabling of another person to flourish.” Moreover, in addition to “man and man,” “man and boy,” and “woman and woman,” one could add “prostitute and client” to the list of pairs that, according to Finnis cannot (again, qua prostitute and client) actualize the basic good of marriage. After all, the goods sought by the prostitute and her client (money or its equivalent and sexual satisfaction, typically and respectively) have nothing to do with their having children together and, when derived through oral, anal, or manual sex, are not achieved through a “biological unit”—something that, according to Finnis and other new natural law theorists, can only be achieved through coital sex. (Why this so-called biological unit can only be achieved through coital sex [purportedly] will be addressed shortly.) Through prostitution, then, the prostitute blocks the basic good of marriage, or so new natural law theorists maintain. What’s more, they contend that, when one blocks the basic good of marriage, one thereby blocks another basic good, that of self-integration. As alluded to above, I cover the (supposed) blocking of the basic good of self-integration in greater detail during my discussion of the Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version) below. Even so, it is worth presenting here the grounds on which new natural law theorists believe that blocking the basic good of marriage involves, in turn, blocking the basic good of self-integration, given that the latter is said to be constitutive of the former. So, according to new natural law theorists Robert P. George and Gerard V. Bradley, Marriage, considered not as a mere legal convention, but, rather, as a two-­ in-­one-flesh communion of persons that is consummated and actualized by sexual acts of the reproductive type, is an intrinsic (or, in our parlance, “basic”) human good; as such, marriage provides a non-instrumental reason for spouses, whether or not they are capable of conceiving children in their

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acts of genital union, to perform such acts. In choosing to perform nonmarital orgasmic acts, including sodomitical acts—irrespective of whether the persons performing such acts are of the same or opposite sexes (and even if those persons are validly married to each other)—persons necessarily treat their bodies and those of their sexual partners (if any) as means or instruments in ways that damage their personal (and interpersonal) integrity; thus, regard for the basic human good of integrity provides a conclusive moral reason not to engage in sodomitical and other non-marital sex acts.76

According to George, then, when the prostitute chooses to perform a non-marital orgasmic act—specifically, when she chooses to provide oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex to her client for his sexual satisfaction and in order to obtain his money—she necessarily treats her own and her client’s body as means or instruments in ways that damage their personal and interpersonal integrity. What, exactly, the latter means will be covered below. Suffice it to say that, in addition to the goods sought by the prostitute and her client having nothing to do with their having children together and, when derived through oral, anal, and manual sex, not being achieved through a biological unit, the blocking of the prostitute’s and client’s self-integration is claimed to be constitutive of the blocking of the basic good of marriage. Now that we have a better understanding of what is meant by P1, as well as why new natural law theorists think that it is true, let us consider some reasons for thinking that it is false. Perhaps the simplest way to do this is to identify a basic good that is not blocked by the prostitute through prostitution. This would not show that P1 is false across the board, of course. But it would show that it is false with respect to said basic good which, as basic, would be incommensurable and thereby provide “a distinct, ultimate reason for acting.” And many of the aforementioned basic goods could be cited as basic goods that are not (always) blocked by the prostitute through prostitution, including life, physical health, mental health, social life, knowledge, rational conduct, authenticity, friendship, aesthetic experience, fairness, achievement, excellence in work and play, and inner peace. That the basic good of physical health is not (always) blocked by the prostitute through prostitution was addressed above. Another is the basic good of friendship. Many prostitutes claim to have made friends through prostitution, which include other prostitutes, clients, managers, bartenders and other service workers at their brothel, and more. As one former brothel-working prostitute writes,

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I miss the girls. When you’re in a brothel, if you stay the night, it’s like you’re basically in a sorority. There are lots of girls and sometimes it could be really bad but sometimes it could be really fun. I miss the company of everybody. There was always somebody to talk to if you were having a bad day, and I miss being able to make friends and things like that … I was having a super-hard time in my personal life and it showed at work. I felt like I had a big huge support system. I felt like I had ten, fifteen girls that were just super-supportive as well as the employees. It’s like, I had all the people that cared about me, and I don’t know if they really cared about me, but that’s how I felt at the moment, so that made me happy to be in an environment like that. When I was having a really hard time in my own life, there were people there for me. As to where now I don’t have a ton of friends because I’m not there anymore.77

Likewise, another former prostitute claims that “[s]ome of the best relationships that I’ve had with women came from the ranches [Nevada brothels].”78 And another former prostitute reports, “By and large, my clients became my friends. I refused to deal with men who held me in low regard, those who wanted my services, yet still looked down on hookers. I didn’t need them. There seemed to be an endless supply of very nice men whose company I enjoyed, men who enriched my life (as well as my pocketbook) in many ways.”79 And similar claims have been made with regard to many of the other basic goods listed above. Additionally, and perhaps most obviously, prostitution does not block the good of pleasure. Of course, as indicated above, most new natural law theorists do not consider pleasure, either sensory or attitudinal, to be a basic good. But at least one does (T. D. Chappell), and the others ought to—or so I will argue now. There is virtually no doubt that, if anything should be considered a basic good, pleasure should—certainly no more doubt than there is about what new natural law theorists count as basic goods. Pleasure is clearly a good, something essential to a flourishing or otherwise worthwhile life. (This is very well illustrated in the dystopic science fiction film Equilibrium, wherein human beings are required to take a drug that prevents them from experiencing pleasure.) Just as clearly, it is a good in itself and, as such, to be pursued for its own sake. Not only is the intrinsic goodness of pleasure intuitive, but it is empirically evidenced by (among other things) the sacrifices people make in terms of time, energy, money, relationships, and more merely for pleasure’s sake. Relatedly, pleasure’s goodness seems to be neither reducible to nor derivable from other, more general goods. This is not

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to say that pleasure cannot also be extrinsically good (e.g., that it cannot be good in the sense that it serves as a means to other goods).80 Nor is it to say that pleasure is not derivable from other goods (e.g., that it is not derivable from, say, the possession of money). It is only to say that the goodness of pleasure is not derivable from other, more general goods. There is little question, then, that pleasure is a basic good—again, certainly no more question than there is about what new natural law theorists consider to be basic goods. Hence Kagan’s claim that “most of us value pleasure for its own sake; we think of it as something good in itself—not merely as a means to getting something else (though it may be that as well).”81 Indeed, when one takes into account what new natural law theorists consider to be basic goods, the omission of pleasure is puzzling.82 Consider, for example, the basic good of life. It is really difficult to believe that life— mere biological human life—is a basic good, but pleasure is not. Granted, life may be necessary for bringing about many basic goods—one cannot produce the (purported) basic good of, say, friendship without being alive (not in this life at any rate). But, in and of itself, this does not entail that life itself is a basic good. Money, specifically the possession thereof, is often necessary for bringing about basic goods as well. But this does not entail that the possession of money is a basic good. And, as even new natural law theorists would agree, it is not one, arguably (an extrinsic good, to be sure, but not an intrinsic good). Additionally, and more fundamentally, the “life” under consideration— human biological life—is inherently infused with a quality, which is typically described in terms of health. And the quality of one’s life—that is, one’s health—may be unbearably bad, as is the case for some terminally ill patients. Given this, it is not at all clear that life is always a good, let alone always a basic good and, as such, something to be pursued for its own sake. Indeed, for many such terminally ill patients, life not only fails to be a good, it is actually a bad, all things considered. Accordingly, they and others reject the claim that life ought to be pursued for its own sake. Hence the call by some to legalize physician-assisted suicide and voluntary active euthanasia. As Kuhse put it, “Patients and doctors do not believe that life is always a good and will, in some cases, deliberately choose a shorter life over a longer one. Terminally ill or incurably ill patients standardly refuse life-sustaining treatment, and doctors allow these patients to die, for the patients’ good.”83 All this to say, if new natural law theorists deem something that is not obviously always a good—life—to be a basic good, then it seems they

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ought to deem something that is rather obviously always a good—pleasure—to be a basic good as well. (I will address the objection that the value of pleasure is a function of the value of the action that actualizes it shortly.) The omission of pleasure as a basic good, then, is puzzling, even by new natural law theorists’ standards.84 Substitute the basic goods of achievement, friendship, and procreation for the basic good of life, and one could make similar arguments regarding the problematic omission of pleasure as a basic good. With the preceding in mind, one cannot help but wonder why new natural law theorists do not count pleasure among the basic human goods. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the reasons they do so vary. But there is a fundamental distinction among new natural law theorists in terms of which their different reasons may be characterized. The distinction pertains to the method by which they determine whether or not something is a basic good. Some new natural law theorists determine whether or not something is a basic good on the basis of arguments and, with them, inferential reasoning, at least in part. Other new natural law theorists determine whether or not something is a basic good, not on the basis of arguments and inferential reasoning, but on the basis of intuition (or, as George describes it, a “direct intellectual apprehension or perception” or a “non-­ inferential act of understanding”). With the latter in mind, one either sees with the mind’s eye that something is a basic good, as it were, or one does not. (And some new natural law theorists employ both of these methods.) Let us consider each of these approaches and, with them, how they bear upon the possibility of pleasure being deemed a basic good in turn. Regarding the first way of determining whether or not something is a basic good (on the basis of arguments and inferential reasoning), an example of this can be found in the work of new natural law theorist Alfonso Gómez-Lobo. Briefly, Gómez-Lobo contends that, in order for something to be a basic good, it must be constitutive of what he calls “the good life”—a life characterized by flourishing or excellence, one that “we have reason to wish for ourselves and others.”85 In other words, if something is constitutive (a “key ingredient,” as he puts it) of the good life, then it is a basic good. And though a number of things fit this bill—including life, health, family, friendship, work, play, aesthetic experience, and knowledge—pleasure does not, or so Gómez-Lobo maintains. He provides a variety of reasons for holding that the former fit the bill but the latter does not. None, however, succeeds as I see it. More precisely, the reasons he provides for thinking that the former are basic goods not only fail to

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demonstrate that they are so, I submit, but they do not preclude deeming pleasure a basic good. And the reasons Gómez-Lobo provides against thinking that pleasure is a basic good do not establish that this is so. To take just a couple of examples of each of these for-and-against reasons, consider one of his reasons for thinking that the former are basic goods: a life involving them—that is, a life involving family, health, friendship, work, play, aesthetic experience, knowledge, and, of course, life itself—is better off than a life lacking them. Yet, even granting that a life involving these things is better off than a life lacking them, this does not entail that these things are basic goods. At most, it entails that they are mere goods. Similar to before, a life involving the possession of money may be better off than a life lacking the possession of money. But, in and of itself, this does not entail that the possession of money is a basic good. At most, it entails that the possession of money is merely a good. More than the fact (if it is a fact) that a life is better off with these things than without them is required, then, if one is to show that these things are, in fact, basic goods. What’s more, and perhaps more to the point, a life involving pleasure is better off than a life devoid of it. To motivate this (if it even needs to be motivated), suppose that, from here on out, the reader will have one of two possible lives: one which involves family, health, friendship, work, play, aesthetic experience, and knowledge but no pleasure whatsoever; another which involves family, health, friendship, work, play, aesthetic experience, knowledge, and pleasure. Which would the reader prefer? Or, for those readers who are parents of a young child, suppose that, from here on out, the reader’s child will have one of the two aforementioned possible lives. Which possible life would the reader prefer for him or her? I have no doubt that the vast majority of readers would prefer the latter possible life to the former, both for himself or herself and (for those to whom it applies) his or her child. More specifically, I have no doubt that the vast majority of readers would deem pleasure to be constitutive of “the” good life, something “we have reason to wish for ourselves and others.” Assuming I am correct about this, then, by Gómez-Lobo’s own standards, the vast majority of readers deem pleasure to be a basic good.86 In fact, given the kinds of arguments he employs for deeming family, health, friendship (and so on) basic goods, Gómez-Lobo himself could make a case of equal strength for deeming pleasure a basic good. While discussing the basic good of family, for instance, Gómez-Lobo writes, “What makes the family a basic good is that in the hypothetical absence of

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any family ties, in the total deprivation of a loving spouse and close relatives … one can hardly speak of a fully flourishing existence.”87 Substitute “pleasure” for “family” in the preceding statement, and Gómez-Lobo could just as easily argue that pleasure should count as a basic good—in the hypothetical absence or total deprivation of pleasure, one could hardly speak of a fully flourishing existence. As for the reasons Gómez-Lobo provides against thinking that pleasure is a basic good, one begins with the claim that pleasure is a concomitant aspect of action (i.e., that it cannot be actualized without action).88 And from this claim he infers that the value of pleasure is a function of the value of the action that actualizes it. Given this, not all pleasure is good (let alone basically good), since some pleasure arises from immoral deeds, such as the sexual pleasure the adulterer experiences while committing adultery. In reply, and beginning with pleasure being a concomitant aspect of action, this seems to be false, both in principle and in practice. Regarding the former, there is no contradiction in the conception of pleasure actualizing without action, just as there is no contradiction in the conception of pain, or neither-pleasure-nor-pain (feelinglessness), actualizing without action. What’s more, pleasure apparently can, and sometimes does, actualize independent of action. (“Why the smile?” one asks the person with the mysterious grin on her face. “I don’t know—I just feel good,” she replies.) This is not to say that, in such cases, there is no reason for or cause of the pleasure. It is just to say that the reason for or cause of the pleasure is not that of an action. (Involuntary memories [for one] can produce pleasure even though they are not themselves actions.) But even if it were true that pleasure cannot be actualized without action, there is no inconsistency in holding that a given pleasure is intrinsically good despite the fact that it was acquired via an immoral act. For instance, there is no inconsistency in holding that, on the one hand, the sensory pleasure that the adulterer acquires through adulterous sexual activity is intrinsically good but that, on the other hand, the adulterous sexual activity itself is immoral and the entire state of affairs—consisting of an intrinsic good being acquired through an immoral act—is morally bad. Moreover, since the sensory pleasure that the adulterer acquires through adulterous sexual activity is—or, at least, can be—qualitatively identical, qua sensory pleasure, to the sensory pleasure that one can acquire through non-adulterous sexual activity (e.g., the sexual activity that occurs between young lovers or a husband and wife), and since the latter pleasure is (as I have argued) intrinsically good, one could argue that the sensory pleasure

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that the adulterer acquires through such activity is, in fact, intrinsically good and is so even if the adulterous activity itself is immoral and the entire state of affairs is morally bad. This brings us to the second way of determining whether or not something is a basic good, namely, on the basis of intuition (a direct intellectual apprehension or perception, a non-inferential act of understanding).89 George contends that one cannot argue for the intrinsic value and, in turn, basic goodness of something; that is, one cannot come to believe that something is intrinsically valuable and a basic good on the basis of inferential reasoning. This is due to the fact that basic goods are just that, basic (intrinsic and thereby fundamental) goods. As he writes, Intrinsic value cannot, strictly speaking, be demonstrated. Qua basic, the value of intrinsic goods cannot be derived through a middle term. Hence, if the intrinsic value of marriage, knowledge or any other basic human good is to be affirmed, it must be grasped in a non-inferential act of understanding. Such acts require imaginative reflection on data provided by inclination and experience, as well as knowledge of empirical patterns, which underlie possibilities of action and achievement.90

But even if one agrees with George that, as basic, the value of intrinsic goods cannot be derived through a middle term and, thus, must be affirmed simply on the basis of a non-inferential act of understanding, one need not agree that the value of pleasure is not and cannot be affirmed on the basis of a non-inferential act of understanding. Indeed, of the basic goods listed above—life, procreation, social life, knowledge, rational conduct, achievement, aesthetic experience, inner peace, and so on—none strikes me as more strongly affirmed as a basic good on the basis of a non-­ inferential act of understanding than pleasure is.91 Indeed, to the extent that the other goods strike me as strongly affirmed as goods on the basis of a non-inferential act of understanding, they do so as extrinsic, not intrinsic, goods. Like George, Gómez-Lobo maintains that one reason for thinking that life, health, family, and the other basic goods are, in fact, basic goods is that such is intuitive. Gómez-Lobo does not explicitly declare that most people intuit that life, health, family, and so on are basic goods. Rather, he suggests this by asking the reader a number of questions (some of which involve false dichotomies, I cannot help but note), such as, “Is a child better off being raised in an orphanage or in a family?,” “Is an adult better off

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having a loving spouse with whom to have sex, children, companionship, fun and common projects or being alone?,” and “Is it possible to think for a moment about the nature of friendship and deny that it is intrinsically and instrumentally good?,” and expecting the reader to share his intuitive responses to these questions. But such appeals undermine his case, arguably, since most people seem to intuit that pleasure is a basic good. This is indicated by their claims that they intuit this; the sacrifices they make in terms of time, energy, money, and more for (at bottom) the sake of pleasure; by thought experiments, such as the one above involving choosing between two possible lives, and more. Indeed, it is indicated by Gómez-­ Lobo’s very own words—to paraphrase him, is it possible to think for a moment about the nature of pleasure and deny that it is intrinsically good? Summing up, the omission of pleasure as a basic good is perplexing. Not only are the reasons not to count it as a basic good weak, the reasons to count it as one are rather strong. Given this, the truth of P1 is limited in scope. Though it may be true that, through prostitution, the prostitute blocks the basic good of, say, marriage, it is not true that she blocks (what I have argued is) the basic good of pleasure. And, pleasure aside, it is not true—at least, not always so—that she blocks the basic goods of life, physical health, mental health, social life, knowledge, rational conduct, authenticity, friendship, aesthetic experience, fairness, achievement, excellence in work and play, and inner peace. In short, if P1 is true, it appears that it is so in virtue of prostitution involving the blocking of just the basic goods of marriage and (with it) self-integration—the latter of which, again, I will address later. On P2 Is it true that being a blocking, damaging, or destroying (again, “blocking” hereafter) of a basic good is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., is blocking a basic good nonconsequentially immoral)? Once more, we are confronted with a P2 that is not obviously true or intuitive and is vulnerable to counterexample. Regarding the latter, take the basic good of friendship. Suppose Mitch is friendless, is happy to be so (he enjoys being alone), makes a concerted effort to remain so, and, thus, blocks the basic good of friendship. Does he thereby do something immoral—something he has no moral right to do? I find this incredible. To be sure, it might be imprudent (and sad, and confounding). But it does not appear to be even morally criticizable, let alone immoral. Or suppose

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Tessa has not had any aesthetic experiences, is fine with this, makes a concerted effort to never to have any (she likes being different in this way), and, thus, blocks the basic good of aesthetic experience. Does she thereby do something immoral? That she does is very hard to believe. As before, it might be imprudent, but it does not seem to be even morally criticizable, let alone immoral. And so it is with regard to the basic goods of physical health, procreation, social life, knowledge, rational conduct, authenticity, religion, achievement, excellence in work and play, and inner peace. That blocking any one of these basic goods is immoral is implausible, or so I am inclined to think. P2, then, seems to require a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that can not only underpin it but outweigh counterexamples such as the preceding. The most obvious basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that could possibly undergird as well as overcome counterexamples such as the preceding is: BN4: Doing that which is irrational is nonconsequentially immoral. From the combination of BN4 and the claim that being a blocking of a basic good is being a performance of that which is irrational (i.e., that blocking a basic good is performing that which is irrational), one may derive P2: Being a blocking of a basic good is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., blocking basic goods is nonconsequentially immoral). (Similar to before, I describe this as the “most obvious” candidate given new natural law theorists’ view that morality is grounded in rationality.) BN4, however, is implausible, or so I argued while critiquing the Deception Argument. And beyond BN4, it is very difficult to conceive of a nonconsequentialist moral claim that is not only more fundamental than P2 but can adequately support it. Having discussed some objections to the claim that blocking basic goods per se is immoral, let us now consider objections to the claim that blocking the basic good of marriage is immoral. The first objection is that even if it is true that, through prostitution, the prostitute blocks the basic good of marriage, it remains an open question (for those of us who are not already new natural law theorists, at any rate) whether her doing so renders prostitution immoral. New natural law theorists think it does, of course. But should we agree with them? After all, if blocking the basic good of marriage renders prostitution immoral, then it renders the following acts immoral as well:

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(1) Oral sex (only) between married heterosexuals had for the sake of pleasure; (2) anal sex (only) between married heterosexuals had for the sake of pleasure; (3) manual sex (only) between married heterosexuals had for the sake of pleasure; (4) nonreproductive (due to sterility or the use of contraception) coital sex between loving, monogamous, but unmarried heterosexuals had for the sake of pleasure; and (5) nonreproductive (due to sterility or the use of contraception) coital sex between married heterosexuals had for the sake of pleasure. For through none of these acts can one actualize and experience, via an “orgasmic union,” the basic good of marriage. After all, these acts have nothing to do with their participants having children together and, with respect to pleasure derived through oral, anal, and manual sex, do not involve a “biological unit.” Yet, it is very difficult to believe that any of these acts are, in fact, immoral or even morally criticizable. New natural law theorists tend not to be persuaded by objections along the preceding lines and respond to them in two ways. First, they bite the bullet and hold that some of the aforementioned acts—specifically, (1)– (4)—are indeed immoral. As George puts it, we deny that pleasure is an intrinsic good. Pleasure can motivate people, but it cannot provide a basic reason for acting … Thus, pleasure must be distinguished from basic human goods, such as knowledge and, as we argue, marriage, which provide rational (as well as emotional) motivation … [T]o simply instrumentalize intercourse to pleasure (or procreation) is to vitiate its marital quality and damage the integrity of the genital acts even of spouses … Thus, we believe that it is contrary to reason—bad and immoral— to sacrifice one’s psychosomatic integrity, or to instrumentalize a part of oneself, for the sake of some desired experience, whether it is getting drunk, enjoying a psychedelic drug trip or having an orgasm.92

Perhaps the reader will not be surprised to learn that I think this is a bullet that new natural law theorists would be better off not biting. To begin with, as argued above, there is good reason to think that pleasure is a basic good. Relatedly, that pleasure cannot provide a “distinct, ultimate reason for acting” and that having an orgasm simply for the pleasure of it is bad,

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immoral, and contrary to reason are strongly counterintuitive claims. Accordingly, if this is what new natural law theory entails (as George contends), then so much the worse for it, I say. Second, and regarding (5), they argue that, when married heterosexuals have nonreproductive coital sex but are open to reproduction (i.e., they would have had unprotected coital sex even if they could reproduce), their doing so is not immoral. For to do so is to engage in a reproductive-­ act type in which there is an “anatomical possibility” of reproduction, which, in turn, renders the act morally permissible.93 To see this more clearly, let us consider a case of coital sex between married heterosexuals had for the sake of pleasure that is nonreproductive due to the husband’s sterility. New natural law theorists think about this kind of case along the following lines. Just as a gun remains a gun even when it does not function properly—that is, even when one cannot use it in accordance with its primary purpose, namely, to fire bullets—so a particular reproductive organ (the penis) remains a reproductive organ even when it does not function properly any longer—even when the male cannot use it in accordance with its primary reproductive purpose, namely, to fire (as it were) spermatozoa suitable for reproduction.94 Accordingly, when married heterosexuals who, due to the husband’s sterility, cannot reproduce have coital sex and are open to reproduction, they are not doing something that is immoral. The fact that they engage in a reproductive-act type suffices to render their coital sex morally permissible. This anatomical-possibility reply is problematic on numerous grounds. To begin with, it is questionable whether the penis does, in fact, remain a reproductive organ even when it does not function properly.95 As their name suggests, reproductive organs are what they are in virtue of how they function. Accordingly, if a penis (qua reproductive organ) is not functioning properly any longer—that is, if one cannot use one’s penis to fire spermatozoa suitable for reproduction—then it is hard to believe that it remains a reproductive organ. It seems more accurate to say that it once was a reproductive organ, but it no longer is; or to say that it is a reproductive organ in name only. To motivate this, let us consider a gun again. Suppose a child—better, the reader’s child (if he or she has one)—is discovered to have brought one of the reader’s guns to her school, a gun that is no longer functioning properly and, thus, from which no bullets can be fired. Suppose, also, that there is a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to bringing weapons—guns, swords, crossbows, and the like—to the school, with the penalty for doing so being expulsion. Would the reader be at all

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inclined to argue that the child is not deserving of expulsion on the grounds that what she brought to school is no longer a weapon, or that it is a weapon in name only, and, thus, her bringing it to school did not violate the policy, at least in spirit if not in letter as well? I certainly would, and not simply because I have a vested interest in my children’s futures. I would do so because this seems to be the best understanding of what has occurred. For all intents and purposes, the gun is not a weapon—at least, no more so than, say, a metal water bottle or lunch box. (To be sure, metal water bottles and lunch boxes might be used as weapons. But neither is a weapon in the relevant sense of the word, namely, the sense at work in the zero-tolerance policy. This is precisely why such policies usually do not prohibit students from bringing metal water bottles or lunch boxes to school.) And so are my thoughts on a penis that is no longer functioning properly—for all intents and purposes, said penis is not really a reproductive organ. It is, instead, a reproductive organ in name only. Second, even if I am incorrect about the preceding and reproductive organs remain reproductive organs when they do not function properly, it does not follow from this that the act of coital sex remains a reproductive act when it does not function properly. In other words, even if the things in question (the reproductive organs) can remain what they are despite no longer functioning properly, it does not follow that the act in question (the reproductive act) can remain what it is despite no longer functioning properly. To see this, consider once more a gun that no longer functions properly. Suppose a gun can remain a gun despite no longer functioning properly. From this, it does not follow that the analogue to the reproductive act—the firing act, that of using a gun in accordance with its purpose, namely, to fire bullets—can remain what it is despite no longer functioning properly. In fact, one cannot use a gun in accordance with its purpose when the gun is no longer functioning properly. One can do other things with such a gun, to be sure, such as use it a paper weight or a prop in a film. But one cannot fire bullets with it. Thus, the firing act cannot remain what it is even if the non-functioning gun itself can remain what it is. Similarly, even if one grants that reproductive organs remain reproductive organs when they do not function properly, it does not follow that the reproductive act—specifically that of using a particular reproductive organ, a penis, in accordance with its reproductive purpose, namely, to fire spermatozoa suitable for reproduction—can remain what it is despite no longer functioning properly. Indeed, one cannot use a penis in accordance with its reproductive purpose when the penis is no longer functioning

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properly. One can do other things with it, such as use it in oral, anal, nonreproductive coital, and manual sex. But one cannot fire spermatozoa suitable for reproduction; thus, the reproductive act cannot remain what it is, it appears, even if the reproductive organ can remain what it is. Even if one grants the preceding, however (i.e., that the reproductive act cannot remain what it is even if the reproductive organ can remain what it is), one could maintain nevertheless that it remains possible for the aforementioned reproductive-act type to be just that, a reproductive-act type. This bring us to what I take to be the fundamental problem with the anatomical-possibility. Following Jonathan Rauch, I find that the fundamental problem with it is that it trades on an ambiguity.96 On the one hand, new natural law theorists might be claiming that, though in the actual world the sterile husband cannot reproduce with his wife through coital sex, there is a logically possible world in which he can and, thus, coital sex between him and his wife is morally permissible. If this is what they are claiming, then the problem with the anatomical-possibility reply is obvious: there is also a logically possible world in which, say, a homosexual man can reproduce with his husband through oral, anal, and/or manual sex.97 Given this, oral, anal, and/or manual homosexual sex are, to that extent, morally permissible as well. More relevantly, there is also a logically possible world in which a prostitute can reproduce with her client through coital sex. Indeed, the actual world is one such possible world. Given this, coital sex between prostitute and client is, to that extent, morally permissible. If, on the other hand, new natural law theorists are claiming that the sterile husband can reproduce with his wife through coital sex, not merely in a logically possible world, but in the actual world as well, then what they are claiming is patently false. Simply put, it is impossible for a sterile husband to reproduce with his wife through coital sex in the actual world, just as it is impossible for a husband to reproduce with his wife through oral, anal, or manual sex in the actual world, or for a homosexual man to reproduce with his husband through oral, anal, or manual sex in the actual world (given the current state of technology, at any rate). What’s more, and more to the point, the prostitute can reproduce with her client through coital sex in the actual world. Given this, coital sex between prostitute and client is, to that extent, morally permissible. More could be said about the Blocked Basic Goods Argument, naturally, but this will have to suffice for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that it fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

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The Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version) The Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version) is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the degradation of oneself. P2: Being a degradation of oneself is a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. C1:  Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. Before moving on to my evaluation of the premises, two of the additional remarks submitted at the beginning of my discussion of the Degradation Argument (Consequentialist Version) bear repeating here. First, given the popularity of arguments for the immorality of prostitution that derive a claim about prostitution’s immorality from a claim about how the client degrades the prostitute, it is important to reiterate here that my moral defense of prostitution is a defense of merely the prostitute’s act. Hence my writing P1 in terms of what prostitution involves for the prostitute rather than the client. Relatedly, note that the subject of degradation on which the premises focus is that of the prostitute. But some would contend that, through prostitution, the prostitute degrades, not just herself, but the client as well. Accordingly, the premises’ subject of degradation could include the client. Even if the prostitute does, in fact, degrade the client through her prostitution, however, she typically does so with his voluntary, informed consent. Given this, the fundamental issue at hand is whether being degraded is immoral, regardless of who the subject of such degradation is. On P1 Is it the case that prostitution involves the degradation of oneself (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute degrades herself)? To determine whether it is, we need to know what is meant by “degrade.” In Chap. 3, I discussed a consequentialist version of the Degradation Argument wherein what is meant by “degrade” is “to destroy or impede

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the functioning of important capacities—particularly those that are psychological in nature—such as the capacity to enjoy sex; the capacity to form stable, trusting, mutually supportive, and respectful intimate relationships; and/or the capacity to develop a stable sense of self-esteem.” With this nonconsequentialist version of the Degradation Argument, what is meant by “degrade” is “to treat with contempt or disrespect.” With the latter understanding of “degrade” in mind, P1 may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute treats herself with contempt or disrespect. Is this the case? Some have certainly thought so. Perhaps the most common argument for P1 begins with the claim that, through prostitution, the prostitute treats herself as a mere object. (As one prostitute puts it, “I’m only the genitals that they use.”)98 And it ends with the claim that, because the prostitute is not a mere object, said treatment consists of contempt and disrespect for herself. Since there are many different ways in which someone can treat herself as a mere object (in which she can be “objectified,” for short), particular versions of this argument vary.99 To wit, three ways someone can be objectified is by being instrumentalized (to be defined shortly), by being commodified, and by being treated as fungible. Accordingly, the Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version) may begin with the claim that, through prostitution, the prostitute treats herself as a mere instrument (or as a mere commodity, or as fungible), and end with the claim that, because the prostitute is not a mere instrument (or a mere commodity, or fungible), said treatment comprises contempt and disrespect for herself. There is, of course, both conceptual and argumentative overlap among these versions of the argument. Because of this (as well considerations of space), I will focus on just the first of them—that which involves the claim that, through prostitution, the prostitute treats herself as a mere instrument. What does it mean, then, for the prostitute to treat herself as a mere instrument? In other words, what does it mean for the prostitute to instrumentalize herself? There are at least two philosophically significant meanings of “instrumentalize,” one of which is to be referred to here as the “Kantian” (à la Kant) meaning, the other of which is to be referred to here as the “new natural law” (à la new natural law theorists) meaning. The former is “to treat oneself as a mere means to an end,” and the latter is “to block, damage, or destroy one’s self-integration.”100 Given these meanings of “instrumentalize,” P1 may be understood in two different ways: (1) Through prostitution, the prostitute treats herself as a mere means to an

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end. (2) Through prostitution, the prostitute blocks, damages, or destroys her self-integration. I will evaluate P1 via each of these understandings in turn. So, is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute treats herself as a mere means to an end? In order to answer this question, we need to know what it means “to treat oneself as a mere means to an end.” And, per our discussion of the Deception Argument, a common and plausible understanding is “to treat oneself in a way that one, qua rational moral agent, cannot rationally agree to be treated.”101 With this Kantian understanding of instrumentalization in mind, the corresponding understanding of P1 may be stated as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute treats herself in a way that she, qua rational moral agent, cannot rationally agree to be treated. Is this true? One way to determine this is to establish whether, qua rational moral agent, the prostitute necessarily desires something that prostitution prevents. A number of things could be proposed here, but, for the sake of space, let us consider just one, albeit something at the core of the issue at hand. It might be that the prostitute necessarily desires that her rational moral agency be respected. And it is possible that prostitution prevents respect for her rational moral agency. With that in mind, two more questions arise: Does the prostitute necessarily desire that her rational moral agency be respected? And, if she does, does prostitution prevent respect for the prostitute’s rational moral agency? Regarding the first question, in an attempt to answer it, it would help to begin by addressing whether the prostitute simply desires (rather than necessarily desires) that her rational moral agency be respected. Though no empirical evidence exists establishing that this is true of prostitutes in general, apparently, there is empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes do indeed desire that their rational moral agency be respected. To begin with, some prostitutes are self-described feminists and, as such, hold that they are men’s moral equals (among other kinds of equals) and deserve to be regarded and treated as such.102 In turn, they desire that their rational moral agency be respected. But even in cases where it is not clear whether the prostitute is a feminist, empirical evidence exists showing that some prostitutes desire this. Take, for instance, Sierra, who indirectly addresses the issue of respect for her rational moral agency while discussing confrontations she has had with clients:

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You tell him, “Well, you have this much money. This is what I’ll do for that amount of money,” and then I’ve had guys where they try to kiss me and I’ll be like, “No, if you wanna do that it’s a different party. You gotta pay more.” And I’ve had guys actually try to hold my face and … I’ve stiff-armed a couple people. I am one of those people where I get into the party and you’re gonna respect me as a woman. I may be a prostitute, but I’m very much a human being just like everybody else and you’re gonna respect me as one, otherwise I’m gonna kick your ass and then kick you out, and that’s just really how I feel.103

To be sure, Sierra does not explicitly mention her rational moral agency. But given what one’s rational moral agency is—again, one’s capacity to formulate and act on the basis of both moral and nonmoral reasons—it is safe to say that she has something like it in mind, albeit indirectly, when she claims that, like everybody else, she is a human being who, as such, is to be respected. Or take Kelly, a prostitute who broke up with her boyfriend for his failure to respect her. As she describes it, I did start working back at the saunas, but I told him that I was only working there doing massage. I was hiding a bit of money and said I wasn’t earning much because I was only doing massage and I didn’t want to sleep with them [clients] because I was going out with him. And he said I know you want to earn more money so I don’t mind if you sleep with them. The minute he said that I knew that I was kicking him out. He had no respect for me and none for himself and he was just using me.104

As with Sierra, Kelly does not explicitly mention her rational moral agency. But given the nature of rational moral agency, it seems reasonable to say that she has something like it in mind, indirectly anyway, when she claims that her boyfriend had no respect for her as he was just using her. (For yet another example, see the following endnote.)105 It also seems reasonable to say that many, if not most, other prostitutes are like Sierra and Kelly in this regard. Of course, desiring that one’s rational moral agency be respected is not one and the same as necessarily desiring this. So, does the prostitute necessarily desire that her rational moral agency be respected? This is much more difficult to establish. To begin with, I am not aware of any empirical evidence that indicates this. Indeed (and as addressed above), given the metaphysically nebulous nature of what necessarily desiring something

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would involve, it is not clear to me that empirical evidence could indicate this. And, as mentioned previously, I do not find the philosophical arguments proffered for this conclusion to be very convincing. Even so, I am willing to proceed as if the prostitute does, in fact, necessarily desire that her rational moral agency be respected. This brings us to the second question: Does prostitution prevent respect for the prostitute’s rational moral agency? Not necessarily. An effective way of demonstrating this is in steps, the first being that of determining whether, in general, engaging in an act with someone primarily and explicitly for money prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency, and the second being that of determining whether engaging in a particular kind of act with someone primarily and explicitly for money—namely, a sex act, such as oral, anal, coital, and/or manual sex—prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency. Regarding whether, in general, engaging in an act with someone primarily and explicitly for money prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency, arguably it does not. Indeed, in many cases, engaging in an act with someone primarily and explicitly for money seems to be rooted in one’s own respect for one’s rational moral agency, and the payment for one’s services appears to accord respect to one’s rational moral agency. To wit, when, say, a professional musician requires that a specific reason be offered to which she can agree before she will perform with someone— namely, that she will be paid for her services—she often does so, at least in part, out of respect for her own rational moral agency. For she has determined that being a professional musician and behaving accordingly (i.e., putting in the time, energy, money, etc. to become one) is good for her, whether prudentially speaking, morally speaking, or both. And she has judged that one way for her to respect this determination and, with it, her rational moral agency is to require that she be paid for her services before she will perform with someone. (This is not to say that this is the primary reason for requiring such payment, only that she judges it to be one of the ways in which she respects her rational moral agency.) And by paying the musician for her work, the other accepts her chosen conditions of cooperation—he makes her ends his own ends, as it were—and thereby accords respect to her rational moral agency. Engaging in an act with someone primarily and explicitly for money, then, does not seem to prevent respect for one’s rational moral agency—at least, not in and of itself. Indeed, one prostitute describes her decision to become a prostitute and her work as one along these lines. As she puts it, “I know my value, you see, I know

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my worth. When you’re making money for yourself, there’s an immediate value on you, you’re selling yourself, your personality, your charms, your appearance, your ability to persuade, your ability to sell. It takes skill, definite skill, and a lot of strength. I’ve come to appreciate those qualities in myself … I don’t sell myself short for anybody, under any circumstance. I know my value, and I know my worth.”106 As for whether engaging in a sex act with someone primarily and explicitly for money prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency, once again, arguably it does not. To begin with, given that, in general, engaging in an act with someone primarily and explicitly for money does not prevent respect for one’s rational moral agency, then, all else being equal, neither does engaging in a sex act with someone primarily and explicitly for money. Primoratz motivates this view of the client-prostitute relation when he writes that, qua customer, the client gets sexual satisfaction from her for a charge, on the basis of a mutual understanding, and she does her part of the bargain willingly. It is not true that he acts without regard to her desires. He does not satisfy her sexual desire; indeed, the prostitute does not desire that he should do so. But he does satisfy the one desire she has with regard to him: the desire for money. Their transaction is not “a mutual delight, entered into solely from the spontaneous impulse of both parties,” but rather a calculated exchange of goods of different order. But it does not offend against the principle of respect for human beings as such as long as it is free from coercion and fraud, and both sides get what they want.107

In short, the prostitute and client make each other’s ends their own ends. Indeed, when one substitutes another customer-server relation—that of, say, an aspiring professional tennis player and a private tennis coach— Primoratz’s point about the client-prostitute relation is made that much more plausible. Qua customer, the player gets tennis-playing satisfaction from the coach for a charge, on the basis of a mutual understanding, and the coach does her part of the bargain willingly. It is not true that the player acts without regard to the coach’s desires. The player does not satisfy the coach’s tennis-playing desire; indeed, the coach does not desire that he should do so. But the player does satisfy the one desire she has with regard to him: the desire for money. Their transaction is not “a mutual delight, entered into solely from the spontaneous impulse of both parties,” but rather a calculated exchange of goods of different order.

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But it does not offend against the principle of respect for human beings as such as long as it is free from coercion and fraud, and both sides get what they want.

Of course, it might be argued that all else is not, in fact, equal. In particular, it might be argued that engaging in a sex act with someone primarily and explicitly for money is, well, engaging in a sex act, and that one cannot engage in such an act with someone primarily and explicitly for money without preventing respect for one’s rational moral agency. But why think this? What is it about engaging in a sex act that precludes the prostitute from engaging in it with someone primarily and explicitly for money while simultaneously preserving respect for her rational moral agency? Though a number of reasons for thinking this could be discussed here, I will limit myself to two: one from Kant, another from political theorist Carol Pateman. Beginning with Kant, he derives the claim that one cannot engage in a sex act with someone primarily and explicitly for money without preventing respect for one’s rational moral agency from a claim about the nature of sexual desire and, with it, sex. By their very nature, Kant contends, sexual desire and sex are objectifying. In other words, one cannot desire someone sexually and, in turn, have sex with him or her without thereby objectifying him or her and vice versa. As he writes, Human love is good-will, affection, promoting the happiness of others and finding joy in their happiness. But it is clear that, when a person loves another from a purely sexual desire, none of these factors enter into the love. Far from there being any concern for the happiness of the loved one, the lover, in order to satisfy his desire and still his appetite, may even plunge the loved one into the depths of misery. Sexual love makes of the loved person an Object of appetite; as soon as that appetite has been stilled, the person is cast aside as one casts away a lemon which has been sucked dry …. Taken by itself [sexual love] is a degradation of human nature; for as soon as a person becomes an Object of appetite for another, all motives of moral relationship cease to function, because as an Object of appetite for another a person becomes a thing and can be treated and used as such by everyone.108

On this view, the reason that one cannot engage in a sex act with someone primarily and explicitly for money without preventing respect for one’s rational moral agency is that sexual desire and, with it, sex are intrinsically objectifying. Given this, when one sexually desires and has sex with another and vice versa, (1) one necessarily objectifies him or her—that is, one

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necessarily treats him or her as a mere means to one’s own ends; and (2) one is necessarily objectified by him or her—that is, one is necessarily treated as a mere means to his or her own ends. And this is so independent of whether or not one engages in said sex primarily and explicitly for the other’s money. But is it the case that sexual desire and sex are intrinsically objectifying? More specifically, is it true that when one sexually desires and has sex with another and vice versa, one necessarily treats him or her (hereafter, simply “her”) as a mere means to one’s own ends and is necessarily treated by her as a mere means to her own ends? Before answering this question, it behooves me to point out that this is an empirical question and, as such, not one to be settled merely by, say, analyzing the relevant concepts. And though there appears to be no empirical evidence indicating that the answer to the previous question is “yes,” there is some empirical evidence indicating that the answer is “no.” To begin with, if it were true that when one sexually desires and has sex with another and vice versa, one necessarily treats her as a mere means to one’s own ends and is necessarily treated by her as a mere means to her ends, one would expect sexual activity with others to be a lot less popular than it actually is. After all, masochists aside, who in their right mind would be interested in being treated as a mere means to another’s ends—someone to be “cast aside as one casts away a lemon which has been sucked dry” once the sex ends? Indeed, sadists aside, who in their right mind would be interested in treating another in this way? Empirically speaking, the average person appears to be strongly averse to both of these things, as is evidenced by their regular attempts to avoid being treated as a mere means to another’s ends and treating another as a mere means to their own ends. (Political slogans such as “Don’t Tread on Me” and “Workers of the world, unite!” epitomize the spirit of this aversion.) So if this is what sexual desire and sex intrinsically involve, one would expect engaging in sexual activity with others to be a lot less popular than it actually is. And popular it is. To wit, according to one study on the extent to which individuals engage in sexual activity, 18- to 29-year-­ olds do so roughly 84 times a year, 40- to 69-year-olds do so about 63 times a year, and 70-year-olds and up do so roughly 10 times a year.109 Over the course of, say, a 70-year life, then, the average sexually active individual engages in sexual activity over two thousand times. And however pleasurable sexual activity may be, it is hard to believe that it is pleasurable enough so as not only to overcome the aversion to being treated by the other, and treating the other, as something to be cast aside when

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sucked dry, as it were, but to do so over two thousand times over the sexually active individual’s lifetime. To motivate this further, consider heroin use. The heroin high is widely understood to be an intensely pleasurable experience—in a word, euphoric. (No doubt for some heroin users it is an experience that is “better than sex,” as the character from Trainspotting put it.) Yet, very few people (relatively speaking) choose to use heroin in order to obtain it, let alone do so over two-thousand times over their lifetimes. And though there are numerous explanations for this, I cannot help but think that one of them is that heroin use often results in the user treating himself as a mere means to an end. If this is correct, and if (à la Kant) sex intrinsically involves treating oneself as a mere means to an end, then one would expect sexual activity to be far less popular than it is—perhaps not as unpopular as heroin use, but a lot less popular than it is all the same. All this to say, that engaging in sexual activity with others is as popular “as it is is not well explained by Kant’s hypothesis that sexual desire and sex are intrinsically objectifying. Additional empirical evidence indicating that the answer to the previous question (Is it the case that sexual desire and sex are intrinsically objectifying?) is “no” comes in the form of people’s accounts of their own sexual experiences. If it were true that when one sexually desires and has sex with another and vice versa, one necessarily treats her as a mere means to one’s own ends and is necessarily treated by her as a mere means to her ends, one would expect this to be generally reflected in accounts of sexual experiences. More specifically, one would expect most people—from the swinging bachelor or bachelorette to the long-married spouse—to describe their sex lives in these terms as a matter of course (e.g., “I used my wife for sex last night, casting her aside once I was sexually satisfied”), just as people describe other acts which clearly involve treating things as mere means in these terms (e.g., “I crushed the baseball,” “I devoured the hamburger,” “I trashed the hotel room,” “I, well, cast the lemon aside after sucking it dry!”). But this is not the case. Rather, it is generally reflected in only certain, statistically unusual accounts of sexual experiences, such as those of rape and its like.110 As one rape survivor describes how she felt after being raped by multiple men over a span of six hours, “I mostly just remember, in that moment, feeling like a piece of trash. I was a piece of trash they had forgotten on the living-room floor. I didn’t even feel like a human.”111 Now, if Kant’s view is correct, then we should not be surprised when those who are raped or otherwise sexually assaulted experience being treated as a mere means to another’s ends. After all, sex—whether

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or not it involves rape—is (allegedly) intrinsically objectifying. But we should be surprised when those who are not raped or otherwise sexually assaulted generally do not experience being treated as a mere means to another’s ends. Again, sex is (purportedly) intrinsically objectifying. But we are not so surprised. And our lack of surprise is explained well by the hypothesis that sexual desire and sex are not, in fact, intrinsically objectifying—that sexual desire and sex do not involve necessarily treating the other as a mere means to one’s own ends and necessarily being treated by the other as a mere means to his or her own ends. Kant’s empirical claim regarding sexual desire and sex faces other empirical challenges. As Raja Halwani writes, When sexually desiring another human being, there are at least three ways with which we can view him or her, and Kant short-changes the third. First, we can view the person literally as an object, as something lacking in subjectivity, autonomy, desires. This view plays no part in Kant’s argument and for good reason: it is rare that people adopt this view toward each other. The second view plays the major role in Kant’s argument: viewing another person as a living human being but also as a mere tool for our sexual pleasure— as an object in the sense of lacking dignity, humanity, or rationality. The third view is close to the second but different: we view the person who is the target of sexual desire as an object of desire but also as a living human being with the ability to make decisions and set goals for himself, as one with rational capacities and dignity. It is this view that often compels people to back off in the face of sexual rejection and to behave themselves during sexual activity.112

Given this, Kant’s empirical claim (that sexual desire and sex are intrinsically objectifying) is simply not true. To be sure, Halwani’s is also an empirical claim regarding the nature of sexual desire and sex. But he offers empirical support of it, namely, the fact that people back off in the face of sexual rejection and behave themselves during sexual activity. Making sense of this fact is rather easy to do given Halwani’s empirical claim regarding sexual desire and sex, according to which sexual desire and sex do not intrinsically involve objectification. But it is very difficult to do on Kant’s empirical claim, according to which they do. Unlike Kant, Pateman does not derive the claim that one cannot engage in a sex act with someone primarily and explicitly for money without preventing respect for one’s rational moral agency from a claim about the nature of sexual desire and sex. Rather, she derives it from a claim about

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the nature of selling sex. She contends that, when the prostitute engages in a sex act with someone primarily and explicitly for money, she sells her body and, thus, treats herself as if she were merely an object rather than a rational moral agent. As she writes, The prostitute cannot sell sexual services alone; what she sells is her body. To supply services contracted for, professionals must act in certain ways, or use their bodies; to use the labor power he has bought the employer has command over the worker’s capacities and body; to use the prostitute’s “services,” her purchaser must buy her body and use her body. In prostitution, because of the relation between the commodity being marketed and the body, it is the body that is up for sale.113

Though there is a lot that could be discussed here, it will suffice for present purposes to focus on the claim that, when the prostitute engages in a sex act with someone primarily and explicitly for money, she sells her body. Is this true? To determine whether it is, it helps to consider first what selling things other than one’s body usually involves. Ordinarily, when someone sells something—a bicycle, computer, or what have you—she requires payment in exchange for the transfer of ownership of that which is sold from herself to the purchaser. Perhaps what the selling of the prostitute’s body involves, then, is the selling of the transfer of ownership of her body. Whether this is the case turns, in part, on what is meant by “ownership.” And there are, in fact, senses of “ownership” (more specifically, of “own”) in terms of which the prostitute’s body might be properly said to be “owned,” such as “to have power or mastery over” (on some meanings of “power” and “mastery,” at any rate).114 But there are other senses of “own” in terms of which the prostitute’s body is not properly said to be “owned,” such as “to have or hold as property,” at least when “property” is understood as (for example) “something at the disposal of a person, a group of persons, of the community or public” and (living) adult human bodies are believed to be (correctly, as I see it) things that are not at the disposal of a person, a group of persons, of the community or public.115 Given these different senses of “own,” I am inclined to answer the question of whether the prostitute sells the transfer ownership of her body from herself to her client with the nuance it demands: in some senses of “own” and, with it, “ownership” it is true, and in other senses it is false.

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But even with the sense of “own” in which it is true that the prostitute’s body may be owned (“to have power or mastery over”), further analysis is required if one is to settle whether the prostitute’s body is owned in this way. This is due to the fact that to have power or mastery over the prostitute’s body is ambiguous: it might refer to unlimited power or mastery over the prostitute’s body, or it might refer to limited power or mastery over the prostitute’s body. Beginning with the former, instead of attempting to establish here whether the selling of the transfer of unlimited power or mastery over the prostitute’s body prevents respect for her rational moral agency, let us simply assume (safely, I submit) that it does. Does this, in turn, commit us to holding that prostitution prevents respect for the prostitute’s rational moral agency? It does not. For prostitution (as defined here, it behooves me to emphasize) need not, and usually does not, involve the selling of the transfer of unlimited power or mastery over the prostitute’s body. As Kuo writes, “A prostitute does not literally ‘sell herself.’ She does not take money in exchange for servitude or enslavement.”116 Sanders and Fabre concur, writing (respectively), “[T]he transfer of power is not done in such a way that the client has complete control over the worker” and “Needless to say, the prostitute does not sell her body: prostitution is not sexual slavery (where slavery is understood as the complete relinquishing of rights over oneself)”117 (To motivate this view [if it even needs to be motivated], it helps to be reminded that, as sociologist Orlando Patterson puts it in his book Slavery and Social Death, slavery is “one of the most extreme forms of the relation of domination, approaching the limits of total power from the viewpoint of the master, and of total powerlessness from the viewpoint of the slave.”)118 To wit, it is standard practice for many prostitutes to forbid their clients from engaging in certain acts (condom-free coital sex, for example) and to require their clients to agree to terminate sexual act at their (the prostitutes’) discretion.119 (All of the prostitutes who participated in Sanders’s study, for instance, deem the use of condoms to be integral to their daily work.)120 Indeed, O’Connell Davidson goes so far as to say that, far from being slaves, the prostitutes she studied exercised more control over their working lives than did most other workers.121 Regarding Desiree’s interactions with her clients, for instance, O’Connell Davidson writes that she “dictates the limits and terms of their interactions” and is “far from simply the ‘passive, inert, and open’ object conjured up by, for example [Andrea] Dworkin’s … feverish rhetoric.”122 To be sure, in some cases of prostitution, the client might (attempt to) treat the prostitute as if he has purchased the transfer of

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unlimited power or mastery over her body. But that he might do so does not make it so, naturally. As for the selling of the transfer of limited power or mastery over the prostitute’s body, it is rather clear that this is what prostitution involves. But does this prevent respect for the prostitute’s rational moral agency? Seemingly not. For first, the selling of the transfer of limited power or mastery over the prostitute’s body is just that, the selling of the transfer of limited power or mastery. Accordingly, the client can, and often does, respect the prostitute’s rational moral agency by regulating his power or mastery over her body in accordance with the limits put forward by the prostitute herself—by (as I have put it before) making her ends his ends. Moreover, if the selling of the transfer of limited power or mastery over her body prevents respect for the prostitute’s rational moral agency, then virtually every kind of commercial service prevents respect for the seller’s rational moral agency as well, and implausibly so. After all, virtually every kind of commercial service involves the selling of the transfer of limited power or mastery over the servicer’s body. (As Patterson writes, “When one buys or hires a person’s labor, by implication one purchases the person’s body for the negotiated period. There is no such thing as a disembodied service.”)123 Take, for example, beauticians, hairstylists, and masseuses. Each sells the transfer of limited power or mastery over her body to her client. That is, within limits established largely, if not entirely, by the beautician, hairstylist, or masseuse herself, the client purchases and exercises power or mastery over the use of her body (“apply mascara,” “cut my bangs,” “rub my back”). If the selling of the transfer of limited power or mastery over one’s body prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency, then beauticians, hairstylists, and masseuses cannot sell their services without preventing respect for their rational moral agency. But this is very hard to believe. Indeed, there are striking similarities between being a masseuse, in particular, and being a prostitute. As Martha Nussbaum points out, Both use a skill to produce bodily pleasure in the client … both do this through a type of bodily contact with the client. Both need to be responsive to what the client wants, and to a large degree take direction from the client as to how to handle his or her body. The bodily contact involved is rather intimate … The type of bodily pleasure produced by the masseuse may certainly have an erotic element.124

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The similarities are even clearer when one rereads Pateman’s statement about prostitution with masseuses in mind: The masseuse cannot sell massage services alone; what she sells is her body. To supply services contracted for, masseuses must act in certain ways, or use their bodies; to use the labor power he has bought the employer has command over the worker’s capacities and body; to use the masseuse’s “services,” her purchaser must buy her body and use her body. In massage, because of the relation between the commodity being marketed and the body, it is the body that is up for sale.

But, once again, if the selling of the transfer of limited power or mastery over one’s body prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency, then masseuses cannot sell their services without preventing respect for their rational moral agency. And this is very difficult to believe. Hence prostitute and sex counselor Eva Rosta’s take on this matter, bluntly captured in her claim that “all work involves selling some part of your body … I choose to sell my vagina.”125 Some may reply to the preceding by pointing out what they take to be a significant difference between the prostitute, on the one hand, and the beautician, hairstylist, and masseuse, on the other: the prostitute’s work involves the penetration of her body (oral, anal, vaginal) while the beautician’s, hairstylist’s, and masseuse’s work does not. With this difference in mind, some might argue that it is not the selling of the transfer of limited power or mastery over one’s body that prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency. Rather, it is the selling of the transfer of limited, penetrative power or mastery over one’s body that prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency. But why think this is true? What is it about penetrative power or mastery over one’s body such that the selling of the transfer of it prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency? Consider people who are paid to allow others to penetrate their bodies for medical and/or medicotechnological purposes, such as those who sell their plasma.126 Such individuals sell the transfer of limited, penetrative power or mastery over their bodies. But that their doing so prevents respect for their rational moral agency is very difficult to believe. After all, like the professional musician discussed above, these individuals require that a specific reason be offered to which they can agree before they will allow their bodies to be penetrated, namely, that they will be paid for their services. And they often require this, at least in part, out of respect for their own rational

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moral agency. For they have determined that allowing others to penetrate their bodies in these ways and behaving accordingly is good for them, whether prudentially speaking, morally speaking, or both. And they have judged that one way for them to respect this determination and, with it, their rational moral agency is to require that they be paid for their services. By providing that reason—that is, by paying these individuals for their work—then, the other accepts their chosen conditions of cooperation and thereby accords respect to their rational moral agency. Additionally, not every instance of prostitution involves bodily penetration. As discussed in Chap. 2, clients purchase prostitutional services for a wide variety of reasons. And in some cases, no penetration of the prostitute’s body occurs, such as when the client spends his session talking with the prostitute, cuddling with her, or even (as in the case of some dominatrixes) being physically (nonpenetratively) and/or verbally abused by her.127 Some may reply to the preceding by arguing that it is the selling, not of the transfer of limited, penetrative power or mastery over one’s body, but of the transfer of limited, sexually penetrative power or mastery over one’s body that prevents respect for one’s rational moral agency. Indeed, Pateman argues along these lines. But since her argument and, with it, this possibility is best understood against the backdrop of the new natural law understanding of “instrumentalize,” my discussion of these things will have to be paused temporarily. Much more could be said about the Kantian meaning of “instrumentalize” and the corresponding understanding of P1, but the preceding will have to do for now. Let us turn, then, to the understanding of P1 involving the new natural law meaning of “instrumentalize”: Through prostitution, the prostitute blocks, damages, or destroys (again, hereafter simply “blocks”) her self-integration. As its name indicates, the new natural law meaning of “instrumentalize” has been advanced by new natural law theorists. They contend that, through prostitution, the prostitute reduces her bodily self to the level of an extrinsic instrument for her conscious self and thereby blocks her self-integration, the latter of which is understood to be a basic good. In order to answer the question of whether, through prostitution, the prostitute blocks her self-integration, we need to know of what, more exactly, the basic good of self-integration consists. According to new natural law theorist Germain Grisez, the basic good of self-integration is “harmony among all the parts of a person which can be engaged in freely chosen action.”128 To flesh this out a bit, let us

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consider an example of what new natural law theorists consider a self-­ integrated act—an act that preserves one’s self-integration. Take, then, the following example provided by new natural law theorists Robert P. George and Christopher Tollefsen (written, I will stipulate for practical purposes, from George’s perspective): When I wish to eat an apple, I reach out and take it; I then take a bite. Thus, I see, reach for, touch, and taste the apple. In all these actions, consciousness—mind—and body are fully integrated. My seeing is not like the inner presentation of a picture. My reaching out does not consist of an inner attempt, and then an external reach. Nor do touch and taste consist of an external sensation and then an internal one. Internal and external are integrated in all these happenings.129

According to George, then, his eating an apple involves “all the parts” of his person (i.e., both his bodily and conscious parts) which are functioning freely and harmoniously—or, as I will put it, functioning “as one.” Specifically, it involves his desiring (conscious part) to eat (bodily part) an apple which gives rise to his eating (bodily part) and tasting (conscious part) an apple, thereby fulfilling his desire (conscious part) to do so. With this understanding of what self-integration involves in mind, we may now address the question at hand: Is prostitution a self-integrated act, one that preserves one’s self-integration? Not according to George and other new natural law theorists. Writing in reply to what he calls the “liberationist” view that there is nothing immoral, in principle, with prostitution, George claims that “it is immoral to treat one’s body, or another’s, as a mere extrinsic instrument, and that this is done in sexual acts chosen for the sole immediate pleasure (even when there is an ulterior end, such as commercial gain or relaxation).”130 Though not a new natural law theorist herself, it seems, Pateman argues similarly (and this brings us back to our temporarily paused discussion). After acknowledging that there are other professions in which individuals sell their bodies (e.g., professional sports), Pateman argues that there is a difference in the uses to which bodies are put when they are sold. Owners of baseball teams have command over the use of their players’ bodies, but the bodies are not directly used sexually by those who have contracted for them … There is an integral relationship between the body and the self. The body and the self are not identical, but selves are inseparable from bodies … [W]hen a prostitute contracts out use of her body, she is thus

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selling herself in a very real sense. Women’s selves are involved in prostitution in a different manner from the involvement of the self in other occupations. Workers of all kinds may be more or less “bound up in their work,” but the integral connection between sexuality and sense of self means that, for self-protection, a prostitute must distance herself from her sexual use.131

There is a lot to unpack here, but I take Pateman to be saying the following. First, the connection between one’s sexuality—that is, one’s sexual dispositions, capacities, activities, and so on—and oneself is not only inextricable but tighter [read: psychologically deeper] than the inextricable connection between at least some of one’s nonsexual dispositions, capacities, activities, and so on (e.g., those of the baseball player) and oneself. Second, the prostitute is aware on some level of the aforementioned connection between her sexuality and herself (or, if such a connection does not actually exist, she at least believes in it). Finally, in an effort to resist being influenced by the tight connection between her sexuality and herself and, in turn, undermining or destroying herself (as she believes she would), she attempts to break—or, at least, weaken—the connection between her sexuality and herself when providing her sexual services. That is, and as George and other new natural law theorists would put it, the prostitute attempts to block her self-integration. That prostitution involves blocking one’s self-integration—that it involves treating one’s body as a mere extrinsic instrument for one’s conscious self—finds some empirical support in the work of Estes (again, a former prostitute and retired philosophy professor). Writing of sex acts between a prostitute and her client, Estes states, [The prostitute’s] yielding to any sensations that might arise in their sexual activity, responding either with frank displeasure or with genuine arousal, to what is happening in and to her body, jeopardizes the integrity of her relationship with the client, others, and herself. To avoid this danger, to attend to the client’s pleasure without succumbing to her own responses, she must detach herself from the bodily events without, for all that, losing control over her body … The prostitute attempts to annihilate her presence within the sexual act by extinguishing her reaction to it. Mindful of the risk posed by intense feelings that are otherwise likely to occur, she estranges herself from her body, presenting a phantom of the sensibility that she forbids herself to possess. When the illusion dissolves, she expects to reintegrate her alienated self with her prostituted flesh. It is not difficult to imagine that, as a result, she becomes conditioned to respond similarly to all sexual stimulation.132

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In other words, the prostitute’s bodily self is rendered an extrinsic instrument for her conscious self—notably, for her desire to preserve the strength of her relationship with her client, others, and herself. Yet, Estes’s account notwithstanding, when one substitutes a prostitutional act—say, sucking a client’s penis—for the act of eating an apple in George and Tollefsen’s example of a self-integrated act, it seems that it, too, is a self-integrated act. For sucking a client’s penis involves conscious and bodily parts that are functioning as one, ostensibly. It involves the prostitute desiring (conscious part) to suck (bodily part) her client’s penis which gives rise to her sucking (bodily part) and tasting (conscious part) his penis, thereby fulfilling her desire (conscious part) to do so. The conscious and bodily parts involved in sucking her client’s penis, then, appear to be just as integrated as they are in George’s eating of an apple. Of course, some might object that, appearances aside, the prostitute does not, in fact, desire to suck her client’s penis; at least, she does not desire to do so very strongly. (She must desire to do so to some degree, of course. After all, as seemingly every action theorist agrees, desire is a necessary ingredient of action. And sucking someone’s penis is just that, an action.) Relatedly, some might object that, even if the prostitute desires to suck her client’s penis, she does so only because she desires the payment that comes from doing it. But George and Tollefsen’s example of a self-­ integrated act says nothing about either the strength of or reason for George’s desire to eat an apple. Nor should it, I submit, as neither seems to bear significantly upon, if at all, whether an act blocks one’s self-­ integration. Regarding the strength of George’s desire to eat an apple, let us begin with what would be the worst-case scenario: that, contrary to the example’s narrative, George strongly desires not to eat an apple. Does George block his self-integration if he goes ahead and eats one anyway? Arguably not. If, for instance, George desires something that eating an apple provides (e.g., nourishment) and he eats an apple in order to fulfill that desire, then it seems his doing so does not block his self-integration, despite the fact that he strongly desires not to eat an apple. After all, his bodily act (eating an apple) is a response to his conscious state (the desire for nourishment), performed for the purpose of fulfilling that conscious state and producing other bodily and conscious states (to undergo and experience the effects of nourishment). Indeed, reconstruing George and Tollefsen’s example of a self-integrated act in these terms has no ill effect on it:

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When I strongly wish not to eat an apple but do so anyway since I desire the nourishment that comes from doing so, I reach out and take it; I then take a bite. Thus, I see, reach for, touch, and taste the apple. In all these actions, consciousness—mind—and body are fully integrated. My seeing is not like the inner presentation of a picture. My reaching out does not consist of an inner attempt, and then an external reach. Nor do touch and taste consist of an external sensation and then an internal one. Internal and external are integrated in all these happenings.

In such a case, “all the parts” of George’s person seem to be functioning as one—at least, they seem to be doing so as much as they are alleged to be in the original description of his eating an apple. As for George’s reason for eating an apple, this, too, seems not to bear significantly upon, if at all, whether his doing so blocks his self-integration. Whether he does so to acquire nourishment, experience pleasure, or even appease a coercer (a militant nutritionist, perhaps), his doing so does not appear to block his self-integration. Taking just the most extreme of these (to appease a coercer), George’s bodily act (eating an apple) is a response to his conscious state (the desire to appease his coercer), performed for the purpose of fulfilling that conscious state and producing other bodily and conscious states (to undergo and experience the effects of appeasing his appeaser). Even when George eats an apple in order to appease a coercer, then, his doing so involves conscious and bodily parts that are ostensibly integrated—as above, all the parts of his person seem to be functioning as one. To be sure, George’s eating of an apple under such a condition is not fully free—it is not, more specifically, fully voluntary. But this does not seem to block his self-integration, since an act that is not fully voluntary is not one and the same as an act that is involuntary. One’s working what is, by one’s own lights, a dead-end job might not be fully voluntary, for example, but this does not render one’s doing so involuntary—at least, not in the relevant (metaphysical) sense of the word. All this to say, George’s reason for eating an apple does not appear to bear upon whether his doing so blocks his self-integration. With respect to Pateman’s argument, though it raises a lot of questions, I will focus on just one, albeit the one that I consider to be the most significant for the purposes of the Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version), namely: Is it, in fact, true that sexually penetrative power or mastery over the prostitute’s body requires the prostitute to engage in the self-protective action of distancing herself from her

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body?133 And I will do so by focusing on the following claim (taken from my previous summary of Pateman’s position): In an effort to resist being influenced by the tight connection between her sexuality and herself and, in turn, undermining or destroying herself, the prostitute attempts to break—or, at least, weaken—the connection between her sexuality and herself when providing her sexual services. Is this true? I am not aware of any empirical evidence indicating that it is of prostitutes in general. There is, however, empirical evidence suggesting that it is true of some prostitutes. Estes’s account of sex acts between a prostitute and her client (above) is an example of such evidence. And Høigård and Finstad report that some prostitutes employ processes by which they attempt protect their “real” selves from being “invaded and destroyed by customers,” including “turning themselves off.”134 Hence former prostitute Rosie Summers’s description of the prostitute as “a person turning off her emotions, being psychically somewhere else while someone who despises her is making love to her.”135 But there is also empirical evidence indicating that this is not true of all prostitutes—or, if it is, then it is not always so bad. As addressed in Chap. 3, (1) numerous studies indicate that indoor-working prostitutes differ little from non-prostitutes in mental health and self-esteem, and escorts and call girls tend to have the financial, social, and emotional means to organize their work in ways conducive for maintaining healthy self-images; (2) one study indicates that 50 percent of call girls and brothel workers deemed their work a major source of satisfaction in their lives, with 70 percent of them reporting that they would “definitely choose” to do this work if they could start over; (3) another study indicates that 97 percent of call girls claimed an increase in self-esteem after they began working as prostitutes; and (4) another study indicates 75 percent of indoor prostitutes felt that their life had improved after entering prostitution, and more than 50 percent said that, in general, they enjoyed their work. Hence reports from prostitutes like Chelsea Lane from Chap. 2, who described her life as a prostitute as “amazing” as it involved less isolation, contact with “wonderful” people, and “getting laid on the regular”; the

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two prostitutes from Chap. 3 who described their experiences as prostitutes as involving getting “turned on” at times and “a fantasy that had been fulfilled”; and yet another prostitute, Jodie, describes her time working at a Nevada brothel in the following way: “Then I went to the brothel, and I fucking loved it. Loved that I could be as slutty as I wanted, and I was being safe. I was getting all this experience. I was checking all these things off my list, because I have a list of sexy things that I want to do that or that I have done. I got to mark a lot of shit off list working there, and it was really fun.”136 Now, either these prostitutes (at least some of them) and their like attempt to break—or, at least, weaken—the connection between their sexuality and themselves when providing their sexual services or they do not. If they do, then it is difficult to see what, exactly, is so bad about their doing so. After all, their mental health appears to be sufficiently healthy. And if they do not, then it is not true that all prostitutes attempt to break or weaken the connection between their sexuality and themselves when providing their sexual services. Their experiences, then, lend empirical support to the claim that either such self-distancing is not always so bad (I will have more to say about this in a moment) or that not all prostitutes self-distance and self-disintegrate. Summing up, though no empirical evidence exists which shows that prostitutes generally degrade themselves (nonconsequentially speaking) through prostitution, there is empirical evidence indicating that in some cases they do, and in some cases they do not. On P2 Is it the case that being a degradation—specifically, an instrumentalization—of oneself is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., is degrading [instrumentalizing] oneself nonconsequentially immoral)? It is not obviously or intuitively so. Writing in terms of what is to the concept of instrumentalization the broader concept of objectification, Halwani motivates the preceding claim well as follows: Why assume that objectification is always morally wrong? Its moral wrongness cannot simply be read off from the definition; it is not obvious why treating an entity that is not an object (in particular, a person) only as an object constitutes conclusive grounds for moral condemnation. Something else must be added, to the effect that the person does not merit object-like

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treatment in virtue of some characteristic he has that morally blocks object-­ like treatment. So, in treating the person only as an object, one is trespassing this moral boundary.137

In order to determine whether instrumentalizing oneself is nonconsequentially immoral, then, we need to consider some reasons for thinking that it is. In doing so, we will consider the issue in terms of both the Kantian and new natural law understandings of “instrumentalize,” beginning with the former. So, is it true that treating oneself as a mere means to an end is nonconsequentially immoral? In other words, is treating oneself in a way that one cannot, as a rational moral agent, agree to be treated nonconsequentially immoral? That it is is also neither obvious nor intuitive, and it is open to counterexample. It may be that a starving individual cannot rationally agree to being deprived of food, for instance, but it does not seem to be immoral, or even morally criticizable, for her to do so. It might be imprudent, naturally. But it does not seem to be an act that the individual has no moral right to perform—an act that someone has a valid claim against her performing and, as a result, could be morally justified in preventing the individual from performing (via force feeding, for instance), or, if she performs the act, in punishing her for having performed it. Additionally, a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that can not only underpin P2 but outweigh counterexamples like the preceding seems unavailable. Simply put, it is very difficult to conceive of a nonconsequentialist moral claim that is not only more fundamental than P2 but can adequately support it. BN3 (violating the Categorical Imperative is nonconsequentially immoral) will not do, since, at bottom and in so many words, P2 is BN3. (Briefly, one way to violate the Categorical Imperative— specifically, the Formula of End in Itself—is to treat oneself as a mere means to an end. One way to understand BN3, then, is as follows: treating oneself as a mere means to an end is nonconsequentially immoral. And this just is the P2 under consideration—that is, the Kantian understanding of P2.) BN4 (doing that which is irrational is nonconsequentially immoral) will not do either, as the preceding counterexample serves as a counterexample to it as well (i.e., it may be irrational for a starving individual to agree to being deprived of food, but it does not seem to be immoral, or even morally criticizable, for her to do so). What’s more, other possible basic nonconsequentialist moral claims seem ill-equipped to do the job. “Treating oneself as a means to an end is

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immoral” is more fundamental than “treating oneself as a mere means to an end is immoral” (one cannot, logically speaking, treat oneself as a mere means to an end without first treating oneself as a means to an end). But it is also subject to counterexample: the waiter treats himself as a means to his customer’s ends, but that he does so does not appear to render his doing so immoral. (Even Kant agrees with this.) And, similar to before, “risking treating oneself as a mere means to an end is immoral” is more fundamental than “treating oneself as a mere means to an end is immoral.” But it fails to adequately support P2 as it, too, is subject to counterexample. For example, whenever one interacts with another, one risks treating oneself as a mere means to the other’s ends. But that this renders interacting with others immoral is implausible. One is hard pressed, then, to come up with another basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that is more fundamental P2 and can adequately support it. (Accordingly, P2 is perhaps best understood to be a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim itself [to be designated here as BN6].) All this to say, that P2 is true is neither obvious nor intuitive, and a plausible basic nonconsequentialist moral claim from which it may be derived appears to be lacking. Let us turn, now, to the new natural law theorist understanding of “instrumentalize.” Is it true that blocking one’s self-integration is nonconsequentially immoral? As with the Kantian understanding of P2, this understanding of P2 is neither obviously true nor intuitive, and it is open to counterexample. To wit, if blocking one’s self-integration is immoral, then many activities we heretofore have believed to be morally permissible would be immoral as well, and implausibly so. Take, for example, being on the receiving end of a (nonsexual) massage. Many people do so for the sheer feeling of it, thus reducing their bodily selves to the level of extrinsic instruments for their conscious selves and thereby blocking their self-­ integration. But that getting a massage under these conditions is immoral, or even morally criticizable, is implausible. Or take working in a service sector job, such as as a flight attendant (and here is where I have more to say about the alleged badness of the aforementioned self-distancing). In her study on the emotional labor involved in such work—particularly among female flight attendants—sociologist Arlie Hochschild concludes that it is “seriously self-estranging” in that it “requires one to induce or suppress feeling in order to sustain the outward countenance that produces the proper state of mind in others—in this case, the sense of being cared for in a convivial and safe place.”138 This description of self-estrangement mirrors that of Estes’s description of prostitution—being

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a flight attendant involves detaching oneself from the bodily events without losing control over one’s body. It also mirrors the new natural law theorists’ description of blocking one’s self-integration—being a flight attendant involves reducing one’s bodily self to the level of an extrinsic instrument for one’s conscious self (the bodily self smiles, nods, serves food and drink, and so on for the sake of the conscious self’s ultimate, multifold desire to remain a flight attendant, receive income, travel, and so on). But that the selfestrangement in which the flight attendant engages is thereby immoral, or even morally criticizable, is hardly credible. As before, new natural law theorists tend not to be persuaded by objections along the preceding lines and respond to them in two ways. First, they argue that, though it may be true that many people are on the receiving end of a massage for the sheer feeling of it, this is not the typical case. For in the typical case of doing something that is pleasurable—being on the receiving end of a massage or what have you—the one who does so does so, not just for her conscious self, but for her bodily self as well. As George and Bradley put this point in the context of eating, In eating, people typically do not treat their bodies as mere machines for inducing pleasurable experiences for the satisfaction of their conscious selves. That is to say, people typically do not choose satisfaction of some want or desire merely as sentient beings, rather than as integrated persons. Thus, the fact that people may obtain pleasure in eating does not render the act disintegrative.139

And so it is, mutatis mutandis (or, at least, and so new natural law theorists could argue) with respect to working as a flight attendant. Second, they argue that, in those cases in which the one on the receiving end of a massage or working as a flight attendant is doing so disintegratively, his or her doing so is, in fact, immoral. Again, as George and Bradley write with respect to eating (and, this time, chewing gum), a person could, we imagine, pursue pleasure in eating or chewing gum in a way divorced from larger projects such that his activity could only accurately be described as “pleasuring himself” in a way analogous to the masturbator…. In that case, we would say that eating and gum chewing damage personal integrity insofar as those acts effect existential alienation of the body from the conscious self by simply using the body as an experience-­ inducing machine. Thus, such behavior should, for moral reasons, be avoided.140

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And so new natural law theorists could argue (mutatis mutandis) with respect to working as a flight attendant. But these responses are unsatisfactory in at least two ways. To begin with, even if new natural law theorists do not find the implication that eating or chewing gum simply for pleasure “should, for moral reasons, be avoided” to be problematic, no doubt many people do. Indeed, though there is no empirical study of this matter, ostensibly, were one to be conducted, it would not be surprising at all if the majority of people deemed such an implication to be absurd. The second—and more important—reason for deeming the preceding responses unsatisfactory can been seen quite clearly once one shifts from cases involving blocking one’s self-integration for the purpose of experiencing pleasure or some other positive state of consciousness to cases involving blocking one’s self-integration for the purpose of alleviating pain or some other negative state of consciousness. After all, the problem with blocking one’s self-integration for the purpose of experiencing pleasure is fundamentally a function of the blocking one’s self-integration. That said blocking is done for the purpose of experiencing pleasure is, at bottom, neither here nor there. As George and Bradley write, “We reject the proposition that sex can legitimately be instrumentalized, that is, treated as a mere means to any extrinsic end, including procreation.”141 As my emphasis of “any” makes clear (if it was not already), the extrinsic end—be it pleasure, procreation, pain, or other—is not what renders the blocking of one’s self-integration morally problematic; it is, instead, merely the fact one’s self-integration is blocked. With the preceding in mind, consider the following case from Boonin: Some people who suffer from migraine headaches find that the pain caused by the headache is considerably worse if they are exposed to bright light. Under such circumstances, they can get relief from their pain—perhaps even complete relief—simply by closing their eyes. Closing their eyes does nothing to resolve any physical problems with their bodies. It simply makes them feel better. So when they close their eyes, they use a part of their body—their eyelids—merely as a means of producing a certain type of feeling. If the dis-­ integration argument is correct, then what they do is morally wrong. But, to put things mildly, it is difficult to believe that it is morally wrong to close your eyes as means of reducing the pain brought on by a migraine headache.142

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In short, if blocking one’s self-integration is immoral no matter what the extrinsic end, the closing one’s eyes so as to alleviate migraine-headache pain is immoral, given that doing so involves using one’s body (one’s bodily self) as a mere means for one’s consciousness (one’s conscious self). Yet (and I will take the liberty of putting this a little less mildly than Boonin did), that closing one’s eyes so as to alleviate migraine-headache pain is immoral is preposterous. Indeed, there is empirical evidence that even new natural law theorists would agree that it is not immoral to close one’s eye’s so as to alleviate migraine-headache pain. As Boonin observes, in the debate on euthanasia, new natural law theorists tend to argue that it is morally permissible to administer pain-reducing medication to the terminally ill patient’s bodily self merely for the sake of his or her conscious self—that is (though they make every effort not to put it this way), to treat the patient’s bodily self as a mere means to his or her conscious self. A final response (at least for present purposes) available to new natural law theorists is that, despite appearances, closing one’s eyes so as to alleviate migraine-headache pain does not, in fact, involve blocking one’s self-­ integration. Rather, it involves doing something for both one’s conscious self and one’s bodily self. To wit, by closing one’s eyes and alleviating migraine-headache pain, one thereby enables one’s bodily self to do things that one otherwise would not be able to do (e.g., teach, write books, help those who are in need, etc.). But, as Boonin points out, such a response implies a claim that new natural law theorists adamantly reject, namely, that having premarital coital sex (or manual sex, or homosexual sex) can be morally permissible. If, for instance, by having premarital coital sex, one alleviates stress and thereby enables one’s bodily self to do things that one otherwise would not be able to do (again, teach, write books, help those who are in need, etc.), then, given this response, having premarital coital sex is morally permissible.143 Beyond how the new natural law theorists themselves might respond to the cases involving the massage and the flight attendant, one might invoke the fact that the individual on the receiving end of a massage or the flight attendant may not have to combat responding with either “genuine arousal” or “frank displeasure” (as Estes contends the prostitute does), and then argue that it is this specific way in which the prostitute reduces her bodily self to the level of an extrinsic instrument for her conscious self that renders prostitution immoral. But this, too, is implausible, as indicated by the fact that this specific way of instrumentalizing oneself is not unique to prostitution. Beginning with responding with frank displeasure,

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consider mind-numbingly boring occupational activities (e.g., paper-­ filing) or horribly disgusting occupational activities (e.g., public-bathroom cleaning).144 If those who perform such work are to avoid responding “with frank displeasure” to either of these activities, they must (in Estes’s words) detach themselves from the bodily events without losing control over their bodies. Yet, there seems to be nothing immoral or morally criticizable about their performing them. With respect to responding with genuine arousal, consider stage acting. Some theater productions contain scenes involving simulated sexual acts. If the actors are to avoid responding with genuine arousal (and they should, prudentially speaking, as a marvelous scene from the movie Birdman or [The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance] powerfully illustrates), they must detach themselves from the bodily events without losing control over their bodies. And, again, there seems to be nothing immoral or morally criticizable about their doing so. Furthermore, as with the Kantian understanding of P2, a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that can not only underpin the new natural law understanding of P2 but outweigh counterexamples like the preceding is lacking, ostensibly. Similar to before, it is very difficult to conceive of a nonconsequentialist moral claim that is not only more fundamental than this understanding of P2 but can adequately support it. To wit, BN4 (doing that which is irrational is nonconsequentially immoral) is more fundamental than “blocking one’s self-integration is immoral” in that the latter is understood to be derived from BN4. But BN4 fails to adequately support P2 since, as argued above, it neither obvious nor intuitive, and it is vulnerable to counterexample. And, beyond BN4, it is difficult to come up with another basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that is not only more fundamental than P2 but can adequately support it. Like before, “risking blocking one’s self-integration is immoral” is more fundamental than “blocking one’s self-integration is immoral,” naturally. But it fails to adequately support P2 as it, too, is subject to counterexample. One is hard pressed, then, to come up with another basic nonconsequentialist moral claim that is more fundamental P2 and can adequately support it. (So, as above, P2 is perhaps best understood to be a basic nonconsequentialist moral claim itself [BN6].) All this to say, that P2 is true is neither obvious nor intuitive, and a plausible basic nonconsequentialist moral claim from which it may be derived seems unavailable. There is more one could say about the Degradation Argument, naturally. But this will have to suffice. Nevertheless, given what has been

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covered here, it appears that it does not succeed in establishing that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

The Exploitation Argument The Exploitation Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to exploitation. P2: Being a subjection of oneself to exploitation is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. C1:  Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. Before moving on to my evaluation of P1, a few additional remarks are required. To begin with, having just discussed the Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version), the reader might be wondering whether a discussion of the Exploitation Argument is even required. After all, if one is degraded via objectification (specifically, instrumentalization), is not one thereby exploited? As natural a thought as this may be, it is also mistaken. To be sure, it may be that in many, if not most, cases of instrumentalization, she who is instrumentalized is also exploited. But as the previously discussed understandings of “instrumentalize” indicate, this need not be the case. To be sure, this will be clearer once we have an understanding of “exploit” under our belts. It will have to suffice for now to say, then, that, as closely related as instrumentalization and exploitation may be—whether conceptually, practically, or both—they are nevertheless distinct. Second, given the popularity of arguments for the immorality of prostitution that derive a claim about prostitution’s immorality from a claim about how the client exploits the prostitute, it is important to reiterate that the present moral defense of prostitution is a defense of just the prostitute’s act. Hence the writing of P1 in terms of what prostitution involves for the prostitute rather than the client. Finally, it behooves me to remind the reader of something that was stated at the beginning of this chapter. The arguments under consideration in this chapter are nonconsequentialist in nature. As such, they are

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arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of prostitution is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever. Having said that, it might be that prostitution involves both a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property and a consequence that, via a consequentialist argument, one could claim renders it immoral. The Exploitation Argument is an obvious example of an argument that clearly lends itself to the possibility of having both a nonconsequentialist version and a consequentialist version. And there are philosophers (Satz, for instance) who offer a consequentialist version of it.145 With that in mind, I want to make clear that, by presenting the Exploitation Argument here as a nonconsequentialist argument, I am not trying to discount consequentialist versions of the argument in any way. I simply have a greater interest in what I take to be the more philosophically ambitious version of the two—that which deems exploitation to be immoral even when it is not harmful (locally or globally) to the one who is exploited. If, however, the nonconsequentialist version of the Exploitation Argument is unsound and is so due to its P1 being false, then so is the consequentialist version. For the nonconsequentialist and consequentialist versions of the argument contain the very same P1 as well as grounds adduced for it. (They also contain the very same P2, but the grounds adduced for their respective P2s are different.) On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the subjection of oneself to exploitation (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to exploitation)? In order to answer this question, we need to know what it means to be exploited. And an excellent analysis of the concept of exploitation may be found in Alan Wertheimer’s aptly titled treatise on the subject, Exploitation. Wertheimer’s analysis begins with a broad, “lowest common denominator” definition of “exploit,” which is “to take unfair advantage of another.”146 He then adds what he calls “elements” to this definition, since an unfair advantage-taking of someone could be understood in at least two ways. Specifically, it could refer to the outcome of the exploitative act or relation, such as the benefit to the exploiter or the effect on the exploitee, or it could refer to the process of the exploitative act or relation. As an example of the former, one might think that the benefit to the exploiter is unfair because it is wrong for him to benefit at all from his

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act, or because his benefit is excessive relative to the benefit to the exploitee. Regarding an example of the latter, one might think that the process by which the unfair outcome comes about is unfair because it involves, say, deception (or coercion, or manipulation). According to Wertheimer’s lowest common denominator analysis of “exploit,” then, to be exploited is to be taken advantage of in an unfair (in terms of the outcome, process, or both) way. With this analysis in mind (and, for present purposes, further Wertheimian analysis is not required), P1 of the Exploitation Argument may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to an unfair advantage-taking. Is this true? In order to answer this, we need to know what is meant (alas) by an “unfair” advantage-taking. When it comes to the meaning of “unfair,” it is important to distinguish (purely) descriptive meanings from normative—specifically, moral— meanings. An argument-relevant and suitable example of the former is “treating people in a way that favors some over others.”147 A likewise example of the latter is “dishonest or unethical.”148 With these meanings in mind, P1 may be understood further in at least two ways: (1) Through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to an other-favoring advantage-­ taking. (2) Through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to a dishonest or unethical advantage-taking. (Unlike with the Viciousness Argument, the moral meaning can be used here since it does not characterize the prostitute’s act but someone else’s act as dishonest or unethical and, in turn, does not render the Exploitation Argument question begging.) I will evaluate P1 through the lens of each of these understandings in turn. So, is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to an other-favoring advantage-taking? Naturally, some scholars (particularly those who identify as feminists) argue that the prostitute is taken advantage of in an other-favoring way through prostitution. But to say that the prostitute is taken advantage of in this way is not one and the same as saying that the prostitute subjects herself to (i.e., forces herself to undergo) such advantage-taking. Even so, at least with respect to prostitutes who voluntarily and informedly consent to prostitute (and, as discussed in Chap. 2, there is empirical evidence indicating that this is generally the case), one could use the arguments of such scholars to make the case that, in addition to being taken advantage of in this way, such prostitutes subject themselves to such advantage-taking. This is precisely how I will proceed.

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Once more, then, is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to an other-favoring advantage-taking? Empirical evidence exists showing that this is true of some prostitutes. To wit, prostitutes who are managed by others (e.g., pimps, brothel managers, etc.) occasionally report that their managers take an objectionable cut from their earnings. For instance, one former brothel-working prostitute claims that her brothel took 50 percent of her earnings while she worked there, of which she quipped, “I just don’t think that’s right. I’m against that and I think they’re totally taking advantage.”149 In such cases, the prostitute subjects herself to an other-favoring advantage-taking—financially speaking, at any rate. And then there are prostitutes who report to have performed sexual acts that they were very reluctant to perform (e.g., having sex with a brothel manager in order to receive equal treatment from him, having sex with a police officer in an attempt to minimize the extent to which she is policed, etc.).150 In these cases as well, the prostitute appears to subject herself to an other-favoring advantage-taking—transactionally speaking, in any case. Having said that, said evidence does not establish whether, through prostitution, prostitutes in general—that the majority of street-, brothel-, massage parlor-, sauna-, club-, bar-, window-, call girl-, girlfriend experience-­working prostitutes—subject themselves to an other-favoring advantage-taking through prostitution. (To say it once more, among other things, most studies on prostitution focus on the least prevalent type prostitution, namely, outdoor prostitution.) Moreover, there is empirical evidence indicating that not every prostitute subjects herself to an other-­ favoring advantage-taking through prostitution, that some instances of such advantage-taking are systemic in nature, and that some are due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution. Beginning with the former, some prostitutes—some call girls, for example—do not work with a manager of any sort and, as a result, take home 100 percent of their earnings. Financially speaking, then, such prostitutes do not subject themselves to an other-favoring advantage-taking through prostitution. Additionally, and as discussed above, in many cases of prostitution what is sold is the transfer of limited power or mastery over the prostitute’s body, with the limits established by the prostitute herself. When the client acts in accordance with said limits, then, an advantage-taking balance, as it were, is struck between the client and the prostitute in that both the client and the prostitute get what they want and nothing more—nothing of

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consequence, at any rate. (The previous discussion regarding the client-­ prostitute relation as one in which the client “gets sexual satisfaction from the prostitute for a charge, on the basis of a mutual understanding, and she does her part of the bargain willingly” and involves “a calculated exchange of goods of different order” is worth recalling here.)151 The client’s advantage-taking, then, is not favored over the prostitute’s, nor is the prostitute’s advantage-taking favored over the client’s. As Alexander writes in this vein, “Prostitution … involves an equation of sex with power: for the man/customer, the power consists of his ability to ‘buy’ access to any number of women; for the woman/prostitute, the power consists of her ability to set the terms of her sexuality, and to demand substantial payment for her time and skills.”152 Transactionally speaking, then, such prostitutes do not subject themselves to an other-favoring advantage-taking through prostitution. Regarding some instances of such advantage-taking being systemic in nature, there is empirical evidence indicating that, as a group, outdoor-­ working prostitutes are the most exploited. As Kuo writes, “The vulnerability and powerlessness of street prostitutes result in unrepresentatively high levels of exploitation and abuse.”153 And many prostitutes work outdoors as a result of the legal prohibition of prostitution and, with it, indoor-service spaces (e.g., brothels). Accordingly, when a prostitute works outdoors as a result of the legal prohibition of prostitution and subjects herself to other-favoring advantage-taking—financially and/or transactionally—her exploitation is systemic in nature, at least in part. Another instance of such advantage-taking being systemic in nature regards the aforementioned objectionable cut that is taken from the prostitutes’ earnings. In some such cases, all of the prostitutes’ earnings are taken and are so with the help of laws against prostitution. As Alexander writes, There are terrible problems with prostitution, particularly when it is illegal. I have spoken to women who work for massage parlors and escort services who have been conned out of their earnings. And they have no recourse—if they want to continue to work—because if they were to file a complaint, the business would be raided by the police … If the prostitution laws were repealed and prostitution was recognized as legitimate work, prostitutes who are so victimized would be able to sue for the missing income.154

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Though these prostitutes subject themselves to a financial other-favoring advantage-taking, the advantage-taking is systemic in nature, in part if not in whole. With respect to some instances of such advantage-taking being due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution, there are cases of prostitution wherein the advantage-taking does not directly involve the prostitute’s prostitution but, instead, merely indirectly regards it. In such cases, the advantage-taking involved is, in that sense, due partly to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution. Take the case of Kari, who, at the time she was interviewed, worked for a beauty parlor boss who she reported was exploiting her. As she describes it, “My boss is awful, he knows I work on the street, so he thinks he can treat me like shit … I can’t change my job either; he’d just call up the new employer and tell. They’re afraid the customers will recognize me. Anyway, it’s exploitation, that’s what’s going on. He earns 5,000 crowns a week from my labor. All I get is 400. He has got me right under his heel.”155 In this case, though Kari’s subjecting herself to a financial other-favoring advantage-taking indirectly regards her prostitution, it does not directly involve it. Instead, it directly involves her beauty-parlor boss taking advantage of her as a beauty-parlor employee. In that sense, her subjecting herself to such advantage-taking is partly due to something other than her prostitution. This brings us to the moral meaning of P1. Is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute subjects herself to a dishonest or unethical advantage-taking? Though no empirical evidence exists showing that this is true of prostitutes in general, there is empirical evidence indicating that it is of some prostitutes. The previously mentioned cases of prostitutes who have been conned out of their earnings but continued to work for the very people who conned them are cases in point. But there is also empirical evidence indicating that this is not true for all prostitutes. Simply and generally put, some prostitutes (qua prostitutes) seem to be treated with the respect they deserve (qua human beings) and, thus, are not taken advantage of in a dishonest or unethical way (e.g., the aforementioned prostitutes who strike an advantage-taking balance between themselves and their clients). I write “seem to be” deliberately, since there are, of course, arguments to the contrary, some of which I have already discussed (e.g., both versions of the Degradation Argument). Since another such argument has yet to be addressed, however, I will have to be content to claim for now merely that some prostitutes appear not to be taken advantage of in a dishonest or unethical way.

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To sum up, however common it may or may not be, no empirical evidence exists which settles whether prostitutes in general subject themselves to exploitation through prostitution, ostensibly. That said, there is empirical evidence indicating that in some cases they do, and in some cases they do not. On P2 Is it true that being a subjection of oneself to exploitation is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., is subjecting oneself to exploitation nonconsequentially immoral)? With respect to the immorality of subjecting oneself to other-favoring advantage-taking, there are rather clear cases in which subjecting oneself to such advantage-taking is not immoral, such as when it is done with one’s the voluntary, informed consent. For instance, when a parent subjects herself to exploitation via her teenaged son’s false promises regarding something she considers trivial (e.g., that he will repay her for the money she is about to lend him), she does nothing immoral or even morally criticizable, arguably. What about when the other-favoring advantage-taking is not done with one’s voluntary, informed consent? Is this immoral? This is unclear. For even if one grants that immorality does, in fact, occur in such cases, the immorality need not be a function of the subjecting of oneself to such advantage-taking. It could, instead, be a function of the taking of such advantage. (It also could be a function of both, naturally.) Now, it may very well be that the immorality of such other-favoring advantage-taking (when it is immoral, that is) is at least a function of the taking of such advantage. After all, when one takes such advantage, one gains a benefit from the other despite the fact that the other has not given her voluntary, informed consent to be benefitted from in this way and, thus, fails to treat her as she desires and, more importantly, deserves to be treated. But is it plausible or, at least, as plausible that the immorality of such other-favoring advantage-taking is also a function of the subjecting of oneself to such advantage-taking? There is reason to think that it is not. To be sure, one could argue that, just as the taking of such advantage is immoral given that doing so fails to treat the other as she deserves to be treated, so the subjecting of oneself to such advantage-taking is immoral given that doing so fails to treat oneself as one deserves to be treated. But one could also argue that when one subjects oneself to such advantage-­ taking, one often does so in order to prevent oneself from being treated in

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an equally undeserving, but less tolerable, way. To motivate this idea, consider the following analogy. Suppose a white, racist grocery store owner pulls out a gun and, while spewing racial epithets, demands that a person of color get out of his store or he will kill her. In such a case, the person of color is forced to choose between two subjections to which she correctly believes that she is strongly undeserving: that of being kicked out of the store by a racist on racial grounds, or that of being killed by a racist on racial grounds. However, she may also deem the latter subjection to be less tolerable than the former subjection. That is to say, though she deems herself to be equally underserving of either subjection, she is able to tolerate the former more than the latter. In such a case, she might subject herself to being treated in a way that she strongly does not deserve (being kicked out of the store by a racist on racial grounds) so as to prevent herself from being treated in an equally undeserving but less tolerable way (being killed by a racist on racial grounds). In doing so, she would be doing that which is perfectly morally permissible, or so it seems to me. Similarly, one might subject oneself to being treated undeservedly in the aforementioned advantage-taking way so as to prevent oneself from being treated in an equally undeserving but less tolerable way. In doing so, one would be doing that which is perfectly morally permissible—again, or so it seems to me. But even if I am wrong about the preceding and subjecting oneself to such advantage-taking is, in fact, immoral, it does not follow that she who does so is wholly morally responsible for doing so. And, à la Reiman’s argument regarding drug addiction (see Chap. 3), in some cases, the moral responsibility arguably lies partly with those who created the conditions (e.g., extreme poverty, systemic racism and sexism, lack of social services, draconian criminal laws and punishments, etc.) which gave rise to one subjecting oneself to an other-regarding advantage-taking. Raymond, Jeffreys, and other feminists would no doubt agree. Discussing a point she attributes to Raymond, Jeffrey writes, “[I]t is deeply problematic to identify as agency the situations in which women opt into oppressive institutions which originate precisely in the subordination of women.”156 Furthermore, one of the most popular nonconsequentialist reason for thinking that subjecting oneself to other-favoring advantage-taking is immoral is that it involves degrading—specifically, objectifying—oneself. As Sanders describes this view vis-à-vis prostitution, through “structural and power inequalities between men and women,” such advantage-taking turns the prostitute into a “sex object.”157 Accordingly, the plausibility of

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this reason turns on the plausibility of the immorality of objectifying oneself. And, as discussed above, on neither the Kantian nor the new natural law understanding of “objectify” (specifically, “instrumentalize”) is it clear that objectifying oneself is immoral. As for the immorality of subjecting oneself to a dishonest or unethical advantage-taking, in order to address this, it would to help to revisit our discussion of BN2 (enabling an act that is nonconsequentially immoral is nonconsequentially immoral). As I said before, BN2 strikes me as correct, at least when “immoral” is understood as it is here (i.e., morally forbidden). Assuming it is, in fact, correct, one way to determine whether subjecting oneself to a dishonest or unethical advantage-taking is immoral is to answer the following questions: (1) Does subjecting oneself to a dishonest or unethical advantage-taking constitute enabling said advantage-­ taking? (2) If it does, is subjecting oneself to such advantage-taking thereby immoral? Regarding (1), in order to answer this question, we need to know what the difference is (if any) between subjecting and enabling. Beginning with the latter, an argument-relevant, suitable, and previously discussed definition of “enable” is “to provide with the means or opportunity.” As for “subject,” a likewise definition is “to cause or force to undergo or endure (something unpleasant, inconvenient, or trying).”158 I will approach and evaluate (1) via these senses. The preceding definitions of “subject” and “enable” are neither surface-­ grammatically nor semantically identical, of course. Even so, in practice, when one causes or forces oneself to undergo or endure something (X) at the hands of another, one typically thereby provides the other with the means or opportunity to X. With that in mind, there is reason to believe that, at least in practice, when one causes or forces oneself to undergo or endure one’s own dishonest or unethical advantage-taking by another, one typically thereby provides the other with the means or opportunity to take advantage of oneself in such a way. In other words, when one subjects oneself to such dishonest or unethical advantage-taking, one typically thereby enables such advantage-taking. Regarding (2)—whether subjecting oneself to a dishonest or unethical advantage-taking is immoral—it depends, I submit, on the degree of dishonesty or unethicality. Some instances of dishonesty and unethicality are not so bad as to amount to immorality (e.g., the previous case of the parent who subjects herself to a dishonest or unethical advantage-taking via her son’s false promises). The question, then, is whether the dishonesty or unethicality involved in the prostitute’s subjecting herself to such

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advantage-­taking is bad enough to amount to immorality. And given the variable nature of prostitution (recall, if you will, Weitzer’s claim from Chap. 2 that prostitutes “vary tremendously in their reasons for entry, risk of violence, dependence on or exploitation by third parties, experiences with the authorities, public visibility, number and type of clients, relationships with co-workers, and impact on the surrounding community”), it seems reasonable to believe that in some cases it is and in some cases it is not. But even if subjecting oneself to a dishonest or unethical advantage-­ taking is, in fact, immoral, it does not follow that the one who does so is wholly morally responsible for doing so. As above, à la Reiman’s argument, a case can be made for at least some prostitutes not being wholly morally responsible for the immoral act (ex hypothesi) of subjecting themselves to a dishonest or unethical advantage-taking. Though more could be said about the Exploitation Argument, this will have to do for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that it fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

The Patriarchal Subordination Argument The Patriarchal Subordination Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the subordination of oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts. P2: Being a subordination of oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. C1:  Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral.159 Before moving on to my evaluation of the premises, a few preliminary remarks are in order. First, two points similar to those that I made at the outset of my discussion of the Exploitation Argument may be raised here as well. Even though we already discussed both the Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version) and the Exploitation Argument, a discussion of the Patriarchal

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Subordination Argument is required. Granted, it may be that in many if not most cases of objectification and exploitation, she who is objectified (specifically, instrumentalized) and/or exploited is also patriarchally subordinated. But as the previously discussed understandings of “instrumentalize” and “exploit” indicate, this need not be the case. This will be clearer once we have an understanding of “subordinate” and, in particular, “patriarchal subordination” under our belts, of course. It will have to suffice for now to say, then, that, as closely related as objectification, exploitation, and subordination may be—whether conceptually, practically, or both— they are nevertheless distinct. Second, given the popularity of arguments for the immorality of prostitution that derive a claim about prostitution’s immorality from a claim about how the client subordinates the prostitute, it is important to reiterate that the present moral defense of prostitution is a defense of merely the prostitute’s act. Hence the writing of P1  in terms of what prostitution involves for the prostitute rather than the client. Finally, the Patriarchal Subordination Argument is another argument that clearly lends itself to the possibility of having both a nonconsequentialist version and a consequentialist version. Indeed, there are philosophers (Laurie Shrage, for example) who offer a consequentialist version of the Patriarchal Subordination Argument. Given this, it is important for me to note that, as with the Exploitation Argument, I am not trying to discount consequentialist versions of the Patriarchal Subordination Argument by presenting it here as a nonconsequentialist argument. It is just that I have a greater interest in what I take to be the more philosophically ambitious version of the two—that which deems subordination to be immoral even when it is not harmful (locally or globally) to the one who is subordinated. If, however, the nonconsequentialist version of the Patriarchal Subordination Argument is unsound and is so due to its P1 being false, then so is the consequentialist version. For the nonconsequentialist and consequentialist versions of the argument contain the very same P1 as well as grounds adduced for it. (They also contain the very same P2, but the grounds adduced for their respective P2s are different in nature.) On P1 Is it the case that prostitution involves the subordination of oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute subordinates herself to her male, patriarchal

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counterparts)? To determine whether it is, we need to know what is meant by the prostitute “subordinates” herself to her “male, patriarchal counterparts.” Beginning with the latter, by her “male, patriarchal counterparts,” I mean all those (adult) males who, qua males, are culturally held to possess and, as a result, exercise societal, political, economic, and/or familial power, authority, and/or privilege over their female counterparts (regardless of whether they also desire to possess and exercise such privilege). As for “subordinate,” an argument-relevant and suitable meaning of the word is “to treat as of less value or importance.”160 With these things in mind, P1 may be understood as follows: Through prostitution, the prostitute treats herself as of less value or importance relative to all those (adult) males who, qua males, are culturally held to possess, and as a result, exercise societal, political, economic, and/or familial power, authority, and/or privilege over their female counterparts. Is this the case? Similar to the Exploitation Argument, some scholars argue that, through prostitution, the prostitute is treated by her male, patriarchal counterparts as of less value or importance relative to them. But to say that the prostitute is treated in this way is not one and the same as saying that the prostitute treats herself in this way. Even so, at least with respect to prostitutes who voluntarily and informedly consent to prostitute, one could use the arguments of such scholars to make the case that, in addition to being treated by her male, patriarchal counterparts as of less value or importance relative to them, such prostitutes treat themselves in this way. This is how I will proceed. Once more, then, some scholars argue that, through prostitution, the prostitute is treated by her male, patriarchal counterparts as of less value or importance relative to them. More specifically, they argue that, through prostitution, the prostitute is treated as of less social value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts, where “social” value is to be understood as encompassing (at the very least) societal, political, economic, and/or familial value. An example of this kind of argument is found in Satz’s Why Some Things Should Not Be For Sale.161 (N.B. Though Satz construes her argument as consequentialist in nature, it may also be construed as nonconsequentialist in nature. Hence my doing so here.) There, she claims that, if prostitution is immoral, it is so on the grounds that it “reinforces broad patterns of sex inequality” as it “contribute[s] to and also embodies the perception of women as socially inferior to men.”162 To motivate this, she begins by distinguishing between two dimensions of gender inequality. The first is that of what she calls “distributional

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inequality”—inequality with respect to the distribution of income, wealth, and opportunity. The second is that of what she calls “status inequality”— inequality with respect to social standing. Regarding distributional inequality, Satz claims that in most nations, women (qua group) are economically and socially disadvantaged relative to income inequality, poverty, and unequal division of labor in the family.163 As for status inequality, she claims that, in many parts the world, women are viewed and treated as men’s social inferiors, citing negative stereotyping, hierarchy (by which she means the asymmetrical sanctioning of women by men), marginalization, and stigma as the primary ways such treatment manifests itself.164 With the preceding dimensions of gender inequality in mind, Satz’s argument for the claim that prostitution contributes to and embodies the perception of women as socially inferior to men is twofold. First, prostitution depicts women as men’s sexual servants and, in doing so, suggests an inequality—a status inequality, to be specific—between the sexes, especially when one considers that there is no social practice that depicts men as women’s sexual servants. Pateman and Anderson concur with this, writing (respectively), “When women’s bodies are on sale as commodities … the law of male sex-right is publicly affirmed, and men gain public acknowledgement as women’s sexual masters” and “In appropriating her [the prostitute’s] sexuality for his own use, the customer expresses a (de)valuation of women as rightfully male property, as objects to be used for men’s own sexual purposes, which need not respond to the woman’s personal needs.”165 Second, the high incidence of rape and violence against female prostitutes also suggests an inequality—again, a status inequality—between the sexes. The preceding argument notwithstanding, and however common it may be, the empirical evidence on this matter does not establish that, in general, prostitutes subordinate themselves to their male, patriarchal counterparts through prostitution. Among other things, this is due to the fact that establishing whether a given prostitute treats herself as of less value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts through prostitution cannot be done simply by observing the physical acts to which she subjects herself through prostitution. Rather, one must also discern the prostitute’s reason(s) for subjecting herself to said acts through prostitution. If, for example, the prostitute subjects herself so because she regards herself as of less value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts, then she treats herself as of less value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts through prostitution. If, on

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the other hand, she subjects herself so because she is very pleased with the amount of money she earns (particularly relative to what she would otherwise be earning), enjoys the autonomy she experiences (again, particularly relative to what she would otherwise be experiencing), and finds her life as a prostitute to be one that, overall, she prefers to the alternatives—then she does not treat herself as of less value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts through prostitution, or so I will argue now. Consider, if you will, the stars of the reality stunt show Jackass. In the show, said stars regularly subject themselves to physical acts that are, on their face, the kinds of acts to which no one who regarded himself or herself as of equal value or importance to others would subject himself or herself. (For instance, one stunt involves one of the stars, Ryan Dunn, intentionally shoving a toy car far up his anus for the purpose of recording his doctor’s reaction to the X-ray of it.) But do they thereby treat themselves as of less value or importance relative to others? If establishing whether they do involves merely observing the physical acts to which they subject themselves, it would appear that the answer is “yes.” But that the answer is “yes” strikes me as incorrect. To be sure, it may be that they treat themselves as if they are of less value or importance relative to others (they are, after all, actors). But treating oneself as if one is of less value or importance relative to others is not one and the same as treating oneself as of less value or importance relative to others. And that they are doing the latter strikes me as implausible. On the contrary, in the main, I am inclined to think that they are treating themselves as of more value and importance relative to others. This is due to the facts that (1) many of their stunts involve disregarding the desires and interests of innocent bystanders and, with them, cultural norms and expectations; and (2) they clearly derive a great amount of pleasure from said disregarding, from performing such stunts in general, and from the fame and fortune their doing so brings them.166 With these things in mind, it appears that establishing whether one treats oneself as of less value or importance relative to others involves, not merely observing the physical acts to which one subjects oneself, but to one’s reason(s) for subjecting oneself so as well. If this is correct, then establishing whether a given prostitute treats herself as of less value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts through prostitution cannot be done simply by observing the physical acts to which she subjects herself. Rather, one must also discern the prostitute’s reason(s) for subjecting herself to said acts. And if, similar to the stars of Jackass, the prostitute subjects herself to such acts through prostitution because she is

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very pleased with the amount of money she earns, enjoys the autonomy she experiences, and finds her life as a prostitute to be one that, overall, she prefers to the alternatives, then she does not treat herself as of less value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts, ostensibly. Given this, as well as that (as the previously quoted sex worker put it) “the only safe thing to say” is that all prostitutes are “in it for the money” which they can use to acquire prudential goods, it is not surprising (and this brings us full circle) that the empirical evidence on this matter does not establish that, in general, prostitutes subordinate themselves to their male, patriarchal counterparts through prostitution. Additionally, empirical evidence exists showing that not every prostitute treats herself as of less social value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts through prostitution; that some instances of such treatment are systemic in nature; and that some are due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution. Beginning with the former, take the case of self-employed, high-class call girls (i.e., those working independently of pimps, managers, etc.). As self-employed, these prostitutes have complete control over their clientele, the sexual services they will provide, the location in which they will provide said sexual services, and more. As high class, they often belong to the same socio-economic class as their clients and, thus (as Primoratz puts it), “inequality between the transacting parties is weak or nonexistent.”167 (Some call girls make $5500 an hour, for example.)168 Through their prostitution, then, these call girls do not appear to treat themselves as of less social value or importance relative to their male, patriarchal counterparts. (The previous discussion of how engaging in an act with someone primarily and explicitly for money seems to be rooted in one’s own respect for one’s rational moral agency, and the payment for one’s services appears to accord respect to one’s rational moral agency, is worth recalling here.) This is even more apparent when such call girls work as dominatrixes. As dominatrixes, their work involves treating, not themselves as of less social value or importance, but their clients as of less social value or importance. Indeed, so it is with many call girls who do not work as dominatrixes. According to one of the largest studies of client interactions with call girls, men played the subordinate in half the cases studied.169 Hence Weitzer’s conclusion that “[c]lients use their economic power to buy sex, but they do not necessarily enact domination in the course of their sexual interactions.”170 Of course, one could argue (as do sociologists Annick Prieur and Arnhild Taksdal) that when the client plays the subordinate role, his

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“subordination” is specious on the grounds that, despite playing the role of the subordinate, the man remains dominant.171 For it is he, not the prostitute, who has the final say when it comes to what the prostitute will do during their interaction. But, as addressed previously, it is just not true that, in general, the client does, in fact, have the final say. As we have discussed, prostitution usually does not involve the selling of the transfer of unlimited power or mastery over the prostitute’s body, and it is standard practice for many prostitutes to forbid their clients from engaging in certain acts and to require their clients to agree to terminate sexual activity at their (the prostitutes’) discretion. Indeed (and again), the prostitutes O’Connell Davidson studied reportedly exercised more control over their working lives than did most other workers. (Recall, if you will, O’Connell Davidson’s claim that one of those prostitutes, Desiree, “dictates the limits and terms of their interactions.”) As one former prostitute, Debra, summarizes the power dynamic that obtained between herself and her clients, “[W]hen I turned a trick, I did it the way I wanted to. I was in control. I was the boss. I didn’t allow tricks to touch my genitals and I fucked them in my hand. I had a certain way that I tricked and if they didn’t want to trick that way they could leave.”172 Another, Krystal, summarizes the power dynamic this way, “When you walk through that door you are in control, not them. I do not do any position that I do not want to do, in fact they don’t even get the choice because I will say; ‘Right let’s start with a bit of doggy then,’ or I’ll get on top. I have done all sorts but I don’t do the missionary position.”173 Still another, Lorraine, summarizes it this way: “I’m very much in control, as soon as I get into that position, into their territory I take over, so they feel uncomfortable, if you like, in their own territory. Gives me a bit more control.”174 In short, that the client has the final say in what the prostitute will do during their interaction and, in that respect, is dominant is simply not the case, generally speaking. To be sure, some clients might (attempt to) treat prostitutes as if they have the final say. But their doing so does not make it so. Some scholars would respond to the preceding by arguing that even if some prostitutes avoid being treated as of less social value or importance relative to their male, patriarchal counterparts while providing their prostitutional services, they do not do so while being prostitutes. As Primoratz describes this view, prostitution “both expresses and reinforces certain deeply entrenched assumptions about men, women, and sex that have significant and pernicious repercussions,” including the assumptions that men are naturally dominant and that sex with men harms women.175

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Similarly, Kuo describes it thus: “What the prostitute is selling … is the acceptance of patriarchy. The prostitute is paid for not just acceptance of but reveling in her own social subjugation, in accordance with the patriarchal fantasies of her clients.”176 On this view, to be a prostitute is, by its very nature, to not only treat oneself, but to be complicit in the treatment of all women, as of less social value or importance relative to their male, patriarchal counterparts, even if one is not so treated while providing one’s prostitutional services. But the claims that men are naturally dominant, that sex with men harms women, that what the prostitute is selling is the acceptance of patriarchy, that what is paid for is the prostitute’s reveling in her own social subjugation, and so on are empirical in nature. The question, then, is whether there is empirical evidence indicating that they are true. Naturally, there is empirical evidence indicating that some of these claims are true for some prostitutes and, with them, some instances of prostitution. But these empirical claims are alleged to be true for all (or, at least, most) prostitutes and, in turn, all or most instances of prostitution. So, again, is there empirical evidence indicating that the latter is so? I am not aware of any. Indeed, if anything, I am aware of empirical evidence indicating that the latter is not so. To wit, according to one study on prostitution, though some of its evidence indicated that some clients held derogatory views of prostitutes, the majority of its evidence failed to indicate that this was true of all or even most clients.177 Still others would respond to the preceding by arguing—not that to be a prostitute is, by its very nature, to be treated as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts—but that to engage in heterosexual sex is, by its very nature, to be treated as such. In other words, they would argue that heterosexual sex is inherently patriarchal. As Blithe et al. summarize this view, “Famous anti-sex feminist scholars Andrea Dworkin and Catharine MacKinnon believe that men see all women as ‘whores’ and that this view underlies men’s assumptions that dominating women is acceptable and, in fact, a basic male instinct. Some anti-sex feminists believe that for a woman to have sex with any man is to allow him to gain control and domination over her. By this logic, male-­ female sex is always oppressive.”178 But that men (whether “men” is understood to be referring to all men or even just most men) see all women as “whores,” that they assume that dominating women is acceptable and a basic male instinct, and that when any woman has sex with any man she allows him to gain control and domination over her are all empirical claims. And, as above, empirical evidence indicating that these claims

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are true is lacking. What’s more, they seem to be patently false, at least on their face. In addition, even if one grants that heterosexual sex is, in fact, inherently patriarchal, it would not follow that prostitutional sex (as defined here) is any more patriarchal than unpaid heterosexual sex—that it is the “ultimate expression of patriarchal male privilege,” as Dworkin and other anti-sex feminists believe.179 And if prostitution is not, in fact, any more patriarchal than unpaid heterosexual sex, then neither is it any more morally problematic on patriarchal grounds. In other words, at worst, prostitution is morally problematic on patriarchal grounds to the same extent that unpaid heterosexual sex is. Accordingly, if the latter is not (very) or at all morally problematic on patriarchal grounds, then neither is the former. The question, then, is whether there is any empirical evidence indicating that, generally speaking, prostitutional sex is, in fact, more patriarchal than unpaid sex. And there does not appear to be any empirical evidence that indicates this. If anything, empirical evidence exists suggesting that prostitutional sex is not more patriarchal than unpaid sex. As Kuo writes, “Because men generally have considerably more unpaid sexual experiences than paid ones, and because women act out patriarchal erotic values and fantasies in all heterosexuality to a greater or lesser degree, it is far from apparent that prostitution is a more egregious contributor to the support of sexist sexuality.”180 And certainly in one respect it is not a more egregious contributor to sexist sexuality, namely, with respect to what Pateman previously referred to as the “law of male sex-right”—the sexist view that men have a right to have unpaid sex with women.181 Indeed, some sex-­ positive feminists have argued that prostitutes who, through their prostitution, take ownership over and explore their sexuality might thereby be combatting patriarchy.182 Regarding some instances of such treatment being systemic in nature, if, as some of the aforementioned feminist scholars contend, prostitution is, in fact, a “construction of male supremacy” and the “absolute embodiment of patriarchal male privilege,” and if what the prostitute is selling is truly “the acceptance of patriarchy”—in other words, if prostitution is, at bottom, a function of patriarchy—then the prostitute’s treatment of herself as of less social value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts is systemic in nature, at least in a more general sense of the word “systemic” (e.g., “fundamental to a predominant social, economic, or political practice”).183 Furthermore, if these things are, in fact, the case, then every female (prostitute or other) who plays by the patriarchal rules,

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as it were, treats herself as of less social value or importance relative to her male, patriarchal counterparts. And her doing so is a function of patriarchy and thereby systemic—again, at least in a more general sense of “systemic.” Finally, with regard to some instances of such treatment being due to something other than the prostitute’s prostitution, prostitution is not, of course, the only activity through which one can treat oneself as of less value or importance relative one’s male, patriarchal counterparts. Another activity through which one can do so is adhering to patriarchal religions (e.g., patriarchal versions of the Abrahamic religions) and/or participating in patriarchal religious ceremonies (e.g., worshipping at patriarchal churches, synagogues, and mosques). Another is through working for patriarchal organizations (e.g., the aforementioned churches, synagogues, and mosques; schools such as Liberty University and Bob Jones University; certain military and paramilitary organizations). Yet another is through dating or marrying someone with patriarchal tendencies. And there is empirical evidence indicating that some prostitutes treat themselves as of less value or importance relative their male, patriarchal counterparts through the last of these things.184 And, given that more than half the world’s population adheres to one of the Abrahamic religions, it seems very likely to me that some of them do so through the first of these activities.185 To summarize, however common it may or may not be, there appears to be no empirical evidence which settles whether, in general, prostitutes treat themselves as of less social value or importance relative to their male, patriarchal counterparts. And though empirical evidence exists showing that in some cases they do, there also is empirical evidence indicating that in some cases they do not. On P2 Is it the case that being a subordination of oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., is subordinating oneself to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts nonconsequentially immoral)? Following Margaret Jane Radin, I am inclined to think that there is a difference between merely subordinating oneself to another and immorally subordinating oneself to another, and I am also inclined to think that some instances of subordination—even treating oneself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts—are morally permissible (not to be confused with “morally

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commendable,” to be clear).186 To see this, it helps to begin by considering the reason why one is treating oneself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts. If, for instance, one does so because one’s male, patriarchal counterparts are socially (i.e., societally, politically, economically, professionally, and/or familially) privileged, then it seems that treating oneself so is—or, at least, can be—morally permissible. And it seems this way to me since treating oneself so in this particular context resembles another type of act that is, as I see it, morally permissible, all else being equal, namely, self-defense. In short, when a female treats herself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts when said counterparts are socially privileged, then she is—or, at least, can be—doing so as an act of self-defense of sorts. And acting in self-defense is morally permissible, everything else being equal—again, or so it seems to me. Exactly what part of herself she is defending can vary, naturally, ranging from her reputation to her very life. In any case, treating herself in this way and under these conditions does not strike me as immoral; rather, it strikes me as an instance of the morally permissible act of self-defense. This is not to say that she ought, morally speaking, to resign herself to defending herself in this way. Indeed, a compelling moral case for not engaging in such self-defense and, instead, pushing back against the patriarchal norm could be, and has been, made. It is only to say that, when a female defends herself in this way under said conditions, her doing so strikes me as morally permissible. What if, instead, one treats oneself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts, not as an act of self-­ defense, but as an extension of one’s sincere belief that males are inherently more socially valuable and important than females? Is this an act one has no moral right to perform? Not in every case, I am inclined to think. To be sure, the underlying belief—that males are inherently more socially valuable and important than females—is false, or so I would argue. But, in and of itself, the falsity of the belief does not entail that one’s acting on it is immoral or even morally criticizable. One might sincerely believe (as Raëlians do) that humans were brought into existence by extraterrestrial aliens via cloning and act accordingly (e.g., arguing against the theory of evolutionary by natural selection, attempting to contact the alien species who created us, etc.).187 The mere falsity of one’s belief, however, does not entail that one’s acting on it is immoral (e.g., acting on the belief that the sum of two and two is five is not immoral, all else being equal.) If treating oneself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male,

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patriarchal counterparts is to be immoral, then, it appears it must be because of an immoral-making property that is not identified with the falsity of the belief from which it flows. And what might that be? That treating oneself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts is immoral in and of itself does not strike me as either obvious or intuitive, any more so than that treating oneself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s female counterparts is immoral in and of itself is obvious or intuitive. That it is immoral due to how such treatment affects others strikes me as more promising. To motivate this, let’s change the gender roles and value judgments. What if (à la patriarchy) a male treats himself and other males as of more social value or importance relative to his female counterparts and does so as an extension of his sincere belief that males are inherently more socially valuable and important than females? Is this immoral? In this case, it seems to me that it is. But it seems this way to me, not merely because his underlying belief (that males are inherently more socially valuable and important than females) is false, but because of the negative effects his believing so has on females, both those with whom he directly interacts and at least some of those with whom he does not. So, again, that treating oneself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts is immoral due to how such treatment affects others strikes me as more promising. But it also opens the theoretical and, perhaps in some cases, practical door to at least some cases of such treatment not involving any immoral-making effects (e.g., in cases where she who treats herself so does so in a context where the only other person affected by her doing so is a patriarch himself). Additionally, even when treating oneself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts is, in fact, immoral, it does not follow that the one who does so is wholly morally responsible for doing so. And, as with the previous arguments, a case can be made (à la Reiman’s argument) for at least some prostitutes not being wholly morally responsible for the immoral act (ex hypothesi) of treating themselves as of less social value or importance relative to their male, patriarchal counterparts. Again, Raymond and other radical feminists would no doubt agree. What’s more, similar to the Exploitation Argument, one of the most popular nonconsequentialist reason for thinking that treating oneself as of less social value or importance relative to one’s male, patriarchal counterparts is immoral is that such treatment involves degrading—specifically, objectifying—oneself. Accordingly, the plausibility of this reason turns on the plausibility of the immorality of objectifying oneself. And, as discussed

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above, on neither the Kantian nor the new natural law understanding of “objectify” (specifically, “instrumentalize”) is it clear that objectifying oneself is immoral. There is more one could say about the Patriarchal Subordination Argument, of course. But this will have to suffice. Nevertheless, given what has been covered here, it appears that it does not succeed in establishing that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

Conclusion Nonreligious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution fail to establish that prostitution intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property—or so I have argued here. In the next chapter, I will attempt to determine whether religious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution succeed in establishing this.

Notes 1. For more on this way of determining another’s intention, see David Boonin, A Defense of Abortion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 214ff. 2. Vick Funari, quoted in Teela Sanders, Sex Work: A Risky Business (New York: Routledge, 2008), 37. 3. See Fred Feldman, Pleasure and the Good Life: Concerning the Nature, Varieties, and Plausibility of Hedonism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 2, 56–57, 79–80. 4. Teela Sanders, Maggie O’Neill, and Jane Pitcher, Prostitution: Sex Work, Policy and Politics (Los Angeles: SAGE Publications, 2009), 79–81. See also Alison Gerard, JaneMaree Maher, and Sharon Pickering, Sex Work: Labour, Mobility and Sexual Services (London: Routledge, 2012), 55–62. 5. Cecilie Høigård and Liv Finstad, Backstreets: Prostitution, Money and Love (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992), 95. 6. Anonymous client quoted in Janice G. Raymond, Not a Choice, Not a Job: Exposing the Myths about Prostitution and the Global Sex Trade (Washington, DC: Potomac Books, 2013), 42. 7. Raymond, 42, 2013. 8. “Work,” Oxford Dictionary, available at https://www.lexico.com/en/ definition/work, accessed Dec. 2019; “Work,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, and https://www.merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/work, accessed Dec. 2019.

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9. Mitch Earleywine, “Pot Politics: Prohibition and Morality,” in Cannabis— Philosophy for Everyone, edited by Dale Jacquette and Fritz Allhoff (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), 197. See also Mitch Earleywine, Understanding Marijuana: A New Look at the Scientific Evidence (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 227. 10. Benjamin Gibbs, “Higher and Lower Pleasures,” Philosophy Vol. 61 (1986): 41. 11. John Stuart Mill, “Utilitarianism,” in Exploring Ethics: An Introductory Anthology, 3rd edition, edited by Steven Cahn (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 115–116. 12. Jeremy Bentham, The Works of Jeremy Bentham, Vol. 2, edited by J. Browring (Edinburgh: Tait, 1843), 253. 13. As Steven D. Hales puts it, “Polling people to see which pleasures they prefer will tell you only which is in fact desired. It will not tell you which pleasures are desirable” (Steven D. Hales, “Mill v. Miller, or Higher and Lower Pleasures,” in Beer and Philosophy: The Unexamined Beer Isn’t Worth Drinking, edited by Steven D. Hales [New York: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007], 102). 14. This example is based on a comment from Michael Tooley. 15. Peter de Marneffe, Liberalism and Prostitution (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 13. 16. Høigård and Finstad, 90–91, 1992. 17. Høigård and Finstad, 90–91, 1992. 18. De Marneffe, 21, 2010. 19. De Marneffe, 19, 2010. 20. Sarah Jane Blithe, Anna Wiederhold Wolfe, and Breanna Mohr, Sex and Stigma: Stories of Everyday Life in Nevada’s Legal Brothels (New York: New York University Press, 2019), 154 21. Angela, one of the prostitutes featured in said literature, describes her work as a prostitute as “like playing a part.” Another, Joy, described it in the following terms: “[Y]ou pretend to act interested and that’s draining.” Yet another prostitute, Sara, described her work as a prostitute as “just acting.” (For all three quotations, see JaneMaree Maher, Sharon Pickering, and Alison Gerard, Sex Work: Labour, Mobility and Sexual Services [New York: Routledge, 2013], 63–64.) 22. Maher et  al., 63–64, 2013. One example is Teela Sanders’s “‘It’s Just Acting’: Sex Workers’ Strategies for Capitalizing on Sexuality,” Gender, Work and Organization Vol. 12, No. 4 (July 2005): 319–342. 23. Blithe et al., 156, 2019. 24. Maher et al., 63–64, 2009. 25. Maher et al., 63–64, 2009.

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26. Elizabeth Bernstein, “The Meaning of the Purchase: Desire, Demand and the Commerce of Sex,” Ethnography Vol 2, No. 3 (2001): 402. 27. Høigård and Finstad, 91, 1992. 28. Høigård and Finstad, 91, 1992. 29. Høigård and Finstad, 91, 1992. 30. Immanuel Kant, “On a Supposed Right to Lie from Altruistic Motives,” in Critique of Practical Reason and Other Writings in Moral Philosophy, edited and translated by Lewis White Beck (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1949), 347, emphases mine. 31. I cannot help but observe that, despite his aversion to the consequentialist arguments, Kant seems to offer one in the preceding passage. For an alternate reading of this passage, see Christine Korsgaard, “The Right to Lie: Kant on Dealing with Evil,” Philosophy & Public Affairs Vol. 15, No. 4 (Autumn 1986): 325–349. 32. By “rational,” Kant seems to have in mind both instrumental rationality (which consists in choosing the correct means of fulfilling one’s desires, acquiring one’s needs, achieving one’s goals, etc.) and epistemic rationality (which consists in forming and/or acquiring beliefs in truth-indicative or conducive ways). That he does so is evidenced by his distinction between contradictions in conception and contradictions in will. 33. See, for example, Christine Korsgaard, “The Reasons We Can Share,” Social Philosophy and Policy Vol. 24 (1993): 40; Piers Benn, Ethics (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1998), 95; Stephen Darwall, Philosophical Ethics (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1998), 164; and Roger J.  Sullivan, An Introduction to Kant’s Ethics (Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 76–77. 34. See Immanuel Kant: Practical Philosophy, translated and edited by Mary Gregor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 429–430. 35. Derek Parfit, On What Matters, Vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 178. 36. Immanuel Kant, “Metaphysical Principles of Virtue,” in Ethical Philosophy, translated by James W. Ellington (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1983), 436. 37. Matthew Hutson, “Living a Lie: We Deceive Ourselves to Better Deceive Others,” Scientific American (April 4, 2017), available at https://www. scientificamerican.com/article/living-­a -­l ie-­w e-­d eceive-­o urselves-­t o-­ better-­deceive-­others/, accessed April 2020. 38. Parfit, 178–179, 2011. 39. Even when a marriage and family are not at stake, however, there can be cases of a prostitute deceiving her client wherein the deception is immoral, or so it seems to me. I have in mind cases where, though unmarried and without family, the client is deceived into thinking that the prostitute

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thinks fondly of and cares about him and, in turn, he thinks about and treats her in intimate and lavish ways. One prostitute, Kate, describes such prostitutes as follows: “[Some] girls, they will use the system to [trick] people … Like the girls will say, ‘That guy is easy for me, easy target. I can ask [for] whatever I want’ and the guy goes and spends all his funds because girls are lying that they are in love or the guys are obsessed with the girls and they will spend whatever they ask for” (Blithe et al., 103, 2019). In this vein, consider the case of Kari, a prostitute who describes her relationship with two of her clients as follows: “Last summer I placed my usual ad in the paper about young woman with own apartment seeks well-off man. I got 40–50 answers…. Now, half a year later I have two regular customers from that ad. They pay me 500–1000 each time. They’re easy to fool; they let me convince them. I’m maybe going to get a car out of one of them. They’re proud, they feel like they’re supporting a mistress. But those old, wrinkled men make me nauseous” (Høigård and Finstad, 55, 1992). My guess is that at least one, and probably both, of these clients would not think about and treat Kari in the intimate and lavish ways that they do—deeming Kari worthy of helping, being proud of helping her, paying her lots of money, and so on—were they not so fooled. As Høigård and Finstad observe, some clients stop being clients once they “see through the game” (Høigård and Finstad, 91, 1992). Indeed, that Kari feels the need to fool them in order for them to think about and treat her in these ways indicates to me that she, too, believes this. Deception that results in the deceived thinking about and treating the deceiver in these ways strikes me as immoral, given (as before) the ­combination of the degree of the manipulation involved and its destructive effect on the client. 40. Veronica Monét, “No Girls Allowed at the Mustang Ranch,” Whores and Other Feminists, edited by Jill Nagle (New York: Routledge, 1997), 169. 41. Alison Bass, Getting Screwed: Sex Workers and the Law (Lebanon, NH: ForeEdge, 2015), 69–70. 42. As Stephen Darwall describes it, a moral virtue ethics is “a theory of what is worthy of distinctively moral esteem, that is, worthy of esteem as a moral agent” (Stephen Darwall [ed.], Virtue Ethics [Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2003], 2). 43. Rosalind Hursthouse, On Virtue Ethics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 28. See also Julia Driver, “Virtue Theory,” in Contemporary Debates in Normative ethical, edited by James Dreier (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 119. 44. For more on virtue and vice, see Rosalind Hursthouse, “Virtue Ethics,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at http://plato.stanford. edu/entries/ethics-­virtue/, accessed 2013.

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45. “Licentious,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/licentious, accessed Dec. 2019. 46. “Licentious,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/licentious, accessed Dec. 2019, and “Licentious,” Oxford Learner’s Dictionaries, available at https://www. oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/us/definition/english/licentious, accessed Dec. 2019. 47. For the first definition, see “Imprudent,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www.merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/imprudent, accessed Dec. 2019. 48. Rachel Moran, Paid For: My Journey Through Prostitution (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2013), 124. 49. De Marneffe, 35, 2010. 50. De Marneffe, 15–16, 2010. 51. Liz Highleyman (a.k.a., Mistress Veronika Frost), “Professional Dominance,” in Whores and Other Feminists, 148, 1997. 52. Sunny Carter, “A Most Useful Tool,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, edited by Frédérique Delacoste and Priscilla Alexander (Pittsburgh, PA: Cleis Press, 1987), 165. 53. As they write, For many sex workers, their decision to enter sex work is based on considerations of the limited alternative options available to them, particularly if they have few skills and thus only access to lower-paid work. Those with skills, qualifications and a history of work in the mainstream employment sector also make rational “cost-benefit” choices to enter into the sex industry to earn more money for less time. Earning a minimum wage for many hours even in a semi-skilled profession is less favourable than working two or three days a week for greater pay. The pressures of single parenthood, living on low welfare benefits and pressures of debt are also factors that can spark trained women to turn to the sex industry as an option for making financial profit within a shorter amount of time … there are examples of women who have left lower-paid professional jobs or have started to work in the industry to supplement other income, for example, to pay off debts or to support college and university education (Sanders et al., 39, 2009). See also Lenore Kuo Prostitution Policy: Revolutionizing Practice through a Gendered Perspective (New York: New  York University Press, 2002), 69 and Maggie O’Neill, “The Aestheticization of the Whore in Contemporary Society: Desire, the Body, Self and Society,” in Body and Organization Workshop (Keele University, 1996).

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54. Wendy Chapkis, Live Sex Acts: Women Performing Erotic Labour (New York: Routledge, 1997), 67. 55. Helga Kuhse and Peter Singer, “Introduction,” in Bioethics: An Anthology, 2nd edition, edited by Helga Kuhse and Peter Singer (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 5. 56. Rosalind Hursthouse and Glen Pettigrove, “Virtue Ethics,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, accessed Dec. 2020, available at https://plato. stanford.edu/entries/ethics-­virtue/. 57. See Darwall, 2ff, 2003. 58. Kuhse and Singer, 5, 2006. 59. Indeed, some contend that virtue ethics’ giving logical priority to human virtue and vice over moral rightness and immorality may lead to immoral behavior at times. As Justin Oakley writes, “[M]any writers argue that people with very virtuous characters can sometimes be led by a virtuous character trait to act immorally. For example … a compassionate father might decide to donate most of the family’s savings to a worthwhile charity, without sufficiently thinking through how his action is likely to result in severe impoverishment for his family in the long term” (Justin Oakley, “A Virtue Ethics Approach,” in A Companion to Bioethics, 95, 2006). 60. Raja Halwani, Philosophy of Love, Sex, and Marriage: An Introduction (New York: Routledge, 2010), 97, emphasis mine. 61. This is a slightly modified rendering of the original dialogue. For the latter, see Rob Lovering, “The Virtues of Hunting: A Reply to Jensen,” Philosophy in the Contemporary World Vol. 13, No. 1 (2006): 68. 62. Stephen Buckle, “Natural Law,” in A Companion to Ethics, edited by Peter Singer (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 1993), 161. 63. As Mark Murphy puts it, “If any normative ethical is a theory of natural law, it is Aquinas’s” (Mark Murphy, “The Natural Law Tradition in Ethics,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at http://plato. stanford.edu/entries/natural-­law-­ethics/, accessed 2013). 64. Patrick Lee, “The New Natural Law Theory,” in The Cambridge Companion to New Natural Law Ethics, Kindle edition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 73. 65. Russ Shafer-Landau, The Fundamentals of Ethics, 2nd edition (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), 75. 66. By “rational,” they seem to have in mind both instrumental and epistemic rationality in mind, with an emphasis on the former. 67. Robert P.  George, In Defense of Natural Law (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 45; Lee, 83, 2019. 68. See Murphy, “The Natural Law Tradition in Ethics,” http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/natural-­law-­ethics/. See also Andrew Koppleman, “Homosexuality and Infertility,” in The Philosophy of Sex: Contemporary

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Readings, 5th edition, eds. Alan Soble and Nicholas Power (Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2008), 142. 69. T.  D. Chappell, Understanding Human Goods (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1995). 70. John Finnis, Moral Absolutes: Tradition, Revision, and Truth (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1991), 54–55. 71. Lee, 77–78, 2019. 72. As one prostitute puts it, “I use the room as a workout. I did a double with one girl once and we walked out of the room and she said, ‘I don’t fucking believe you.’ And I went, ‘What do you mean?’ She goes, ‘Everything you did in that room was an exercise.’ And I’m like, ‘Yeah, squat on their dick and grab the arse cheeks in.’ [Laughter]” Maher et al., 97–98, 2013). 73. John Finnis, “Marriage: A Basic and Exigent Good,” The Monist Vol. 91, No. 3/4 (2008): 388. 74. John Finnis, “The Immoral of Homosexuality,” in The Philosophy of Sex: Contemporary Readings, 136, 2008. 75. Another prominent new natural law theorist, Robert P. George, understands “marriage” as follows: “Marriage is the union of a man and a woman who make a permanent and exclusive commitment to each other of the type that is naturally (inherently) fulfilled by bearing and rearing children together. The spouses seal (consummate) and renew their union by conjugal acts—acts that constitute the behavioral part of the process of reproduction, thus uniting them as a reproductive unit. Marriage is valuable in itself, but its inherent orientation to the bearing and rearing of children contributes to its distinctive structure, including norms of monogamy and fidelity. This link to the welfare of children also helps explain why marriage is important to the common good and why the state should recognize and regulate it” (Ryan T.  Anderson, Robert George, and Sherif Girgis, “What is Marriage,” Harvard Journal of Law and Public Policy Vol. 34, No. 1 [2010], 246). 76. Robert P.  George and Gerard V.  Bradley, “Marriage and the Liberal Imagination,” The Georgetown Law Journal Vol. 84 (1995): 301–302. 77. Blithe et al., 99, 2019. 78. Blithe et al., 113, 2019. 79. Carter, 164, 1987. 80. Something can be extrinsically good in at least two different ways. It can be instrumentally good, in which case its goodness derives from the fact that through it something else that is good—whether intrinsically or extrinsically good—may be acquired. Money, or the possession thereof, is an example of something that is instrumentally good. Or it can be relationally good, in which case its goodness derives from the fact that it

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along with other things stand in relation to each other so as to produce something that is good. The various colors used in a good painting or the various notes in a good song are examples of things that are relationally good. 81. Shelly Kagan, Normative Ethics (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), 29. 82. It is not as puzzling—to me, at any rate—once one learns that many new natural law theorists either embrace or are strongly influenced by Catholicism. 83. Helga Kuhse, “Why Killing Is Not Always Worse—and Sometimes Better—Than Letting Die,” in Bioethics: An Anthology, 3rd edition, edited by Helga Kuhse, Udo Schuklenk, and Peter Singer (Malden, MA: Wiley Blackwell, 2016), 258–259. 84. Though not directed at the basic good of life as understood by new natural law theorists, the following captures much of my sentiment in this regard: “[Y]ou can imagine someone who thinks that being alive per se is so incredibly valuable that no matter how horrible the contents are, the grand total will always be positive. It’s as though being alive is infinitely valuable in comparison to questions about the contents. We could call this the fantastic container theory … I suppose that label gives away where I want to come down on this. I find the fantastic container theory fantastic in the sense of being incredible, unbelievable. I simply can’t bring myself to believe it” (Shelly Kagan, Death [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012], 260–261). 85. Alfonso Gómez-Lobo, Morality and the Human Goods: An Introduction to Natural Law Ethics (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2002), 14. 86. For further motivation of this point, consider that, were the reader charged with writing a dystopian novel, play, or screenplay, I suspect the reader would write one featuring lives that were devoid—not of necessarily friendships, family relations, aesthetic experiences, instances of work and play, and so on—but of pleasure. And to the extent that friendships, family relations, aesthetic experiences, and so on were featured in the novel or screenplay, they would be pleasureless friendships, family relations, aesthetic experiences, and so on. 87. Gómez-Lobo, 14, 2002. 88. Gómez-Lobo, 32, 2002. 89. George, 143, 1999. 90. George, 143, 1999. 91. In fact, for what it’s worth, I am inclined to think that many of the aforementioned goods—such as friendship, achievement, and aesthetic experience—are merely instrumentally good. 92. George, 149, 1999.

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93. The language of “anatomical possibility” comes from Jonathan Rauch, “For Better or Worse?” New Republic (May 6, 1996), available at https:// newrepublic.com/article/103297/for-­better-­or-­worse-­gay-­straight-­ marriage, accessed 2017. 94. I use the verb “fire” here, not to suggest that coital sex is literally or even figuratively violent, but simply to present as strong an analogy as possible. 95. Koppleman raises this possibility as well. See Andrew Koppleman, “Homosexual Conduct,” in Same Sex: Debating the Ethics, Science, and Culture of Homosexuality, edited by John Corvino (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1999), 48. 96. Rauch, “For Better or Worse?” available at https://newrepublic.com/ article/103297/for-­better-­or-­worse-­gay-­straight-­marriage. 97. To motivate this, in the actual world, male seahorses, pipefish, and sea dragons are the ones to get pregnant and give birth. 98. See Shelia Jeffreys, The Idea of Prostitution (New Melbourne, Australia: Spinifex Press, 1997), 271. 99. See Martha Nussbaum, Sex and Social Justice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 218 and Margaret Jane Radin, Contested Commodities: The Trouble with Trade in Sex, Body Parts, and Other Things (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 163. 100. Some might contend that these meanings of “instrumentalize” ultimately reduce to the same idea, of course. And though I am not necessarily opposed to such a view, I discuss each understanding separately given their surface grammar and underlying theoretical differences, among other things. 101. See, for example, Christine Korsgaard, “The Reasons We Can Share,” Social Philosophy and Policy Vol. 24 (1993): 40; Piers Benn, Ethics (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1998), 95; Darwall, Philosophical Ethics, 164, 1998; and Sullivan, 76–77, 1994. 102. See Nagle (ed.), 1997. 103. Blithe et al. 157, 2019. 104. Sanders, 122, 2008. 105. Or take Kimora, a prostitute whose mother initially did not approve of her prostitution. Over time, however, Kimora’s mother told her how proud she was of Kimora, saying “You are my heroine for being able to live your life the way you want to” (Bass, 74, 2015). In other words, her mother claimed to be proud of the way in which Kimora exercised her rational moral agency and, in doing so, accorded respect to it. With tears in her eyes, Kimora shared that this “made me feel so good” (Bass, 74, 2015). Given what her mother had said and, with it, the respect conferred upon Kimora’s rational moral agency, Kimora’s reaction indicates to me that she desires that her rational moral agency be respected. As with Kelly, Kimora makes no mention of her rational moral agency. But given what

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one’s rational moral agency is, it is similarly safe to say that her reaction occurs against the backdrop of it. There is empirical evidence indicating, then, that some prostitutes do indeed desire that their rational moral agency be respected. 106. See Priscilla Alexander, “Interview with Nell,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, 54–55, 1987. 107. Igor Primoratz, Ethics and Sex (New York: Routledge, 1999), 101. 108. Immanuel Kant, Lectures on Ethics, translated by Louis Infield (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 1963), 164. 109. Tom W.  Smith, “American Sexual Behavior: Trends, Socio-Demographic Differences, and Risk Behavior,” GSS Topical Report No. 25 (2006), National Opinion Research Council (University of Chicago), available at https:// www.norc.org/PDFs/Publications/AmericanSexualBehavior2006.pdf, accessed May 2020. 110. See Natasha Tracy, “Rape Victim Stories: Real Stories of Being Raped,” Health Place, available at https://www.healthyplace.com/abuse/rape/ rape-­victim-­stories-­real-­stories-­of-­being-­raped, accessed March 2020. 111. David Wharton, “By Detailing the Horrific Events of Her Gang Rape, One Woman Fights to End Sexual Violence on College Campuses,” Los Angeles Times (Feb. 7, 2019), available at https://www.latimes.com/ sports/more/la-­s p-­c ol1-­b renda-­t racy-­2 0190207-­h tmlstor y.html, accessed March 2020. 112. Halwani, 204, 2010. 113. Carol Pateman, “Defending Prostitution: Charges Against Ericsson,” Ethics Vol 93, No. 3 (April 1983), 563. 114. “Own,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www.merriam-­ webster.com/dictionary/own, accessed Jan. 2020. 115. “Own,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www.merriam-­ webster.com/dictionary/own, accessed Jan. 2020, emphasis mine; “Property,” Dictionary.com, available at https://www.dictionary.com/ browse/property, accessed Jan. 2020. 116. Kuo, 42, 2002. 117. Sanders, 41, 2008; Cécile Fabre, Whose Body is it Anyway? Justice and the Integrity of the Person (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 160. Or, as Margot St. James and Pricilla Alexander, co-directors of sex workers’ rights organization COYOTE (Call Off Your Tired Old Ethics), put it, “A rather profound misconception that people have about prostitution is that it is ‘sex for sale,’ or that a prostitute is selling her body. In reality, a prostitute is being paid for her time and skill, the price being dependent on both variables. To make a great distinction between being paid for an hour’s sexual services, or an hour’s typing, or an hour’s acting on stage is to make a distinction that is not there” (Margot St. James and Pricilla Alexander, quoted in Valerie Jeness, Making It Work: The Prostitutes’

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Rights Movement in Perspective [New York: Aldine De Gruyter, 1993], 68). 118. Orlando Patterson, Slavery and Social Death (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1982), 1. 119. See Eileen McLeod, Women Working: Prostitution Now (London and Canberra: Croon Helm, 1982), 38–42. 120. Sanders, 45, 2008. 121. Julia O’Connell Davidson, “Prostitution and the Contours of Control,” in Sexual Cultures: Communities, Values and Intimacy, edited by Jeffrey Weeks and Janet Holland (Basingstoke: Macmillan Press, 1996), 183. 122. O’Connell Davidson, 182, 1996. 123. Patterson, 24, 1982. 124. Martha Nussbaum, “‘Whether from Reason or Prejudice’: Taking Money for Bodily Services,” in The Philosophy of Sex: Contemporary Readings, 377, 2008; Sanders et al., 26, 2009. 125. See Gail Pheterson, A Vindication of the Rights of Whores (Seattle: Seal Press, 1989), 146. 126. See Kuo, 43, 2002. See also Nussbaum’s “colonoscopy artist” in “‘Whether from Reason or Prejudice’: Taking Money for Bodily Services,” 374, 2008. 127. See Kuo, 43, 2002. 128. Germain Grisez, The Way of the Lord Jesus, Vol. 1 (Quincy, IL: Franciscan Press, 1993), 124. 129. Robert P.  George and Christopher Tollefsen, Embryo: A Defense of Human Life (New York: Doubleday, 2008), 71. 130. George, In Defense of Natural Law, 163, 1999, emphasis mine. 131. Carol Pateman, “What’s Wrong with Prostitution?” in Prostitution and Pornography: Philosophical Debate about the Sex Industry, 68–69, 2006, first and third emphases mine. Elizabeth Anderson makes similar claims about prostitution. Referring to the prostitute and the client, she contends that “[e]ach party values the other only instrumentally, not intrinsically. But the nature of the good exchanged implies a particular degradation of the prostitute. The customer’s cash payment is impersonal and fully alienable. In paying the prostitute he yields no power over his person to her. The prostitute sells her sexuality, which is necessarily embodied in her person.” (Elizabeth Anderson, Value in Ethics and Economics [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995], 154). 132. Yolanda Estes, “Prostitution: A Subjective Position,” in The Philosophy of Sex: Contemporary Readings, 357, 2008. Another prostitute puts it succinctly as follows: “I’ve learned not to be there when they touch me … I tell myself that they’re not really touching me” (Judith Edelstein, “In the Massage Parlor,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, 63, 1987).

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133. For instance, even if selves are inseparable from bodies, is there a necessary, qualitative connection between treatment of one’s body and treatment of oneself (i.e., if treatment of one’s body involves quality X, does that necessitate quality-X treatment of oneself)? 134. Høigård and Finstad, 64, 1992. 135. Rosie Summers, “Prostitution,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, 118, 1987. 136. Blithe et al., 119, 2019. 137. Raja Halwani, “Virtue Ethics, Casual Sex, and Objectification,” in Philosophy of Sex: Contemporary Readings, 5th edition, 343. 138. Arlie Hochschild, The Managed Heart: Commercialization of Human Feeling (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 6. 139. Robert P.  George and Gerard V.  Bradley, “Marriage and the Liberal Imagination,” The Georgetown Law Journal (1995): 316. 140. George and Bradley, 318, 1995. 141. George and Bradley, 305, 1995, emphasis mine. 142. David Boonin, “Reductio ad Absurdum Objections and the Dis-­ Integration Argument against Merely Instrumental Sex,” Journal of Social Philosophy Vol. 44, No. 3 (2013): 239. 143. Boonin, 245, 2013. 144. See Nussbaum, 374ff, 2008. 145. Debra Satz, Why Some Things Should Not Be for Sale: The Moral Limits of Markets (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012), Chapter 6. 146. Alan Wertheimer, Exploitation (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 16. 147. “Unfair,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, accessed Jan. 2020, available at https://www.merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/unfair. 148. “Unfair,” Dictionary.com, available at https://www.dictionary.com/ browse/unfair, accessed Jan. 2020. 149. Blithe et al., 120, 2019. 150. Regarding having sex with a brothel manager, one prostitute writes of her brothel’s owner “constantly trying to have sex with you. If you don’t have sex with him, you basically don’t get treated like other girls that are having sex with him” (Bithe et al., 98, 2019). With respect to having sex with a police officer, one prostitute reports that she had sex with a vice officer after he told her that she would never be arrested by the vice department if she did. See Karen, “Police as Pimps,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, 58, 1987. Another prostitute, Barbara, reports similarly (see Carol Leigh, “Interview with Barbara,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, 170, 1987). 151. Igor Primoratz, Ethics and Sex (New York: Routledge, 1999), 101. 152. Priscilla Alexander, “Prostitution: A Difficult Issue for Feminists,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, 189, 1987.

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153. Kuo, 68, 2002. 154. Priscilla Alexander, “Why This Book?” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, 16, 1987. 155. Høigård and Finstad, 77, 1992. 156. Jeffreys, 144, 1997. See also Janice G.  Raymond, “Sexual and Reproductive Liberalism,” in The Sexual Liberals and the Attack on Feminism, edited by Dorchen Leidholdt and Janice G. Raymond (New York: Pergamon Press, 1990), 109. 157. Sanders, 38, 2008. 158. “Subject,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www. merriam-­w ebster.com/dictionar y/subject#:~:text=transitive%20 verb,under%20control%20or%20dominion%20%3A%20subjugate, accessed April 2020. 159. Following Kuo, I understand “patriarchy” as “the social organization that systematically and unjustifiably assigns subordinate status and power to women, relative to their male counterparts” (Kuo, 5, 2002). 160. “Subordination,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https:// www.merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/subordination, accessed Jan. 2020. 161. Satz, 133, 2012. And, as Kuo summarizes these other scholars’ view, “What the prostitute is selling … is the acceptance of patriarchy. The prostitute is paid for not just acceptance of but reveling in her own sexual subjugation in accord with the patriarchal fantasies of her clients. Millett and other feminists maintain that thus prostitution constitutes a propaganda tool for patriarchy that is a particularly egregious source of perpetuating women’s social subordination” (Kuo, 143–144, 2002). Other scholars have argued along similar lines (see Christine Overall, “What’s Wrong with Prostitution? Evaluating Sex Work,” Signs (Summer, 1992), 705–724; Kate Millett, “Prostitution: A Quarter for Female Voices,” in Woman in Sexist Society: Studies in Power and Powerlessness, edited by Vivian Gornick and Barbara K.  Moran (New York: Signet, 1971), 42; Jeffreys, Chapter 6, 1997. 162. Satz, 133, 2012. 163. Satz, 144, 2012. See also Carol Leigh, “Prostitution: A Difficult Case for Feminists,” in Sex Work: Writings by Women in the Sex Industry, 188, 1987. 164. Satz, 145, 2012. 165. Pateman, “What’s Wrong with Prostitution?” 68–70, 2006; Anderson, 154, 1995. 166. For instance, one of their stunts involves “abducting” Brad Pitt (with his permission) while he waited outside in a line to order food. The other people in the line believed that they had just witnessed a real, and terrifying, abduction.

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167. Igor Primoratz, “Prostitution,” in Sex from Plato to Paglia: A Philosophical Encyclopedia, Vol. 2, edited by Alan Soble (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2006), 854. 168. Staff, “Club Offers a More ‘Meaningful’ Life, Toronto Star (March 11, 2008), accessed Dec. 2020, available at https://www.thestar.com/ news/world/2008/03/11/club_offers_a_more_meaningful_life.html. 169. See Ronald Weitzer, Legalizing Prostitution: From Illicit Vice to Lawful Business (New York: New York University Press, 2012), 19–20. 170. Weitzer, 19–20, 2012. 171. Annick Prieur and Arnhild Taksdal, Ǻ Sette Pris På Kvinner; Mennsom Kjøper Sex (Oslo: Pax, 1989), 174–175. 172. Debra, quoted in Delacoste and Alexander, 94, 1987. 173. Sanders, 76, 2008. 174. Maher et al., 69–70, 2013. 175. Primoratz, 854, 2006. 176. Kuo, 143–144, 2002. 177. Sanders et al., 86, 2009. 178. Blithe et al., 35, 2019. See also Dworkin, Intercourse (New York: Free Press, 1987); Catherine MacKinnon, “Feminism, Marxism, Method, and the State: An Agenda for Theory,” Signs, Vol. 7, No. 3 (1982): 515–544; Catherine MacKinnon, Toward a Feminist Theory of the State (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989). 179. Blithe et al., 35, 2019. 180. Kuo, 145, 2002. 181. I owe this point to Michael Tooley. 182. Blithe et al., 38, 2019. 183. The first of the three quotations comes from Jeffreys, 183. Citations for the second and third can be found above. “Systemic,” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, available at https://www.merriam-­webster.com/dictionary/ systemic, accessed May 2020. 184. See, for example, Høigård and Finstad, 146ff, 1992. 185. Conrad Hackett and David McClendon, “Christians Remain World’s Largest Religious Group, But They Are Declining in Europe,” Fact Tank (April 5, 2017), available at https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-­ tank/2017/04/05/christians-­remain-­worlds-­largest-­religious-­group-­ but-­they-­are-­declining-­in-­europe/, accessed April 2020. 186. Radin, 157, 1996. 187. See https://www.rael.org/home. It is worth noting that, in some such cases (i.e., those involving religious indoctrination), it can be very difficult for one to see the falsity of one’s belief.

CHAPTER 5

Religious Arguments Against Prostitution

Introduction Thus far, I have critiqued nonreligious arguments against prostitution. In this chapter, I critique three religious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution. As religious, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of prostitution is derived from at least one religious claim. And as nonconsequentialist, they are arguments wherein a claim regarding the immorality of prostitution is derived from at least one nonconsequentialist moral claim and no consequentialist moral claims whatsoever. The importance of critiquing religious arguments against prostitution is a function of the significant role religion plays in some people’s moral condemnation of prostitution.1 Of course, there are many religions and, with them, many religious claims that could be used in religious arguments for the immorality of prostitution. In order to simplify things, I will rely on religious claims constitutive of just five religions, albeit religions that account for over half the world’s religious adherence: Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism. For a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that it is probably unnecessary for the average reader of this book, I will not provide an overview of these religions. For present purposes, it suffices to know that (i) constitutive of each of these religions is at least one claim that can be reasonably interpreted as a moral condemnation of prostitution, (ii) four of these religions (Judaism, Christianity, © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 R. Lovering, A Moral Defense of Prostitution, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-75863-9_5

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Islam, Hinduism) are typically understood to be theistic in nature while the fifth (Buddhism) is not, and (iii) religions that are theistic in nature involve belief in the existence of at least one deity.

A Challenge Facing Religious Arguments Against Prostitution Though religious arguments for the immorality of prostitution (or any other activity for that matter) face a number of challenges, most of them stem from the fact that they introduce questions and issues, not just of moral philosophy, but of the philosophy of religion as well. To see this, recall, if you will, that religious arguments are arguments wherein a claim regarding the moral permissibility or immorality of an act is derived from at least one religious claim. The conclusion of any religious argument, then, is only as good as the religious claims (among other claims) from which it is derived. For example, one religious argument to be addressed below, the Divine Command Argument, derives the conclusion that prostitution is immoral from the religious claims that, through prostitution, the prostitute violates the commands of sacred text T’s author, D, and that violating D’s commands is immoral. (“D” stands for a deity of one sort or another. Why these claims are stated formally will be addressed shortly.) The Divine Command Argument, then, is only as good as these two religious claims. To wit, if D does not exist and, thus, it is not true that, through prostitution, the prostitute violates the commands of sacred text T’s author, D, then the Divine Command Argument is unsound. Accordingly, the Divine Command Argument forces one to address questions such as: What reasons are there, if any, for thinking that D exists? What reasons are there, if any, for thinking that D does not exist? If there are reasons both for thinking that D exists and for thinking that D does not exist, which, if any, are stronger? Is D a logically possible entity? And so on. So, again, by raising a religious argument for the immorality of prostitution, one thereby introduces questions and issues constitutive of both moral philosophy and the philosophy of religion. Given this, a thorough critique of religious arguments for the immorality of prostitution involves diving deeply into each of these fields. But I forgo diving deeply into the philosophy of religion here since doing so adequately requires a lot more space than just one chapter in a book. (For those interested in diving so deeply, see the following endnote.)2 Accordingly, I ask merely that the reader keep in mind that, when it comes to religious arguments for the immorality of prostitution, their success or failure turns in part on

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the religious claims upon which they depend. And determining the truth values of the latter involves addressing questions and issues constitutive of the philosophy of religion, among other things.

The Five Religions on Prostitution Of the various ways in which one could attempt to determine whether Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism deem prostitution immoral, the most direct way is to consult their respective sacred or otherwise authoritative texts (e.g., the Hebrew Bible, the Bible [Old and New Testaments], the Qur’an, the Bhagavad Gita, the Tripitaka, etc.). Of course, the most direct way may not also be the best way to do so. For instance, it may be that the best way is to consult, not just each religion’s sacred texts, but commentaries on said texts. But doing the latter risks opening a Pandora’s box of establishing which commentaries and, with them, hermeneutical and exegetical methods for interpreting each of these texts is best. Consulting commentaries on each religion’s sacred texts is also unnecessary. For I will be proceeding as follows: if a given sacred text contains a passage that can be reasonably interpreted as morally condemning prostitution—with “reasonably interpreted” understood rather liberally—then I will assume for argument’s sake that prostitution is, in fact, morally condemned in said passage. (If this assumption is correct, then so much the better for the religious argument that invokes said passage; if it is not, then so much worse for it.) Beginning with Judaism, then, I will present hereafter one or two passages from at least one of each religion’s sacred texts in which the strongest and most explicit moral condemnations of prostitution are made. Note the focus on “strongest” and “most explicit.” This is due to the fact that one can also find passages in which a weak and/or implicit moral condemnation of prostitution is made—or, regarding implicit moral condemnations, at least what some commentators on these passages take to be implicit moral condemnations of prostitution. For example, some commentators list the following passage from the New Testament as one wherein a moral condemnation of prostitution is made: Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. (Galatians 5:19–21)

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As the reader can see, this passage does not explicitly mention prostitution. Accordingly, if it is to be understood as a passage wherein a moral condemnation of prostitution is made, it must be understood as doing so implicitly. (And merely assuming that it is will not suffice for present purposes.) So, again, one can find passages in which a weak and/or implicit moral condemnation of prostitution is made (for many more examples of this, see the following endnote).3 But given that (i) implicit moral condemnations of prostitution usually involve more claims and inferences than do explicit moral condemnations, and (ii) the strongest and most explicit moral condemnations of prostitution will suffice for present purposes, I will rely on just the latter. Note, also, that “most explicit” is not one and the same as “explicit.” By characterizing the following passages as involving the most explicit moral condemnations of prostitution, I am simply trying to convey that they are more explicit in their moral condemnation of prostitution than are any of the other prostitutional passages to be found in their respective sacred texts (or, at least, that I could find in said texts). But this is not to say that, when all is said and done, they are all that explicit. Indeed, to one degree or another (depending on the passage), it is somewhat of a stretch to describe any of them as such. This is due in part to the fact that none is paradigmatically explicit; none states directly and bluntly, “Prostitution is immoral.” (Given how often some adherents to these religions proffer religious arguments for the immorality of prostitution, that none of these sacred texts states directly and bluntly that prostitution is immoral cannot be overemphasized.) Even so, since they are more explicit in their moral condemnation of prostitution than are any of the other prostitutional passages to be found in their respective sacred texts, I characterize said condemnation here as “most” explicit. Without further ado, then, the passages are as follows. Judaism Do not profane your daughter by making her a prostitute, lest the land fall into prostitution and the land become full of depravity. (Leviticus 19:29) And all for the countless whorings of the prostitute, graceful and of deadly charms, who betrays nations with her whorings, and peoples with her charms. (Nahum 3:4)

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Christianity Then one of the seven angels who had the seven bowls came and said to me, “Come, I will show you the judgment of the great prostitute who is seated on many waters, with whom the kings of the earth have committed sexual immorality, and with the wine of whose sexual immorality the dwellers on earth have become drunk.” And he carried me away in the Spirit into a wilderness, and I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast that was full of blasphemous names, and it had seven heads and ten horns. The woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold and jewels and pearls, holding in her hand a golden cup full of abominations and the impurities of her sexual immorality. And on her forehead was written a name of mystery: “Babylon the great, mother of prostitutes and of earth’s abominations.” (Revelation 17:1–18) After this I heard what seemed to be the loud voice of a great multitude in heaven, crying out, “Hallelujah! Salvation and glory and power belong to our God, for his judgments are true and just; for he has judged the great prostitute who corrupted the earth with her immorality, and has avenged on her the blood of his servants.” (Revelation 19:1–2)

Islam Let those who cannot find someone to marry maintain chastity until God makes them rich through His favors. Let the slaves who want to buy their freedom have an agreement with you in writing if you find them to be virtuous. Give them money out of God’s property which He has given to you. Do not force your girls into prostitution to make money if they want to be chaste. If they have been compelled to do so, God will be All-merciful and All-forgiving to them. (Qur’an 24:33)

Hinduism O son of Prtha, even the low-born candalas and those who are born in a family of unbelievers, and even the prostitutes, shall attain perfection of life if they take shelter of unalloyed devotional service to Me, because in the path of devotional service there are no impediments due to degraded birth and occupation. The path is open for everyone who agrees to follow it. (Bhagavad Gita 9.32)

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Buddhism Avoid sexual misconduct. (The Fifth Precept)

Even though none of these passages states outright that prostitution is immoral, all but the last contains a claim that can be reasonably interpreted (again, and hereafter, with “reasonably interpreted” understood rather liberally) as morally condemning prostitution to one extent or another. (To be sure, some people might interpret Buddhism’s Fifth Precept as condemning prostitution to one extent or another as well. But it is rather clear that a lot of interpretative supplementation is required in order for it to be reasonably interpreted in this way.) This brings us to the first religious argument for the immorality of prostitution to be critiqued here, the Sacred Text Argument. But before presenting it, a couple of preliminaries remarks are in order. First, rather than presenting each religious argument in terms of a particular religion and, in turn, relying on particular religious claims made by that religion, I will present each argument in formal terms. For example, with the Sacred Text Argument, rather than writing its P1 as, say, “Through prostitution, the prostitute does that which the Hebrew Bible claims to be immoral,” I write it as “Through prostitution, the prostitute does that which sacred text T claims to be immoral.” The reason for doing this is twofold. First, writing each religious argument in terms of each of the five religions considered here would be unnecessarily space, time, and energy consuming. Relatedly (specifically with respect to my previous use of “unnecessarily”), it would be largely redundant, as each argument invokes the same type of (allegedly) immoral-making property. In the case of the Sacred Text Argument, for instance, the type of immoral-making property that each argument invokes is that of doing that which a sacred text claims to be immoral. In the case of the Divine Omniscience Argument, it is that of doing that which a deity, D, believes to be immoral. And so on. And if, as I argue, that type of immoral-making property is not, in fact, an immoral-making property, then neither are tokens of that property, everything else being equal. Second, though the Sacred Text Argument coheres well with all five religions, the second and third arguments (the Divine Omniscience Argument and the Divine Command Argument) do not. Specifically, they do not cohere well with Buddhism. This is due to the fact that the latter arguments involve claims that are theistic in nature (e.g., doing that which D believes to be immoral is immoral; violating D’s commands is immoral),

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and, as covered above, Buddhism is not typically understood to be theistic in nature. Accordingly, though the average Buddhist may invoke the Sacred Text Argument without falling into any philosophical trouble (all else being equal), such is not the case with the Divine Omniscience Argument and the Divine Command Argument.

The Sacred Text Argument The Sacred Text Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involves the performance of that which sacred text T claims to be immoral. P2: Being a performance of that which sacred text T claims to be immoral is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the performance of that which sacred text T claims to be immoral? In other words, is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute does that which sacred text T claims to be immoral? Again, each of the passages above can be reasonably interpreted in such a way that it is save for the last (Buddhism’s Fifth Precept), though even it might be interpreted so with the help of interpretive supplementation. To take just a few examples, the passage from the Bhagavad Gita suggests that the life of the prostitute is devoid of perfection and characterizes prostitution as a degraded occupation. A reasonable interpretation of this passage is as involving a moral condemnation of prostitution. The passage from the Qur’an characterizes prostitution as in contrast with chastity and as an activity for which forgiveness is intelligible. Like before, a reasonable interpretation of this passage is as involving a moral condemnation of prostitution. Even the passages from the book of Revelation, which invoke prostitution in the context of prophesies and metaphors, nevertheless characterize it in moral condemnatory terms. And, as addressed above, if a given sacred text contains a passage that can be

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reasonably interpreted as morally condemning prostitution, then I will be assuming for argument’s sake that prostitution is, in fact, morally condemned in said passage. What’s more, it is not unreasonable to hold that, in each of these cases, said moral condemnation is—or, at least, can be— that prostitution immoral (as defined here). Accordingly, since each of the passages above can be reasonably interpreted in such a way that P1 is true (again, with a lot of interpretative supplementation in Buddhism’s case), I will assume that P1 is true for each of the religions under consideration. (Again, if this assumption turns out to be false, then so much the worse for religious arguments for the immorality of prostitution based on these religions.) On P2 Is it the case that being a performance of that which sacred text T claims to be immoral is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property? In other words, is doing that which sacred text T claims to be immoral nonconsequentially immoral? This is neither obviously true nor intuitive, even when “the Hebrew Bible,” “the Bible,” “the Qur’an,” “the Bhagavad Gita,” “the Tripitaka,” or some other, relevant sacred text is substituted for “sacred text T.” Furthermore, from the mere fact that sacred text T claims something (C), it does not follow that C is true or even probably true. To wit, there is no contradiction in the idea of, say, a Christian conceding that the Qur’an is Islam’s sacred book (one of them, at least) but denying that the Qur’an’s claims are true or even probably true. Or, there is no contradiction in the idea of a Hindu conceding that the Hebrew Bible is Judaism’s sacred book (again, at least one of them) but denying that its claims are true or even probably true. To be sure, if the author (or set of authors) of sacred text T is understood to be an expert or authority on the subject matter of which C is constitutive, then from the fact that sacred text T claims C it might follow that it is true or, at least, probably true (more on this in a moment). But from the mere fact that sacred text T claims C it does not. Finally, that doing that which sacred text T claims to be immoral is nonconsequentially immoral is subject to counterexample, at least when some of the sacred texts under consideration is substituted for “sacred text T.” The Hebrew Bible, for example, claims (so implicitly, I must add, that it is perhaps better to say that it vaguely suggests) that it is immoral for one to tattoo one’s body.4 But that tattooing one’s body is immoral, or even

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morally criticizable, is very hard to believe. The Qur’an claims (once again, so implicitly that it is may be better to say that it vaguely suggests) that it is immoral to engage in homosexual sexual activity.5 But that engaging in homosexual sexual activity is immoral, or even morally criticizable, is also very hard to believe.6 With the preceding in mind, one might try to undergird one’s sacred text’s claims by invoking the expertise or authority of its ultimate author(s). (I write “ultimate” author[s] since, according to some of these religions, though the proximate authors of their respective sacred texts are understood to be humans, the ultimate authors are understood to be deities.) This brings us to the next two religious arguments for the immorality of prostitution: the Divine Omniscience Argument and the Divine Command Argument. Both arguments invoke an (alleged) ultimate author of a sacred text who is divine in nature rather than human. Accordingly, and as addressed above, the typical Buddhist could not defend his or her sacred texts via such arguments without falling into philosophical dissonance. I have, however, elected to forgo presenting and critiquing an argument that invokes an ultimate author who is human in nature for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that most of this book consists of presenting and critiquing such arguments. Though more could be said about the Sacred Text Argument, this will have to do for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that it fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

The Divine Omniscience Argument The Divine Omniscience Argument is as follows: P1: P2: C1: P3: C2:

Prostitution involves the performance of that which sacred text T’s omniscient author, D, believes to be immoral. Being a performance of that which sacred text T’s omniscient author, D, believes to be immoral is a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. Therefore, prostitution is immoral.

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On P1 Is it the case that prostitution involves the performance of that which sacred text T’s omniscient author, D, believes to be immoral (i.e., is it true that, through prostitution, the prostitute does that which sacred text T’s omniscient author, D, believes to be immoral)? Whether or not it is turns on a number of things. To begin with, it turns on whether D exists. After all, if D does not exist, then D does not believe anything whatsoever, much less that, through prostitution, the prostitute does that which he or she (or whatever the case may be) believes to be immoral. So, does D exist? No doubt the reader will agree that answering this question is incredibly difficult, especially when D is not characterized in terms of any other properties than those of being omniscient and divine. Hence the usual attempt to answer this question involving determining whether a more particular D exists. For example, some attempt to answer this question by determining whether God exists, with “God” understood as an omniscient, omnipotent, perfectly morally good, spiritual (read: nonphysical) deity upon whom the universe and, with it, all contingent entities and truths depend. (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam are generally understood to be religions whose adherents believe in and worship God.) If we are to move forward with an evaluation of P1, then, it would be prudent to attempt to determine whether a more particular D exists. And since I am most familiar with such attempts with regard to God, I will proceed with this discussion accordingly. So, does God exist? The reader would be right to chuckle at the prospect of my trying to answer this question here, and I will not be doing so. This is, after all, an enormous philosophical question, one that has occupied the minds of philosophers for millennia and is well beyond the scope of a single chapter in a book. I will, however, do what I take to be the next best thing: present and evaluate three general ways of attempting to establish that God does, in fact, exist. I will begin with the presentations of these general ways, which will be brief. I will then offer evaluations of each of them, each of which will be much longer than their respective presentations. Three General Ways of Attempting to Establish That God Exists One general way of attempting to establish that God exists is via propositional evidence. By “propositional evidence” of God’s existence, I mean a claim or set of claims from which one derives (correctly or not) the claim

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“God exists.” The classical arguments for God’s existence (the ontological, cosmological, and teleological arguments) are examples of this general way of attempting to establish that God exists. Another general way is via nonpropositional evidence. By “nonpropositional evidence” of God’s existence, I mean a direct experience or set of direct experiences of what one takes to be God in virtue of which one accepts (correctly or not) the claim “God exists.” So-called mystical experiences of God (à la St. John of the Cross’s “Dark Night of the Soul”) are examples of this general way of attempting to establish that God exists. A third general way of attempting to establish that God exists is via having faith. By “having faith” that God exists, I mean believing (correctly or not) that God exists despite deeming the evidence (propositional and nonpropositional) for one’s believing so to be insufficient. (Since said faith involves believing that a certain proposition—“God exists”—is true, it is an instance of propositional faith.) Kierkegaard’s “leap of faith” is an example of this general way of attempting to establish that God exists.7 There might be other general ways of attempting to establish that God exists, of course, but these are arguably the most popular and, in any event, will have to do for now. On Establishing That God Exists via Propositional Evidence As for my evaluations of each of these ways, they will be guided by the following considerations: (i) what one’s ultimate goal for attempting to establish that God exists via the general way in question is, (ii) whether the general way in question is suited for attempting to achieve that goal, and (iii) whether the general way in question has been successful in achieving that goal. So, to begin with attempting to establish that God exists via propositional evidence, if one’s ultimate goal is to obtain and present public evidence of God’s existence, then this general way is suited for this goal. (By “public” evidence of God’s existence, I mean evidence that is objective and thereby “open to the awareness and inspection to anyone who is interested enough to consider” it, as Stephen Davis puts it.)8 After all, propositional evidence is not only a token of evidence which, by its very nature, is truth indicating (I will have more to say about this during my evaluation of the third general way) but of public evidence. To wit, the aforementioned classical arguments for God’s existence are examples of public evidence. If, rather, one’s ultimate goal is simply to establish for oneself that God exists, then, once again, this general way is suited for this goal. For, as before, propositional evidence is evidence and, as such, truth indicating.

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Having said that, attempting to establish that God exists via propositional evidence in order to obtain and present public evidence of God’s existence has not been successful in achieving that goal, or so it seems to me. Relatedly, attempting to establish just for myself that God exists via propositional evidence has not been successful either. (Naturally, I cannot speak for the reader in these regards.) Simply put, I have yet to come across an attempt at establishing that God exists via propositional evidence that I believe succeeds. None of the classical arguments for God’s existence (original or subsequent versions) succeed in establishing that God exists, as I see it. Neither do the non-classical arguments of which I am aware (e.g., the argument from morality, the argument from intentionality, the argument from collections, the argument from natural numbers, the argument from counterfactuals, and more).9 Limitations of space do not permit me to present my objections to each of these arguments. In lieu of that, then, I will present a general challenge facing every attempt at establishing that God exists via propositional evidence. A general challenge facing every attempt at establishing that God exists via propositional evidence may be stated briefly as follows. First, from every attempt at establishing that God exists via propositional evidence— that is, from every argument for God’s existence—a claim about what God would do in a given case can be deduced. Accordingly, those who argue for God’s existence are logically committed to the view that, at least in principle if not in practice as well, they can know—or, at least, be justified in believing in a claim about (hereafter, simply “know”)—what God would do in a given case. And second, the view that they can, in fact, know what God would do in any case is problematic in two ways (to be identified shortly). I will defend each of these claims in turn. There are two ways in which a claim about what God would do in a given case (“what God would do,” henceforth) can be deduced from an argument for God’s existence: directly and indirectly. Beginning with the former, a claim about what God would do can be directly deduced from an argument for God’s existence when such a claim may be deduced from it either immediately or after the following analytically true claims are added to it: God Allows Claim (GAC): If God exists and X exists or is the case (where “X” stands for a contingent entity, state of affairs, or truth), then God allows X to exist or be the case.

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God Would Allow Claim (GWAC): If God allows X to exist or be the case (as before, where “X” stands for a contingent entity, state of affairs, or truth), then God would allow X to exist or be the case.

Regarding GAC, recall that by “God,” we mean, among other things, an omniscient, omnipotent deity upon whom all contingent entities and truths depend. Accordingly, if God exists and, say, yellow cars exist, then God allows yellow cars to exist. Or, if God exists and, say, dinosaurs once existed, then God allowed dinosaurs once to exist. So understood, one can see how GAC is analytically true. As for GWAC, the “would” in this conditional claim is meant to express a likelihood. Accordingly, given GWAC, if God allows yellow cars to exist, then it is likely that God allows yellow cars to exist. In other words, if the likelihood of God allowing yellow cars to exist is one, then the likelihood of God allowing yellow cars to exist is greater than one-half. So understood, one can see how GWAC is analytically true as well. An example of an argument for God’s existence from which a claim about what God would do may be directly deduced is the following version of William Paley’s teleological argument: P1: Machines are produced by intelligent design. P2: Many natural parts of the universe resemble machines. C1: Therefore, many natural parts of the universe are produced by intelligent design. P3: God is the designer of the natural parts of the universe that resemble machines. C2: Therefore, God exists.10 Given P1–C2, one may deduce a claim about what God would do as follows: C3: Therefore, God exists and is the designer of the natural parts of the universe that resemble machines. P4: If God exists and is the designer of the natural parts of the universe that resemble machines, then God allows the natural parts of the universe that resemble machines to be designed. (GAC) C4: Therefore, God allows the natural parts of the universe that r­ esemble machines to be designed.

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P5: If God allows the natural parts of the universe that resemble machines to be designed, then God would allow the natural parts of the universe that resemble machines to be designed. (GWAC) C5: Therefore, God would allow the natural parts of the universe that resemble machines to be designed. As the reader can see, a claim about what God would do may be deduced from this version of Paley’s teleological argument after GAC and GWAC are added to it. Accordingly, a claim about what God would do may be directly deduced from it. Those who argue for God’s existence via this argument, then, are logically committed to the view that they can know what God would do—again, at least in principle. A claim about what God would do may be indirectly deduced from an argument for God’s existence, on the other hand, only after adding to it, not just the preceding analytic claims, but the following intelligibility claim as well as: Intelligibility Claim (IC): Argument A is intelligible (with “A” standing for the argument in question and “intelligible” understood in subjective terms [i.e., intelligible to the arguer himself or herself]).

An example of an argument for God’s existence from which a claim about what God would do may be indirectly deduced is the following version of Descartes’s ontological argument: P1: If God is perfect, then God exists. P2: God is perfect. C1: Therefore, God exists. Given P1–C1, one may deduce a claim about what God would do as follows: P3: This version of Descartes’s ontological argument is intelligible. (IC) C2: Therefore, God exists and this version of Descartes’s ontological argument is intelligible. P4: If God exists and this version of Descartes’s ontological argument is intelligible, then God allows this version of Descartes’s ontological argument to be intelligible. (GAC)11

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C3: Therefore, God allows this version of Descartes’s ontological argument to be intelligible. P5: If God allows this version of Descartes’s ontological argument to be intelligible, then God would allow this version of Descartes’s ontological argument to be intelligible. (GWAC) C4: Therefore, God would allow this version of Descartes’s ontological argument to be intelligible. As the reader can see, a claim about what God would do may be deduced from this version of Descartes’s ontological argument after IC, GAC, and GWAC are added to it. Accordingly, a claim about what God would do may be indirectly deduced from it. Those who argue for God’s existence via this argument, then, are logically committed to the view that, in principle if not also in practice, they can know what God would do. And so it is with every other argument for God’s existence; a claim about what God would do may be deduced from it after adding IC, GAC, and GWAC to it. (For more examples of this, see the following endnote.)12 Those who argue for God’s existence via any argument whatsoever, then, are logically committed to the view that they can know what God would do. If they are to reject this, they must do so by rejecting GAC, GWAC, and/or IC. Rejecting GAC and GWAC would involve rejecting analytically true claims, and rejecting IC would entail that, by their very own lights, their arguments for God’s existence are unintelligible. Given this, it behooves those who argue for God’s existence to accept GAC, GWAC, and IC. In turn, they should also accept that they are logically committed to the view that they can know what God would do. The view that they can know what God would do, however, is ambiguous. For it may mean that they can always know what God would do, or it may mean that they can only sometimes know what God would. Yet, either way, problems arise. Beginning with the former, it is simply implausible that they can always know what God would do, at least in practice if not also in principle. Indeed, I do not know of a single theistic philosopher— historical or contemporary—who claims that he, she, or any other human being can always know what God would do. Accordingly, I will not bother critiquing this possibility here. What, then, of the latter—that those who argue for God’s existence can only sometimes know what God would do? This is much more plausible than the former, especially when it is understood as merely an in-principle claim. As an in-practice claim, however, it is less implausible and is so for

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at least two reasons. The first reason has to do with the property of omniscience. Were one to exist, an omniscient being’s ken (range of knowledge) would be much wider and deeper than ours—wider in that it would contain all the true propositions it is logically possible to know, and (relatedly) deeper in that it would contain all the true propositions regarding propositional derivations it is logically possible to know. (With respect to “propositions regarding propositional derivations,” if, for example, the propositions “Lauren is taller than Jordan” and “Jordan is taller than Olana” are true, then an omniscient being’s ken would contain the true proposition “The proposition ‘Lauren is taller than Olana’ may be deduced from the set of propositions ‘Lauren is taller than Jordan’ and ‘Jordan is taller than Olana.’”) Just how much wider and deeper than ours an omniscient being’s ken would be is, at the microscopic level (as it were), debatable. At the macroscopic level, however, there is virtually no debate that it would be vastly wider and deeper, with the question being whether or not it would be infinitely wider and deeper, on the one hand, or finitely but immeasurably (in practice) wider and deeper, on the other. (For the sake of the argument, I will adopt the latter, more conservative understanding.) Given what the breadth and depth of an omniscient being’s ken would be, particularly when juxtaposed with a range of knowledge that, in comparison, would be virtually nonexistent (ours), it is very hard to believe that any one of us could ever know, or even have justified belief in a claim about, what an omniscient being—God or other—would do, at least in practice. To motivate this, suppose that, in another part of the universe, there exists a being whose ken is finitely but not immeasurably wider and deeper than ours. Specifically, it is wider and deeper to what I will call the “thirty-­ thousand-­human-generations-from-now” extent, by which I mean the ken that human beings (qua species) would possess 30,000 generations from now if the rate and trajectory of ken development of, say, the past three generations were maintained. Suppose, also, that, though we know that this being exists, the preceding is all that we know about it—we do not know if this being is physical in nature, social in nature, has desires, has needs, and so on. Could we know what this being would do in a given case? For example, could we know that, in this or that case, this being would allow itself to be taken advantage of? To be worshipped? To think about its own existence? Could we know that, in this or that case, this being would actively support philanthropy? Violently suppress communication? Negligently ignore others? Could we know that, in this or that

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case, this being would desire company? Reminisce about things past? Make a promise? If this being’s ken were qualitatively identical—or even just similar—to ours, we probably could know what this being would do in a case. But that this being’s ken is qualitatively identical to ours is ruled out from the outset, given that it is the equivalent of the ken that human beings would possess 30,000 generations from now if the rate and trajectory of ken development of the past three generations were maintained. That this being’s ken is qualitatively similar to ours is not so ruled out, but it is also extremely unlikely, given (once again) its aforementioned equivalence. Indeed, I am inclined to think that this being’s ken would be extremely qualitatively dissimilar to ours, exponentially more dissimilar than the qualitative dissimilarity that obtains between our earliest ancestors’ ken (of roughly 7500 generations ago) and our own. Given this, it is far from clear to me that we could ever know what this being would do in a given case. And yet (and here’s the rub), despite this being’s ken being exponentially greater than ours, it would (like ours) pale in comparison to an omniscient being’s ken. It is very hard to believe, then, that any one of us could ever know, or even have justified belief in a claim about, what an omniscient being would do, at least in practice. (But the particular omniscient being under consideration, God, has other properties as well, the reader might be thinking. I will address this concern in a moment.) To be sure, even if the aforementioned being’s ken were exponentially qualitatively dissimilar from ours, it would nevertheless overlap with ours at some points. A range of knowledge is, after all, a range of knowledge. Accordingly, if we do, in fact, have a range of knowledge— that is, if we do know some things—then, in all likelihood, this being would know some if not all of what we know. So, perhaps we could know, not only what that being would do, but what an omniscient being would do as well in cases where the only portion of its ken that is pertinent to the case under consideration overlaps with ours. But a confounding question arises: How would we determine whether this or that case is such a case? It seems that we would have to know, not only what we know, but what the omniscient being knows as well. For we would have to know that the portion of his ken that does not overlap with ours is not pertinent to said case. But how could we know this, given that that portion of his ken is not part of ours? I fail to see how we could. Of course, as acknowledged above, God’s properties include more than just omniscience. And it may be that when his omniscience is combined with his other properties, particularly that of perfect moral goodness, it is

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at least easier to believe that we could know what God would do. This brings us to the second problem with the view that those who argue for God’s existence can only sometimes know what God would do. For some of those who argue for God’s existence maintain that God’s moral ken is, at the very least, finitely but immeasurably wide and deep. In turn, they contend that we cannot know what God would do in at least some moral cases. Yet (and this is the second problem), the particular view in virtue of which they do this, skeptical theism (to be defined shortly), is logically incompatible with their arguments for God’s existence—or so I will argue now. Given that skeptical theism is best understood in the context in which it first arose—that of the debate on the evidential argument from evil (a type of argument for the nonexistence of God based on the variety and profusion of evil in the world)—it would be prudent to begin with a presentation of this argument. And the following version of William Rowe’s evidential argument from evil will suffice: P1: P2: C:

There are pointless evils. If God exists, there are no pointless evils. Therefore, God does not exist.13

The point of contention between Rowe, on the one hand, and some of those who argue for God’s existence, on the other, lies with P1, since both parties agree that God would not allow evils to be pointless. Focusing on the latter party, some of those who argue for God’s existence—typically and specifically, some theistic philosophers—hold that P1 has not been shown to be true. At the core of this debate on the evidential argument from evil, then, is the question: Is this or that evil pointless? But there is another, more relevant way (for present purposes) to ask this question, namely: Is this or that evil the sort of evil that God would not allow? The theistic philosophers under consideration hold that we simply cannot know whether this or that evil is the sort of evil that God would not allow and do so on the grounds that we cannot know whether this or that evil is, in fact, pointless. Such theistic philosophers embrace what is known as “skeptical theism,” the twofold view that (i) God exists and (ii) as Tooley puts it, “facts about the natural world, including the goods and evils found therein, provide no basis at all for any justified beliefs about the probability of the existence or nonexistence of unknown goods that would serve as reasons that would justify God, if he existed, in allowing the evils that the

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world contains.”14 (Though Tooley does not mention unknown evils in this statement of skeptical theism’s skeptical thesis [(ii)], what he says of unknown goods is equally applicable to unknown evils and, as such, constitutive of said thesis. As he later summarizes the thesis, based on facts about goods and evils found in the natural world, “probabilities cannot be assigned to certain propositions about goods and evils beyond our ken.”)15 Why skeptical theistic philosophers believe (ii) in particular varies somewhat. But seemingly all of them agree that part of the reason has to do with cognitive limitations from which we (human beings) suffer but from which God does not. As Michael Bergmann puts it: “It just doesn’t seem unlikely that our understanding of the realm of value falls miserably short of capturing all that is true about that realm.”16 Indeed, according to Bergmann, in order to believe that facts about goods and evils found in the natural world provide a basis for justified beliefs about the probability of the existence or nonexistence of goods beyond our ken that would serve as reasons that would justify God, if he existed, in allowing the evils that said world contains, one would have to believe that one has good reason for thinking that (i) the possible goods one knows of are representative of the possible goods there are, (ii) the possible evils one knows of are representative of the possible evils there are, (iii) the entailment relations one knows of between possible goods and the permission of possible evils are representative of the entailment relations there are between possible goods and the permission of possible evils, and (iv) the total moral value or disvalue one perceives in certain complex states of affairs accurately reflects the total moral value or disvalue they really have.17 But no one has good reason for believing anything of these things, Bergmann contends. For all we know (both he and other skeptical theistic philosophers maintain), were we to know what God knows, we might know that God had no choice but to allow for the evils that we find in our world in order to bring about greater goods and/or avoid greater evils which are beyond our ken. With the preceding in mind, we may now see how arguing for God’s existence, on the one hand, and embracing skeptical theism, on the other, stand in logical tension with each other. Consider, for example, the following version of Robin Collins’s teleological argument for God’s existence: P1: P2:

The universe is finely tuned. The existence of the fine-tuning is not improbable under theism.

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P3: The existence of the fine-tuning is very improbable under the atheism. C: Therefore, God exists.18 In his defense of P2, Collins writes, “Since God is an all good being and it is good for intelligent, conscious beings to exist, it is not surprising or improbable that God would create a world that could support intelligent life.”19 Included in this defense, then, are two propositions about goods found in the natural world: (i) the explicit proposition that it is good for intelligent, conscious beings to exist, and (ii) the implicit proposition that a fine-tuned universe that includes a world that could support intelligent life is a good one. And based on these propositions, Robbins implicitly assigns a probability to a proposition about the existence of an evil beyond our ken via his claim that it is not improbable that God would bring about said goods. Specifically, he implicitly assigns the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There exists an evil beyond our ken in virtue of which God would not be justified in creating a fine-tuned universe that includes a world that could support intelligent life intelligent and, with it, intelligent, conscious beings. Yet, given skeptical theistic philosophers’ reasoning for skeptical theism, this is something that he should not—indeed, cannot—do. For, again, according to skeptical theism, facts about goods and evils found in the natural world provide no basis whatsoever for assigning probabilities to propositions about goods and evils beyond our ken. Given skeptical theism, then, Robbins cannot implicitly assign a probability to a proposition about the existence an evil beyond our ken via his claim that it is not improbable that God would bring about the (alleged) goods of the existence of a fine-tuned universe that includes a world that could support intelligent life and of the existence of intelligent, conscious beings. Robbins’s argument for God’s existence, then, is logically incompatible with skeptical theism. To put the preceding point in Bergmannian terms, in order for Robbins to believe that it is not improbable that God would instantiate the goods of the existence of a fine-tuned universe that includes a world that could support intelligent life and of the existence of intelligent, conscious beings, he would have to believe that he has good reason for thinking that (i) the possible goods he knows of are representative of the possible goods there are, (ii) the possible evils he knows of are representative of the possible evils there are, (iii) the entailment relations he knows of between possible goods and the permission of possible evils are representative of the

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entailment relations there are between possible goods and the permission of possible evils, and (iv) the total moral value or disvalue he perceives in certain complex states of affairs accurately reflects the total moral value or disvalue they really have. But, as Bergmann sees it, no one—not even Robbins—has good reason for believing anything of these things. For all we know, were we to know what God knows, we might know that God had no choice but to refrain from instantiating the goods of the existence of a fine-tuned universe that includes a world that could support intelligent life and of the existence of intelligent, conscious beings order to instantiate greater goods and/or avoid greater evils which are beyond our ken. Embracing skeptical theism and, in turn, accepting that they can only sometimes know what God would do, then, presents a problem for those who argue for God’s existence via Collins’s fine-tuning argument. Of course, from the fact that the combination of Collins’s argument for God’s existence and skeptical theism is problematic it does not follow that the combination of every other argument for God’s existence and skeptical theism is problematic as well. But with the former fact in mind, a case for the latter claim may be made. To begin with, just as Collins’s argument contains an implicit proposition about a good found in the natural world— viz., that a fine-tuned universe that includes a world that could support intelligent life is a good one—so every argument for God’s existence contains at least one implicit proposition about a good found in the natural world. More specifically, every argument for God’s existence contains at least one implicit proposition about something found in the natural world that has a status vis-à-vis good and evil. This is due to the fact that everything found in the natural world—every act, person, state of affairs, and so on—has such a status; every act, person, state of affairs, and so on is such that its instantiation is either ultima facie good, ultima facie evil, or ultima facie neutral (i.e., neither good nor evil). (Barring error theory and similar metaethical theories, naturally. And barring such theories we are, as skeptical theism presupposes their falsity.) This is not to say that we always know whether this or that thing’s instantiation is ultima facie good, ultima facie evil, or ultima facie neutral, of course. Nor is it to say that good and evil do not admit of degrees (i.e., that for any two ultima facie good or evil instantiations of something, they must be equally good or evil). It is simply to say that every act, person, state of affairs, and so on is such that its instantiation is ultima facie good to one degree or another, ultima facie evil to one degree or another, or ultima facie neutral. And given that every argument for God’s existence contains at least one implicit proposition

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about something found in the natural world that has a status vis-à-vis good and evil, every argument also involves assigning a probability to at least one proposition about the existence of a good or evil beyond our ken. To see this, let us consider a few arguments for God’s existence. Consider, first, the following version of Aquinas’s cosmological argument for God’s existence: P1: P2: P3: C1:

There exist things that are caused to be. Nothing that is caused to be can be the cause of itself. There cannot be an infinite regress of causes. Therefore, there exists an uncaused first cause of those things that are caused to be. P4: God is the uncaused first cause of those things that are caused to be. C2: Therefore, God exists. This argument contains an implicit proposition regarding the status of things that are caused to be vis-à-vis good and evil, since such things have such a status. And whatever their status is understood to be by those who argue for God’s existence in this way, those who do so implicitly assign a probability to at least one proposition about the existence of a good or evil beyond our ken. To wit, if the status of things that are caused to be vis-à-­ vis good and evil is understood to be ultima facie good, then those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There exists an evil beyond our ken in virtue of which God would not be justified in causing things to be. If, on the other hand, the status of things that are caused to be vis-à-vis good and evil is understood to be ultima facie evil, then those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There exists a good beyond our ken in virtue of which God would be justified in causing things to be. (It would be very odd—indeed, self-refuting—for someone to argue for God’s existence via this argument in this way, of course.) If, finally, the status of things that are caused to be vis-à-vis good and evil is understood to be ultima facie neutral, then those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There exists an evil beyond our ken in virtue of which God would not be justified in causing things to be. Given that those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign a probability to at least one proposition about the existence of a good or evil beyond

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our ken, they cannot, logically speaking, embrace skeptical theism as well. For, according to the latter, such probabilities cannot be assigned. Consider, also, the following version of Anselm’s ontological argument: P1: God—the greatest possible being—exists in the (our) understanding. P2: God might have existed in reality. P3: If something exists only in the understanding and might have existed in reality, then it might have been greater than it is. P4: Suppose God exists only in the understanding. C1: Therefore, God might have been greater than he is. C2: Therefore, God—the greatest possible being—is a being than which a greater is possible. C3: Therefore, it is not the case that God exists only in the understanding. C4: Therefore, God exists in reality as well as the understanding. This argument contains an implicit proposition regarding the status of God existing in our understanding vis-à-vis good and evil, since the former has such a status. And whatever its status is understood to be by those who argue for God’s existence in this way, those who do so implicitly assign a probability to at least one proposition about the existence of a good or evil beyond our ken. If, for instance, the status of God existing in our understanding vis-à-vis good and evil is understood to be ultima facie good, then those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There exists an evil beyond our ken in virtue of which God would not be justified in allowing himself to exist in our understanding. If, on the other hand, the status of God existing in our understanding vis-à-vis good and evil is understood to be ultima facie evil, then those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There exists a good beyond our ken in virtue of which God would be justified in allowing himself to exist in our understanding. (As before, it would be very odd for someone to argue for God’s existence via this argument in this way.) If, finally, the status of God existing in our understanding vis-à-vis good and evil is understood to be ultima facie neutral, then those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There exists an evil beyond our ken in virtue of which God

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would not be justified in allowing himself to exist in our understanding. Given that those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign a probability to at least one proposition about the existence of a good or evil beyond our ken, they cannot, logically speaking, embrace skeptical theism as well. For, according to the latter, such probabilities cannot be assigned. (For a third example, see the following endnote.)20 And so it is with every other argument for God’s existence (e.g., the argument from morality, the argument from miracles, the argument from religious experience, etc.). Given that everything found in the natural world—every act, person, state of affairs, and so on—is such that its instantiation is either ultima facie good to one degree or another, ultima facie evil to one degree or another, or ultima facie neutral (neither good nor bad), every argument for God’s existence contains, at the very least, an implicit proposition vis-à-vis good and evil found in said world. And given the latter, every argument minimally involves implicitly assigning a probability to at least one proposition about the existence of a good or evil beyond our ken. Every argument for God’s existence, then, is logically incompatible with skeptical theism. Given this, those who argue for God’s existence and embrace skeptical theism should either (i) jettison arguing for God’s existence or (ii) jettison skeptical theism. And lest the reader think that (ii) is the more obvious choice, it is worth noting that skeptical theism serves as the principal grounds on which those who object to the evidential argument from evil do so. As Richard Gale writes, “by far the most favored response [to the evidential argument from evil] among sophisticated contemporary theorists, most notably Alston, Plantinga, Wykstra, and van Inwagen, is that of theistic skepticism.”21 Accordingly, giving up skeptical theism would involve giving up their primary defense against the evidential problem of evil. And for some of them (e.g., those who think that the evidential problem of evil is otherwise sound), this might involve giving up theism. Summing up, I have argued here that from every argument for God’s existence a claim about what God would do can be deduced. Accordingly, those who argue for God’s existence are logically committed to the view that they can know what God would do. And the claim that they can know what God would do is doubly problematic. First, given God’s omniscience, it is very hard to believe that any one of us could know what God would do, whether in general or in particular cases. Second, the view in virtue of which some of those who argue for God’s existence claim that

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they cannot know what God would do in some cases—skeptical theism—is logically incompatible with their arguments for God’s existence. In conclusion, though via propositional evidence strikes me as suited to achieving the goal of obtaining and presenting public evidence of God’s existence, I do not think it has succeeded in doing so. Nor have I found it to be satisfactory when it comes to simply establishing for myself that God exists. Of course, to say that it has not succeeded in these ways is not to say that it cannot succeed. And I am perfectly happy to grant that it might succeed in the future. But it has not succeeded yet, or so it seems to me. On Establishing That God Exists via Nonpropositional Evidence This brings us to the second general way of attempting to establish that God exists: via nonpropositional evidence. Again, by “nonpropositional evidence” of God’s existence, I mean a direct experience (or set of direct experiences) of what one takes to be God in virtue of which one accepts (correctly or not) the claim “God exists.” One way in which one might have such an experience of God is via the five senses of sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. Another way is via some other “sixth” sense (what, exactly, it might be will be discussed shortly). If one’s ultimate goal is to obtain and present public evidence of God’s existence, then this general way is suited for this goal when the nonpropositional evidence is public in nature (e.g., a perception of a manifestation of God via one or more of the five senses)—at least in principle (my inclusion of this hedge will be clear by the end of the present discussion). However, when the nonpropositional evidence is private in nature, this general way is not suited for this goal at all. (By “private evidence,” I mean evidence that is subjective and thereby open “only to the awareness and scrutiny of the given individual to whom [it is] private, and [is] not necessarily convincing to anyone else.”22 An example of such evidence would be a religious experience wherein God presents himself just to the individual having it.) For private, nonpropositional evidence is just that, private evidence, and, as such, not public in nature. If, rather, one’s ultimate goal is simply to establish for oneself that God exists, then, once again, this general way is suited for this goal. For whether it is public or private in nature, nonpropositional evidence is evidence. However, attempting to establish that God exists via nonpropositional evidence in order to obtain and present public evidence of God’s existence has been not successful in achieving that goal, or so it appears to me.

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Relatedly, attempting to establish just for myself that God exists via nonpropositional evidence has not been successful either. (Once more, I cannot speak for the reader in these regards.) In short, I have yet to come across an attempt at establishing that God exists via nonpropositional evidence that I believe succeeds. One general reason for this is that, as with propositional evidence, from every attempt at establishing that God exists via nonpropositional evidence—that is, from every (alleged) direct experience or set of direct experiences of God—a claim about what God would do can be deduced. To wit, P1: P2:

I am directly experiencing God. If I am directly experiencing God, then God allows me to directly experience him. (GAC) C1: Therefore, God allows me to directly experience him. P3: If God allows me to directly experience him, then God would allow me to directly experience him. (GWAC) C2: Therefore, God would allow me to directly experience him. Accordingly, those who attempt to establish God’s existence via nonpropositional evidence are logically committed to the view that they can know what God would do. And, as discussed above, the view that they can, in fact, know what God would do is problematic. Regarding, in particular, attempting to establish that God exists in order to obtain and present public evidence of God’s existence, the nonpropositional evidence has to be public in nature, naturally. And that public, nonpropositional evidence of God’s existence—that is, direct experiences of God via one of the five senses or some other sixth sense— has ever existed is unlikely. To begin with, there is reason to think that, qua spiritual (as defined here), God is not experienceable via the five senses. Nicholas Everitt makes a case for this as follows: The Loch Ness monster, if it exists, will be a finitely sized physical object, located in space and time, with a characteristic visual experience. It will have a colour, a shape, a size; it will have identifiable features such as a head, a body and limbs. It will have a mouth, and almost certainly eyes; and so on. God by contrast (if he exists) will be non-physical, and omnipresent. He will have no colour, no shape, no size, no discernable features. Furthermore, he will have no features detectable only indirectly, like electric charge, gravitational attraction, or chemical composition. He will have no characteristic

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appearance whatever to sight or to any other of our senses, even with the use of instruments. God, in other words, is not even a possible object of sensory experience … [T]he point to be made here does not turn on the fact that this one or that one of God’s defining characteristics is not perceptible. The point rather is that none of his properties is perceptible, either directly or indirectly by means of instruments.23

To be sure, as omnipotent, God could transform himself into a physical entity that could be experienced via one or more of the five senses. But that he could do so in such a way that the one who experiences him as such an entity knows, or even has justified belief, that he is experiencing God—rather than, say, an extraterrestrial alien or some other previously unencountered physical entity—is doubtful. Simply put, such a transformation would involve such a radical presentational departure from what God is understood to be (nonphysical, among other things) that, all else being equal, the one who experiences such an entity would be most justified in believing that the entity is something other than God. Of course, that God is not experienceable via the five senses does not entail that he is not experienceable via some possible other sixth sense. But the mere possibility of experiencing God through a sixth sense is one thing; establishing that a sixth sense through which God can be experienced exists is another. And that there is such a sixth sense through which God can be experienced is, at best, an open question. Some might argue that, just as some truths can be experienced via intuition (e.g., certain logical and mathematical truths), so God can be experienced via intuition. Though I am willing to grant this possibility, I am not persuaded that it has ever occurred. For, first, God is typically understood to be, not a truth, but a person. Given this disanalogy, one can grant that some truths can be experienced via intuition without granting that persons—God or other— can be experienced in this way. In such a case, one would need to hear more about how persons—specifically, God—can be experienced via intuition before granting that they can. Second, and perhaps related to the first point, I am not aware of anyone who has claimed to have experienced God via intuition. What’s more, that experiencing God via intuition could serve as public evidence of God’s existence is dubitable, since it is unclear how anyone else could verify that the individual in question did, in fact, experience God via an intuition rather than someone or something else. Others might think that God can be experienced via what John Calvin and other theologians and philosophers believe that (standard) human

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beings possess: a “sensus divinitatis” (sense of divinity). As Calvin describes it, “That there exists in the human mind and indeed by natural instinct, some sense of Deity [sensus Divinitatis], we hold to be beyond dispute, since God himself, to prevent any man from pretending ignorance, has endued all men with some idea of his Godhead … [T]his is not a doctrine which is first learned at school, but one as to which every man is, from the womb, his own master; one which nature herself allows no individual to forget.”24 But that human beings possess a sensus divinitatis is an empirical claim—one, I would be remiss not to note, that is far from “beyond dispute.” And not only is there very little empirical evidence in favor of this claim (and that which exists is weak at best), there is compelling empirical evidence indicating that it is false.25 To wit, if it were true that human beings possess a sensus divinitatis, one would expect it to be distributed among human beings to roughly the same extent that other (seemingly) innate human traits are distributed. But the former is not so distributed. As Stephen Maitzen observes, The demographics of theism … make unlikely the existence of any such innate human capacity, however corruptible it may be when exposed to sinfulness. Innate human capacities, such as hearing or the capacity to learn spoken language, tend to be spread evenly across the human species. Again, however, the kind of belief in God that this innate capacity is allegedly designed to produce is quite unevenly distributed among human societies. Its defenders will reply that original sin prevents the capacity from accomplishing its purpose and that only God’s regenerating grace can restore the capacity to good working order. But that reply only pushes the question back a step: why has God bestowed this restorative grace so unevenly, contributing to a pattern of non-belief that, coincidentally, social scientists say they can explain entirely in terms of culture?26

That one can experience God via a sensus divinitatus, then, is empirically dubious. It is also dubious that experiencing God via a sensus divinitatus could serve as public evidence of God’s existence, since it is unclear how anyone else could verify that the individual in question did, in fact, experience God via an alleged sensus divinitatus rather than experiencing someone or something else via some other sense. And, beyond intuition and a sensus divinitatus, it is hard to think of another possible sixth sense though which one could experience God. But even if God is experienceable via the five senses or some other sixth sense, it does not follow that when one has a direct experience of God, one

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knows, or is even justified in believing, that one is having such an experience. This is due to the fact that experiences of God would be indistinguishable from experiences of beings that are similar, but not identical, to God. Consider the following three beings: (i) God, an omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly morally good being; (ii) Gob, an all-but-omniscient, all-but-omnipotent, and all-but-perfectly morally good being; and (iii) Gop, an omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly morally evil being. Suppose that Anthony is informed that one of these beings will be visiting him and, if he is able to correctly identify who visits him, he will receive a lucrative reward. Suppose also that Anthony is informed of the characteristics (described above) that each being possesses. How might Anthony determine whether it is God, Gob, or Gop who visits him? He could simply ask the being who visits him, of course, but he is aware that all three of these beings might deceive him. As omniscient and all-but omniscient, respectively, God and Gob might know of a good reason to do so and, thus, intentionally do so. For example, they might know that were Anthony to fully experience their presence and, with it, all of their respective properties (if that is even possible—more on this in a moment), he would be coerced into devoting his life to them. And, à la certain soul-making defenses of God’s hiddenness (e.g., Michael Murray’s), they would not want to coerce Anthony in this way. Thus, they might prevent Anthony from experiencing one or more of their properties by hiding them in some way.27 As neither perfectly morally good nor fully omniscient, Gob might intentionally and malevolently, or unintentionally, deceive him. And as perfectly morally evil, Gop might intentionally and malevolently deceive him. Perhaps, instead, he could try to stump the being who visits him with a question for which the being has no answer. But he is aware that (i) as before, the being might deceive him, (ii) this would only help him rule out one of the three beings (Gob), and (iii) as all-but omniscient, it is very unlikely that he could come up with a question for which Gob would not have an answer, especially given that “Your question is objectively unanswerable” is a possible correct answer. (Even if Anthony is the most intelligent human who has ever lived, his intelligence would pale in comparison to the intelligence of an all-but-omniscient being.) In the face of all these considerations, it seems that, at bottom, all Anthony could do is guess. Determining which being it is through verbal communication, then, will not suffice, ostensibly. Perhaps, then, he could do so through nonverbal communication. More specifically, perhaps he could determine which being it is by

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experiencing the being’s presence (and, with it, the being itself) or the being’s actions. But this will not suffice either, arguably. To begin with, this way of determining which being it is suffers from the same problem that doing so through verbal communication suffers, namely, all three beings might deceive him though nonverbal means. Moreover, determining which being it is by experiencing the being’s presence or actions would involve distinguishing experiences that are induced by omni-properties (e.g., omnipotence, omniscience, etc.) from those that are induced by all-­ but-­ omni-properties (e.g., all-but-omnipotence, all-but-omniscience, etc.). In order to do that, omni-property-induced experiences would have to be qualitatively different from all-but-omni-property-induced experiences. And though this might be the case in principle, it is difficult to believe that it would be in practice. More specifically, it is difficult to believe that Anthony (or anyone else) would experience an omni-property-induced experience as an omni-property-induced experience and not as an all-­but-­omni-property-induced experience, and that he would experience an all-­but-­omni-property-induced experience as an all-but-omniproperty-induced experience and not as an omni-property-­ induced experience. And it is difficult to believe this on at least three grounds. First, the qualitative difference between an omni-property-­induced experience and an all-but-omni-property-induced experience would be so slight that it is hard to believe that it would result in a detectable experiential difference. (Analogously, the qualitative difference between a shade-ofblue-S-induced experience and, say, a shade-of-blue-­S0.000000000000001-induced experience would be so slight that it is hard to believe that it would result in a detectable experiential difference.) Second, Anthony (I will stipulate) has never had either omni-property-induced experiences or all-but-omniproperty-induced experiences, so he cannot invoke past experiences to help him determine whether his is an omni-property-induced experience or an all-but-omni-property-induced experience. Finally, even if we stipulate that he has previously had omni-­property-­induced experiences and all-but-omni-property-induced experiences, doing so will be of no help since this just pushes the problem back: the qualitative difference between his first omni-property-induced experience and his first all-but-omniproperty-induced experience would be so slight that it is hard to believe that it resulted in a detectable experiential difference. (Even if he claims it did, I might add. If someone claimed to have detected a qualitative difference between a shade-of-blue-S-induced experience and a shade-of-blueS0.000000000000001-induced experience, I, for one, would doubt the claim.) All

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else being equal, then, no direct, nonverbal experience of (what one takes to be) God would be evidence just of God’s existence. It would, instead, be evidence—and, importantly, equally so—of the existence of God and Gob and Gop. Determining which being it is through nonverbal communication, then, will not suffice either.28 Summing up, though via public, nonpropositional evidence strikes me as in-principle suited to achieving the goal of obtaining and presenting public evidence of God’s existence, I do not think it has succeeded in doing so. Nor have I found it to be satisfactory when it comes to simply establishing for myself that God exists. Of course, as before, to say that it has not succeeded in these ways is not to say that it cannot succeed. But it has not succeeded yet—or so it seems to me. On Establishing That God Exists via Having Faith This bring us to the third general way of attempting to establish that God exists: via having faith. Once more, by “having faith” that God exists, I mean believing [correctly or not] that God exists despite deeming the evidence [propositional and nonpropositional] for one’s believing so to be insufficient. If one’s ultimate goal is not epistemic in nature but, instead, social or otherwise practical in nature (e.g., to appease one’s fellow faith-­ based believers in God’s existence), then this general way is suited for this goal. If, rather, one’s ultimate goal is to obtain and present public evidence of God’s existence and/or simply to establish for oneself that God exists, then this general way is not suited for this goal at all, or so I will argue now. To begin with, as with both propositional and nonpropositional evidence, from every attempt at establishing that God exists via having faith, a claim about what God would do can be deduced. To wit, P1: P2: C1: C2: P3:

I have faith that God exists. If I have faith that God exists, then God exists. Therefore, God exists. Therefore, I have faith that God exists and God exists. If I have faith that God exists and God exists, then God allows me to have faith that he exists. (GAC) C3: Therefore, God allows me to have faith that he exists. P4: If God allows me to have faith that he exists, then God would allow me to have faith that he exists. (GWAC). C4: Therefore, God would allow me to have faith that he exists.

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(P2 is, of course, dubious [to put it mildly]. But it is an implicit claim upon which some faith-based believers in God’s existence depend.) Accordingly, those who attempt to establish God’s existence via having faith are logically committed to the view that they can know what God would do. And, as discussed above, the view that they can, in fact, know what God would do is problematic. Another reason for holding that having faith is not suited for the goal of obtaining and presenting public evidence of God’s existence or simply establishing for oneself that God exists has to do with doxastic practices. There is, I submit, only one fact-determining doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable, and it is that of proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence (propositional and nonpropositional). By a “doxastic practice,” I mean simply a belief-acquiring practice, whatever its nature (e.g., proportioning one’s belief to the evidence; having faith; believing by way of sense perception, memory, reasoning, flipping coins, reading tea leaves, etc.). By a “fact-determining” doxastic practice, I mean a doxastic practice that regards facts as opposed to mere opinions or tastes. By a doxastic practice that has “demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable,” I mean a doxastic practice that (i) can generally be counted on for the acquisition of true or probably true beliefs, and (ii) is plausibly causally connected to said beliefs. (Why it is important that the doxastic practice be nonarbitrarily reliable will be explained in a moment.) And by “proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence,” I mean consulting as much of the evidence (propositional and nonpropositional) both for and against a claim (C) that one can reasonably obtain and believing that C or that not-C as strongly as the evidence warrants. With respect to why it is important that the doxastic practice be nonarbitrarily reliable, it is important that it be reliable—that it can generally be counted on for the acquisition of true or probably true beliefs—since one is attempting to acquire true or probably true beliefs about purported statements of fact, such as “God exists.” One is not (for instance) attempting to acquire merely rationally held beliefs about such facts, beliefs that need not be true or even probably true in order to be rationally held. And it is important that the doxastic practice be nonarbitrarily reliable so as to avoid doxastic practices that might turn out to be reliable but nevertheless should be rejected on the grounds that they are not plausibly causally connected to the true or probably true beliefs one acquires through them. Consider, again, the doxastic practice of believing by way of flipping coins.29 Such a practice might turn out to be reliable—it might (however

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bizarrely) generally be counted on for the acquisition of true or probably true beliefs. But even if it did, it seems one ought to reject it and do so on the grounds that it is not plausibly causally connected to the true or probably true beliefs one acquires through it. Simply put, there appears to be no connection at all, let alone a plausible causal connection, between sides of coins and truths such as “Three is greater than two” and “The capital of New York is Albany.” Given the preceding description of a doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable, one might think that such a practice (i) presupposes an externalist—specifically, reliabilist—approach to epistemology or (ii) is subject to the so-called reformed epistemologists’ critique of evidentialism, the latter of which (evidentialism) Andrew Chignell characterizes well as that “one ought only to base one’s beliefs on relevant evidence (i.e., evidence that bears on the truth of the proposition) that is in one’s possession.”30 But neither of these things are so. Beginning with the former, an externalist approach to epistemology deems the justifiability of a belief to be at least partly a function of considerations external to one’s internal states (i.e., one’s mental states, such as what one believes), whereas an internalist approach to epistemology deems the justifiability of a belief to be wholly a function of one’s internal states.31 And the preceding description does not presuppose an externalist approach to epistemology. As covered above, “nonarbitrarily reliable” means merely that the doxastic practice can generally be counted on for the acquisition of true or probably true beliefs. And a doxastic practice that can generally be counted on for the acquisition of true or probably true beliefs is consistent with both externalist (e.g., reliablist) and internalist (e.g., foundationalist) approaches to epistemology. As for the latter, the preceding description of a doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable is not subject to reformed epistemologists’ critique of evidentialism. For, again, “evidence” is understood here to include both propositional evidence and nonpropositional evidence. And reformed epistemologists’ critique of evidentialism pertains to just propositional evidence. Hence Plantinga’s comment while debating God’s existence with Tooley, In my opening statement, I argued that the proper position here, for the theist, is that belief in God is nonpropositionally justified—i.e., that there is powerful non-propositional evidence or grounds for the existence of God. The sensible thing for a theist to think is that there is what Aquinas calls a

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natural knowledge of God, or something like what John Calvin called a “Sensus divinitatis.” This would be a cognitive faculty or process, built into us by God, that delivers beliefs about God under a wide variety of circumstances … So of course I believe that there is positive evidence—non-­propositional evidence—for the existence of God, just as there is for external objects, and the past.32

As the reader can see, Plantinga has no objection to nonpropositional evidence. The preceding description of a doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable, then, is not subject to reformed epistemologists’ critique of evidentialism. With the preceding in mind, let us now turn to my argument for the claim that proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence is a fact-determining doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable. Beginning with this doxastic practice’s reliability, consider the history of intellectual progress, specifically that of the sciences (formal, natural, social). Progress in the sciences is at once undeniable and impressive. And the doxastic practice through which such progress has been made, particularly in more recent history, is principally and fundamentally that of proportioning beliefs to the evidence. As a result, we have come to deem this doxastic practice to be one that has demonstrated itself to be reliable in these domains. (There is no better place to witness that we deem this doxastic practice to be one that has demonstrated itself to be reliable in these domains than the place wherein intellectual development is expected to occur: the classroom.) A thorough presentation of this fact would involve describing in greater detail the history of the sciences.33 For the sake of space, I will have to trust that the reader is sufficiently familiar with their histories to grant the point. This is not to say that we have always proportioned our beliefs to the evidence or that all intellectual progress is rooted in doing so. Indeed, the history of intellectual progress is filled with anecdotes of intellectual advancement occurring partly as a result of chance events.34 It is simply to say that, when we reflect upon the history of intellectual progress—especially that of the sciences—we see a stronger and stronger correlation between proportioning beliefs to the evidence and intellectual progress. Indeed, even when intellectual progress has occurred partly as a result of a chance event, it invariably involved subsequently proportioning beliefs to the evidence as well. It is also not to say that no other doxastic practices have had a role in intellectual progress. Clearly, others have (e.g., believing

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by way of sense perception, memory, reasoning, etc.). Though I will have more to say about these practices and their relation to that of proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence in a moment, let it suffice for now to say that acknowledging that they have had a role in intellectual progress is not inconsistent with my claim above that the doxastic practice through which such progress has been made is principally and fundamentally that of proportioning beliefs to the evidence. Consider, also, the history of moral progress. There is no doubt that moral progress has occurred throughout history. What was once considered morally acceptable in many societies—slavery, torture, the eye-for-­ an-eye principle of justice (at least, the literal implementation of it), the unequal regard for and treatment of women and racial minorities, and so on—is now widely (though far from universally) condemned as immoral, and plausibly so. And the doxastic practice through which it has progressed, especially in more recent history, is principally and fundamentally that of proportioning our beliefs to the evidence. (The turn to equal regard for and treatment of women and racial minorities is a clear case in point, as is the turn to moral concern for, and treatment reflective thereof, nonhuman animals.) As a result, we have come to deem this doxastic practice to be one that has demonstrated itself to be reliable in this domain. As with the history of intellectual progress, a thorough presentation of the history of moral progress would involve describing in greater detail the history of moral progress.35 But, as above, for the sake of space, I will have to trust that the reader is sufficiently familiar with its history to grant the point. And, similar to before, this is not to say that we have always proportioned our beliefs to the evidence, that all moral progress is rooted in doing so, or that no other doxastic practices have had a role in moral progress. Acknowledging these things, however, is not inconsistent with my claim that the doxastic practice through which such progress has been made is principally and fundamentally that of proportioning beliefs to the evidence. But is the doxastic practice of proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence nonarbitrarily reliable? That is, is it plausibly causally connected to the true or probably true beliefs one acquires through it? Though a full defense of the claim that it is requires more space than is available here, the following will do for now. One way to see that the doxastic practice of proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence is nonarbitrarily reliable is to consider the various roles that evidence plays in theoretical inquiry. As Thomas Kelly observes,

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evidence has played and continues to play a number of roles in theoretical inquiry, including but not limited to those of belief justifier and neutral arbiter.36 But the role most pertinent to this discussion is that of truth indicator. As Kelly puts it, As a general matter, evidence seems to play a mediating role vis-a-vis our efforts to arrive at an accurate picture of the world: we seek to believe what is true by means of holding beliefs that are well-supported by the evidence, and we seek to avoid believing what is false by means of not holding beliefs that are not well-supported by the evidence. The picture is well summarized by Blanshard: “‘Surely the only possible rule’, one may say, ‘is to believe what is true and disbelieve what is false.’ And of course that would be the rule if we were in a position to know what was true and what false. But the whole difficulty arises from the fact that we do not and often cannot. What is to guide us then? … The ideal is believe no more, but also no less, than what the evidence warrants.”37

Indeed, Kelly suggests that the role of truth indicator is evidence’s most fundamental role in theoretical inquiry. “Perhaps the root notion of evidence,” he writes, “is that of something which serves as a reliable sign, symptom, or mark of that of which it is evidence of.”38 That evidence has played and continues to play the role of truth indicator supports the view that proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence is a fact-determining doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable. To begin with, and as Kelly explains, When evidence is understood in this way, it is no mystery why attending to evidence is a good strategy for one who is concerned to arrive at an accurate picture of the world: given that Koplik spots are in fact a reliable indicator of measles, it obviously behooves those who are concerned to have true beliefs about which individuals are suffering from measles to pay attention to facts about which individuals have Koplik spots. Similarly, given that smoke is in fact a reliable indicator of fire, those who are concerned to have true beliefs about the presence or absence of fire do well to pay attention to the presence or absence of smoke. Thus, when we understand “E is evidence for H” as more or less synonymous with “E is a reliable indicator of H,” the connection between evidence and truth seems easily secured and relatively straightforward.39

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Exactly how evidence indicates the truth of some proposition need not be established in order to agree with Kelly, and reasonably believe, that it reliably does. We need not, for example, know exactly how the presence of Koplik spots reliably indicates the truth of the proposition “This individual has measles” in order to reasonably believe that it does, or exactly how the presence of smoke reliably indicates the truth of the proposition “Something is on fire” in order to reasonably believe that it reliably does. We often do have an idea of how the evidence so indicates, of course. For example, the presence of smoke is (to use Humean language) constantly conjoined with the presence of fire, the specific chemical composition of smoke is constantly conjoined with the temperature of the fire, and so on. But precise knowledge of the way(s) in which evidence indicates the truth of some proposition is not necessary for reasonably believing that it reliably does. All this to say, however exactly evidence indicates the truth of some proposition, one may reasonably believe that it does and does so reliably. With the preceding in mind, one can see how proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence has demonstrated itself to be not only reliable (as the histories of intellectual and moral progress suggest), but nonarbitrarily so. For when one proportions one’s beliefs to the evidence, one believes that C or that not-C and does so only as strongly as the evidence permits. In other words, one allows the evidence to determine not only what one believes but how strongly one believes it. And given that evidence plays the role of truth indicator—that of reliably pointing to the truth of the proposition for which it serves as evidence—it is, in that way and to that extent, plausibly causally connected to the true or probably true beliefs one acquires through it. A good faith attempt not to commit errors of moral and nonmoral fact, then, involves attempting to proportion one’s beliefs to the evidence. That is, it involves attempting to consult as much of the evidence for and against C that one can reasonably obtain and attempting to believe that C or that not-C as strongly as the evidence warrants. But might it involve something else? After all, even if one grants that proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence is a fact-determining doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable, one need not grant that it is the only fact-determining doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable. And some might contend that, in addition to proportioning one’s belief to the evidence, there are other fact-determining doxastic practices that have demonstrated themselves to be nonarbitrarily reliable.

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Now, I am willing to grant that there might be another fact-­determining doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable and is significantly distinct from the doxastic practice of proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence. If there is, however, I am not aware of it. Of the other possible fact-determining doxastic practices of which I am aware, either they have not demonstrated themselves to be nonarbitrarily reliable or they have but are not significantly distinct from the doxastic practice of proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence. Beginning with the latter, there are, to be sure, other doxastic practices that have demonstrated themselves to be nonarbitrarily reliable. Everitt summarizes this well when he writes: All of us are equipped with a range of cognitive faculties which allow us to acquire, store and manipulate information about a huge variety of subjects. Our sensory equipment enables us to know about our perceptual environment; our memory enables us to store information both about specific events in the past and about general truths; and our reasoning capacity enables us to see the implications of the information which we have and to draw sometimes long and complicated inferences. We all assume that these cognitive faculties are substantially reliable. When they are operating properly, they reveal to us truths, probable truths, or near truths. They are, we might say, truth-directed. Of course, on occasions we arrive at falsehoods. We are careless in our inferences, our observations, or the viewing conditions are not ideal, or there is some malfunction in the relevant organs. But, in general, we take it that our cognitive faculties succeed in giving us truths (or probable or approximate truths …).40

But to the extent that these other doxastic practices have demonstrated themselves to be nonarbitrarily reliable, they have so only when regulated by the practice of proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence. Take sense perception. Were someone to believe strongly that it’s raining outside, do so by way of sense perception, but not proportion her belief to the evidence (e.g., the strength of her belief that it is raining outside is as strong as it can be, but the strength of her evidence for that belief—acquired through sense perception—is as weak as it can be), then the doxastic practice by which she believes that it is raining outside, that of sense perception, would not, in that instance, demonstrate itself to be reliable. More broadly, were people to believe by way of sense perception, memory, or reasoning but not proportion the beliefs at which they arrive through these things to the evidence, then these doxastic practices would not

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demonstrate themselves to be nonarbitrarily reliable. (It’s worth noting that Everitt seems to acknowledge this implicitly in the last few lines of the quotation above.) So, again, to the extent that believing by way of other doxastic practices has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable, it has so only when regulated by the practice of proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence. In this way, believing by way of sense perception, memory, and reasoning qua doxastic practices that have demonstrated themselves to be nonarbitrarily reliable are not significantly distinct from the doxastic practice of proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence. As for the former, some might think that having propositional faith is a doxastic practice that has demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable. This, however, does not appear to be the case. To wit, when we reflect upon the histories of intellectual and moral progress, we do not see (as we do with proportioning one’s beliefs to the evidence) a stronger and stronger correlation between such progress and having propositional faith. In that way and to that extent, having propositional faith has not demonstrated itself to be reliable in these domains. But even if it had, it would still be an open question as to whether it had demonstrated itself to be nonarbitrarily reliable. And believing by way of having propositional faith does not seem to be plausibly causally connected to the true or probably true beliefs that one might acquire through it. For there appears to be no connection at all, let alone a plausible causal connection, between believing that C despite deeming the evidence for one’s so believing to be insufficient, on the one hand, and C being true or probably true, on the other. After all, if evidence does not connect this doxastic practice to the true or probably true beliefs that one might acquire through it, what does? Hope? Will? Fear? The desire for social inclusion? God? None of these plausibly connects having propositional faith with the true or probably true beliefs that one might acquire through it, as I see it, and no other plausible candidate comes to mind. In summary, though having faith that God exists strikes me as suited to, say, appeasing one’s fellow faith-based believers in God’s existence, it is not suited at all for obtaining and presenting public evidence of God’s existence or even simply establishing for oneself that God exists. I will conclude my evaluation of P1 of the Divine Omniscience Argument with the following. Even if one were able to establish that God exists via one or more of the aforementioned general ways, one would only be halfway to determining whether P1 is true. One would then have to determine whether God believes that prostitution is immoral. And, as

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John Arthur points out, this would involve a considerable amount of arduous and contentious work.41 First, it would involve determining which god is God. (Is it the god that the Greek Orthodox worship, the Hasidic Jews worship, the Pentecostals worship, the Sunni Muslims worship, none of the above?) Second, it would involve determining where God’s beliefs (e.g., as expressed as commands) are to be found. (Are they to be found in a sacred text, in a religious doctrine, in a religious experience, in all [or none] of the above?) It would also involving determine which interpretation of God’s commands is the correct one. Regarding commands found in a sacred text, for example, take a command some Christians invoke for the immorality of prostitution: “Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body” (1 Corinthians 6:19). As one can see, the only explicit command here is to glorify God in one’s body; nothing is explicitly commanded or claimed with respect to prostitution. Granted, this verse might contain an implicit command or claim with respect to the latter. But whether or not it does is a matter of interpretation. Settling whether this verse entails the command that we refrain from prostitution, then, involves the notoriously difficult task of resolving its correct interpretation. On P2 Is it the case that being a performance of that which sacred text T’s omniscient author, D, believes to be immoral is a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property (i.e., is doing that which sacred text T’s omniscient author, D, believes to be immoral nonconsequentially immoral)? That it is is neither obvious nor intuitive. Moreover, if it is to be the case, D (in this case, à la our previous discussion, God) must exist. And as covered above, that God exists is, as I see it, an open question at the very best. Having said that, if God exists, and if God believes that some act (X) is immoral, then X is, in fact, immoral. After all, God is understood to be omniscient and, thus, does not believe a proposition to be true when it is actually false (the relevant proposition here would be “X is immoral”). And if X is immoral, then when one does X, one does that which is immoral. Whether or not P2 is true, then, ultimately depends on whether God exists. There is more one could say about the Divine Omniscience Argument, of course. But this will have to suffice. Nevertheless, given what has been covered here, it appears that it does not succeed in establishing that that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

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The Divine Command Argument The Divine Command Argument is as follows: P1: Prostitution involve the violation of the commands of sacred text T’s author, D. P2: Being a violation of the commands of sacred text T’s author, D, is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property. C1: Therefore, prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-­ making property. P3: If prostitution involves a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, then prostitution is immoral. C2: Therefore, prostitution is immoral. On P1 Is it true that prostitution involves the violation of the commands of sacred text T’s author, D (i.e., is it the case that, through prostitution, the prostitute violates the commands of sacred text T’s author, D)? Similar to the Divine Omniscience Argument, whether or not it is turns on a number of things, not the least of which is whether D (God, for our purposes) exists. And, as covered in said discussion, that God exists strike me as an open question at best. What’s more, even if one were able to establish that God exists, one would only be halfway to determining whether P1 is true. One would then have to determine whether God commands that one not engage in prostitution. And as Arthur correctly points out, doing so involves a considerable amount of arduous and contentious work. On P2 Is it the case that being a violation of the commands of sacred text T’s author, D, is a nonconsequentialist immoral-making property (i.e., is violating the commands of sacred text T’s author, D, nonconsequentially immoral)? That it is is, once again, neither obvious nor intuitive. And if it is to be the case, God must exist, and it is far from clear that he does, or so it seems to me. But even if God exists, there are problems with P2. For why think that it is immoral to violate God’s commands? Some would argue that it is on the grounds of the divine command theory, of course. As discussed in

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Chap. 3, according to the divine command theory (the God version of it, in particular), for any activity (X), X is morally right because God commands X or X is immoral because God commands not-X. Suppose God commands that we refrain from working on Sundays. In doing so, he thereby renders working on Sundays immoral. Suppose further that Jake works on a given Sunday. In doing so, he violates one of God’s commands and, in turn, does that which is immoral. There is, then, at least one normative ethical theory according to which P2 is true. The divine command theory, however, is implausible and is so for at least three reasons.42 To begin with, given the divine command theory, prior to (logically speaking) God’s commands, no act is morally right or immoral; all acts are morally neutral.43 Accordingly, if X is to be morally right, God must first command X. If X is to be immoral, God must first command not-X. And if X is to be morally neutral—neither morally right nor immoral—God must not issue a command one way or the other with respect to X. But the view that no act is morally right or immoral prior to God’s commands presents a number of interrelated problems. First, this view entails that acts such as rape, murder, and genocide were morally neutral prior to God’s commands that we refrain from engaging in them. And this is very difficult to believe. Second, it entails that, had God not commanded (ex hypothesi) that we refrain from engaging in rape, murder, and genocide, these acts would not be immoral. Once again, this is very difficult to believe. Third, it entails that moral rightness and immorality are, at bottom, arbitrary—God could issue a command with regard to any activity whatsoever and, in so doing, make it morally right or immoral. For example, God could command that we commit rape, murder, and genocide and, in so doing, make committing rape, murder, and genocide morally right. But, it is very hard to believe that committing rape, murder, and genocide could ever be morally right. With regard to the last of these problems (i.e., God commanding us to commit rape, murder, or genocide), some God-believing divine command theorists would claim that this is something that God would not do. And the grounds on which would they do so would be that such commands would be contrary to (i) God’s previous commands and/or (ii) God’s perfect moral goodness.44 But there are at least two problems with arguing so. To begin with, note that, by arguing via (i), one does not deny the main theoretical objection: that were God to command us to commit rape, murder, or genocide, then committing rape, murder, or genocide would be morally right. Per our discussion of in-principle logical implications in

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Chap. 3, this first objection (and, with it, the three interrelated problems above) are directed at the in-principle logical implications of the divine command theory—what the divine command theory logically implies prior to establishing matters of nonmoral fact, such as whether God does, in fact, command us to commit rape, murder, or genocide. They are not directed at the in-practice logical implications of the divine command theory—what the divine command theory logically implies subsequent to establishing matters of nonmoral fact. And arguing that God would not command us to commit rape, murder, or genocide because of (i) only defends against the latter—objections directed at the in-practice logical implications of the divine command theory. Accordingly, whether intentionally or not, arguing so ends up leaving the main theoretical objection intact. Second, neither (i) nor (ii) suffices to justify the claim that God would not command us to commit rape, murder, or genocide. Beginning with the former, if, as it is alleged, God would not command us to commit rape, murder, or genocide because doing so would be contrary to God’s previous commands, one naturally wonders what said previous commands are and where they are to be found. There are a number of theoretical possibilities here, but, in practice, they usually involve passages found in sacred texts wherein God commands that we refrain from engaging in these acts. Regarding murder, for example, it is alleged that God has previously commanded that we refrain from committing it in Exodus 20:13: “You shall not murder.” (It should be pointed out here that the Hebrew word from which “murder” is derived in this translation of the verse also covers causing human death through carelessness or negligence.)45 Given this (it is argued), God would not command us to commit murder. The problem with such an argument can be seen once one considers that God has also commanded other things—indeed, in some cases, in the very same context as the previously mentioned command—that divine command theorists who argue so do not think hold anymore. Take, for example, the following commands: He who strikes his father or his mother shall surely be put to death. (Exodus 21:15) He who curses his father or his mother shall surely be put to death. (Exodus 21:17)

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If there is a man who commits adultery with another man’s wife, one who commits adultery with his friend’s wife, the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death. (Leviticus 20:10) Moreover, the one who blasphemes the name of the Lord shall surely be put to death; all the congregation shall certainly stone him. The alien as well as the native, when he blasphemes the Name, shall be put to death. (Leviticus 24:16) If there is a man who lies with an animal, he shall surely be put to death; you shall also kill the animal. (Leviticus 20:16) If two men, a man and his countryman, are struggling together, and the wife of one comes near to deliver her husband from the hand of the one who is striking him, and puts out her hand and seizes his genitals, then you shall cut off her hand; you shall not show pity. (Deuteronomy 25:11–12)46

I do not know of a single God-believing divine command theorist (at least, not a sane one) who believes that these commands hold today and, thus, that it is morally permissible to carry them out. But, as divine command theorists, they must believe (on pain of inconsistency) that these commands did hold at the time that God commanded these things and, thus, that it was morally permissible to carry them out then. And if it was morally permissible to carry them out then but it is not now, then these divine command theorists must also believe (again, on pain of inconsistency) that, at some point and in some way, God issued new commands that were contrary to his previous commands. For instance, if killing the son or daughter who strikes his or her father or mother was morally permissible then but is immoral now, then, given the divine command theory, there is only one thing that could account for this change in moral fact, namely, that God issued a new command at some point and in some way, something along the lines of “He who strikes his father or his mother shall not be put to death.” Accordingly, by their very own lights, what God commanded at one time does not prevent God from issuing a contrary command at another time. God, then, can command that we not commit rape, murder, or genocide—generally, that we not X—at a time, thereby making Xing at that time immoral, and command that commit rape, murder, or genocide—that we X—at a later time, thereby making Xing at that later time morally permissible or required (and vice versa). That God would not command us to commit rape, murder, or genocide because such

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commands would be contrary to God’s previous commands, then, is fallacious. As for God not commanding us to commit rape, murder, or genocide because such a command would be contrary to God’s perfect moral goodness, the following question arises: What does it mean to say that God is perfectly morally good in the context of the divine command theory? It appears to mean that God perfectly obeys all of his own commands. After all, an individual’s moral goodness seems to be at least partly a function of his or her behavior, the idea being that an individual is morally good at least partly to the extent that he or she behaves in a morally right manner. With that and the divine command theory in mind, an individual is morally good partly to the extent that he or she obeys God’s commands and, thus, does that which is morally right and refrains from doing that which immoral. Given this account, God is perfectly morally good at least partly to the extent that he perfectly obeys his own commands and, thus, does that which is morally right and refrains from doing that which immoral. But this meaning renders God’s perfect moral goodness hollow: God could command anything whatsoever and, so long as he acted in accordance with his own commands perfectly, he would be perfectly morally good. For instance, God could command, say, genocide and, upon committing genocide himself (à la the story of Noah’s ark), he would thereby be morally good. Perhaps, then, what divine command theorists mean when they say that God is perfectly morally good is that God perfectly exemplifies all those traits that make for a perfectly morally good being, such as love, generosity, justice, faithfulness, kindness, and so on. But this will not do either. As Wes Morriston writes, Is God good because he is loving, generous, just, faithful, kind, and so forth? Or are these attributes good-making because God has them? On the first alternative, moral goodness supervenes directly on these marvelous traits of character. Anyone who involves sufficiently many of them to a sufficiently high degree is morally good, and, let it be noted, this will be so whether or not there is a God … On a view like this, the existence of God plays no role at all in the ontology of moral value…. So what about the other alternative? … This alternative seems incredible to me. It implies that if there were no God who perfectly exemplified [these good-making properties], then these properties would count for nothing. A person could be as fair-minded and loving and generous and faithful as you please and still fail to be morally better than a cruel and malicious person.47

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In other words, if what divine command theorists mean when they say that God is perfectly morally good is that God perfectly exemplifies all those traits that make for a perfectly morally good being, then they face a dilemma: Are such traits morally good making because God involves them? Or does God possess such traits because they are morally good making? Either way (as Morriston points out above), there are problems. The second reason the divine command theory is implausible (one related to the first) has to do with what makes an immoral act an immoral act. Notice that, according to the divine command theory, what makes an immoral act an immoral act is simply that God commands that we refrain from engaging in the act. In other words, the immorality of X is merely a function of God’s command that we refrain from engaging in X. Notice, then, what the immorality of X is not a function of: what X does to those who have been morally wronged by X.48 Take, for example, rape. Given the divine command theory, the immorality of rape is simply a function of God’s command that we refrain from engaging in rape; it is not a function of what it does to the one who has been morally wronged by rape. But surely this is mistaken. It is all but impossible to believe that the immorality of rape is not at least partly a function of the extreme physical and psychological harm the victim of rape undergoes against his or her will. More precisely, it is all but impossible to believe that the extreme physical and psychological harm the victim of rape undergoes against his or her will, in and of itself and thereby independent of God’s commands, is not an immoral-making property of rape. Some might object to the preceding by arguing that the immorality of X is, in fact, a function of what X does to those who have been morally wronged by it on the grounds that God commands that we refrain from engaging in X because of what X does to those who have been morally wronged by it. The problem with this objection is that it is inconsistent with the divine command theory. Suppose that the first command God ever issues is that we refrain from rape. On the view under consideration, God issues this command because of what rape does to the one who is morally wronged by it (say, because it induces chronic psychological trauma, among other things). But if this is correct, then not only does God deem the inducement of chronic psychological trauma to be in some way immoral-making, but he does so prior to issuing any commands with respect to acts characterized by said inducement. But that the inducement of chronic psychological trauma could be an immoral-making property

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prior to God’s issuing a command with respect acts characterized by it is inconsistent with the divine command theory. Though more could be said about the Divine Command Argument, this will have to do for now. Even so, based on what has been addressed here, it appears that it fails to establish that prostitution is intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, immoral.

Conclusion Religious nonconsequentialist arguments for the immorality of prostitution fail to establish that prostitution intrinsically, or generally extrinsically, involves a religious nonconsequentialist immoral-making property—or so I have argued here. Since this concludes, not just this chapter, but this book, I would like to reiterate something that I wrote in the foreword. Given that there is not (as of this writing) a monograph that is dedicated to providing an argument for the moral permissibility of prostitution and critiquing a wide variety of arguments for its immorality. I have chosen to cast my net wide here so as to cover an extensive and varied set of what I take to be the most common and/or plausible arguments for and against the moral permissibility of prostitution. As a result of said casting, each of the arguments contained in this book, as well as each of the objections raised against them, could be—and, at some point, should be—isolated and developed even further. And though I have done what I could to address said issues in the space allotted to me by my publisher, I am quite certain that I have not addressed them all. Given this, I welcome and encourage others—especially those from different philosophical (and scholarly, and ethnic, and gender, and socioeconomic, etc.) backgrounds— to pick up where I leave off.

Notes 1. As Igor Primoratz observes, “opposition to [prostitution] has traditionally been motivated by religious or moral views of sex” (Igor Primoratz, “Prostitution,” in Sex from Plato to Paglia: A Philosophical Encyclopedia, Vol. 2, edited by Alan Soble [Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2006], 848). 2. For an excellent primer on questions and issues constitutive of the philosophy of religion, see William Rowe, Philosophy of Religion: An Introduction, 4th edition (Belmont, CA: Thomson Wadsworth, 2007). For those interested in my own take on some issues in the philosophy of religion, see Rob

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Lovering, God and Evidence: Problems for Theistic Philosophers (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013). 3. Listed in no particular order: And do not approach unlawful sexual intercourse. Indeed, it is ever an immorality and is evil as a way. (Qur’an 17:32) O son of Kunti, the pleasures that are born out of sensory contacts are sources of pain. They certainly are transient, having a beginning and an end. The intelligent man is wise enough not to indulge in them. (Bhagavad Gita 5.22) To preserve you from the evil woman, from the smooth tongue of the adulteress. Do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes; for the price of a prostitute is only a loaf of bread, but a married woman hunts down a precious life. (Proverbs 6:24–26) He who commits adultery lacks sense; he who does it destroys himself. He will get wounds and dishonor, and his disgrace will not be wiped away. (Proverbs 6:32–33) All at once he follows her, as an ox goes to the slaughter, or as a stag is caught fast till an arrow pierces its liver; as a bird rushes into a snare; he does not know that it will cost him his life. (Proverbs 7:22–23) For many a victim has she laid low, and all her slain are a mighty throng. Her house is the way to Sheol, going down to the chambers of death. (Proverbs 7:26–27) You have heard that it was said, “You shall not commit adultery.” But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart. (Matthew 5:27–28) Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? Shall I then take the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute? Never! (1 Corinthians 6:15) Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body. (1 Corinthians 6:19–20)

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Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God. (1 Corinthians 6:9–11) But sexual immorality and all impurity or covetousness must not even be named among you, as is proper among saints. (Ephesians 5:3) Just as Sodom and Gomorrah and the surrounding cities, which likewise indulged in sexual immorality and pursued unnatural desire, serve as an example by undergoing a punishment of eternal fire. (Jude 1:7) But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death. (Revelation 21:8) 4. See Leviticus 19:28. 5. See Qur’an 29:28–35. 6. See John Corvino, What’s Wrong with Homosexuality? (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013). 7. See J. L. Schellenberg, The Wisdom to Doubt: A Justification of Religious Skepticism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2007), 7. 8. Stephen T.  Davis, Faith, Skepticism, and Evidence (Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1978), 26 and 28. It should be noted that not all philosophers agree that private evidence of this sort is possible. For example, Richard Swinburne thinks that it is, while Nicholas Everitt thinks that it is not. See Richard Swinburne, The Existence of God (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 248; and Nicholas Everitt, The Non-existence of God (London: Routledge, 2009), 161ff. 9. For more examples of non-classical arguments for God’s existence, see Jerry Walls and Trent Dougherty (eds.) Two Dozen (or So) Arguments for God: The Plantinga Project (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). The arguments found therein include some of the previously mentioned arguments as well as the argument from physical constants, the argument from positive epistemic status, the argument from induction, the argument from reference, the argument from colors and flavors, the Mozart argument, and the argument from play and enjoyment. 10. P1–C1 are taken from Rowe, 55, 2007.

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11. Given that “intelligible” is understood in subjective terms, whether a given argument (A) is intelligible to a given individual (P) is a contingent matter and, as such, dependent on God. 12. To wit, consider the following version of Aquinas’s cosmological argument: P1: P2: P3: C1:

There exist things that are caused to be. Nothing that is caused to be can be the cause of itself. There cannot be an infinite regress of causes. Therefore, there exists an uncaused first cause of those things that are caused to be. P4: God is the uncaused first cause of those things that are caused to be. C2: Therefore, God exists. Given P1–C2, one may argue as follows: C3: Therefore, God exists and God is the uncaused first cause of those things that are caused to be. P5: If God exists and God is the uncaused first cause of those things that are caused to be, then God allows those things that are caused to be to exist. (GAC) C4: Therefore, God allows those things that are caused to be to exist. P6: If God allows those things that are caused to be to exist, then God would allow those things that are caused to be to exist. (GWAC) C5: Therefore, God would allow those things that are caused to be to exist. Consider, next, the following version of Anselm’s ontological argument: P1: God—the greatest possible being—exists in the understanding. P2: God might have existed in reality. P3: If something exists only in the understanding and might have existed in reality, then it might have been greater than it is. P4: Suppose God exists only in the understanding. C1: Therefore, God might have been greater than he is. C2: Therefore, God—the greatest possible being—is a being than which a greater is possible. C3: Therefore, it is not the case that God exists only in the understanding. C4: Therefore, God exists in reality as well as the understanding.

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Given P1–C4, one may argue as follows: P5: If God exists in reality as well as the understanding, then God allows himself to exist in the understanding. (GAC) C5: Therefore, God allows himself to exist in the understanding. P6: If God allows himself to exist in the understanding, then God would allow himself to exist in the understanding. (GWAC) C6: Therefore, God would allow himself to exist in the understanding. Consider, also, the following version of Richard Swinburne’s argument from miracles: P1: Extraordinary events occur. P2: In some cases, these extraordinary events are not likely to have been the result of natural causes. C1: Therefore, in such cases, these extraordinary events are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes—that is, they are likely to have been miracles. P3: God is the cause of extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes. C2: Therefore, God exists. Given P1–C2, one may argue as follows: C3: Therefore, God exists and God is the cause of extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes. P4: If God exists and God is the cause of extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes, then God allows extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes to occur. (GAC) C4: Therefore, God allows extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes to occur. P5: If God allows extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes to occur, then God would allow extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes to occur. (GWAC) C5: Therefore, God would allow extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes to occur.

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Consider, finally, the following version of C.  S. Lewis’s argument from morality: P1: P2: P3: C1:

Moral laws exist. Moral laws must have been enacted by someone. Moral laws could not have been enacted by human beings. Therefore, moral laws must have been enacted by someone other than human beings. P4: God is the one who enacted moral laws. C2: Therefore, God exists. Given P1–C2, one may argue as follows: P5: This version of C.  S. Lewis’s argument from morality is intelligible. (IC) C3: Therefore, God exists and this version of C.S.  Lewis’s argument from morality is intelligible. P6: If God exists and this version of C.S. Lewis’s argument from morality is intelligible, then God allows this version of C. S. Lewis’s argument from morality to be intelligible. (GAC) C4: Therefore, God allows this version of C. S. Lewis’s argument from morality to be intelligible. P7: If God allows this version of C. S. Lewis’s argument from morality to be intelligible, then God would allow this version of C. S. Lewis’s argument from morality to be intelligible. (GWAC) C5: Therefore, God would allow this version of C. S. Lewis’s argument from morality to be intelligible. This is true even of Pascal’s argument, from which the claim “God would reward one’s wagering that God exists with an infinity of an infinitely happy life” may be deduced. 13. Rowe, 120, 2007. 14. Michael Tooley, The Problem of Evil (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 29. See also Justin McBrayer, “Skeptical Theism,” in Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at https://www.iep.utm.edu/skept­th/, accessed June 2020; Trent Dougherty, “Skeptical Theism,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ skeptical-­theism/, accessed June 2020. 15. Tooley, 36, 2019, emphasis mine. 16. Michael Bergmann, “Skeptical Theism and Rowe’s New Evidential Argument from Evil,” Nous Vol. 35, No. 2 (2001), 279. As another skeptical theistic philosopher, Daniel Howard-Snyder, puts it, considerations

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about our cognitive limitations “constitute a good reason to be in doubt about whether it is highly likely that we would see a reason that would justify God in permitting so much evil if there were a reason” (Daniel Howard-­Snyder, “God, Evil, and Suffering,” in Reason for the Hope Within, ed. Michael J. Murray [Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing, 1999], 112). 17. See Bergmann, “Skeptical Theism and the Problem of Evil,” in The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology, eds. T. P. Thomas and M. Rea (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 376ff. It should be noted that there are stronger and weaker formulations of skeptical theism. As Stephen Maitzen writes, “skeptical theists sometimes adopt the strong line that we should expect God’s morally sufficient reasons to be inscrutable and sometimes the weaker line that we should not expect to [sic] those reasons to be scrutable” (Stephen Maitzen, “Skeptical Theism and God’s Commands,” Sophia Vol. 46 [2007]: 235). The formulation under consideration is of the weaker sort. For an example of the stronger formulation, see Stephen Wykstra, “The Humean Obstacle to Evidential Arguments from Suffering: On Avoiding Evils of ‘Appearance,’” International Journal for Philosophy of Religion Vol. 16 (1984): 73–93. 18. This is a modified version of an argument found in Robin Collins, “A Scientific Argument for the Existence of God: The Fine-Tuning Design Argument,” in Reason for the Hope Within, edited by Michael J. Murray (Grand Rapids, MI: William B.  Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1999), 47–75. 19. Collins, 53, 1999, emphasis mine. 20. Consider Swinburne’s argument from miracles again (see endnote #12). This argument contains an implicit claim regarding the status of extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes vis-à-vis good and evil, since such events have such a status. And whatever its status is understood to be by those who argue for God’s existence in this way, those who do so implicitly assign a probability to at least one proposition about the existence of a good or evil beyond our ken. To wit, if the status of extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes vis-à-vis good and evil is understood to be ultima facie good, then those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There exists an evil beyond our ken in virtue of which God would not be justified in causing said extraordinary events. If, on the other hand, the status of extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes vis-à-vis good and evil is understood to be ultima facie evil, then those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There

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exists a good beyond our ken in virtue of which God would be justified in causing said extraordinary events. (Once final time, it would be very odd for someone to argue for God’s existence via this argument in this way.) If, finally, the status of extraordinary events that are likely to have been the result of supernatural causes vis-à-vis good and evil is understood to be ultima facie neutral, then those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign the following proposition a probability of less than one-half: There exists an evil beyond our ken in virtue of which God would not be justified in causing said extraordinary events. Given that those who argue for God’s existence via this argument implicitly assign a probability to at least one proposition about the existence of a good or evil beyond our ken, they cannot, logically speaking, embrace skeptical theism as well. For, according to the latter, such probabilities cannot be assigned. 21. See Richard Gale, On the Philosophy of Religion (Belmont, CA: Thomson Wadsworth, 2007), 105. 22. Stephen T.  Davis, Faith, Skepticism, and Evidence (Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1978), 26 and 28. It should be noted that not all philosophers agree that private evidence of this sort is possible. For example, Richard Swinburne thinks that it is, while Nicholas Everitt thinks that it is not. See Richard Swinburne, The Existence of God (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 248; and Everitt, 161ff, 2009. 23. Everitt, 172, 2009. 24. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book 1, Chapter 3, Verse 1; Book 1, Chapter 3, Verse 3. 25. For empirical evidence for the existence of a sensus divinitatus, see Kelly James Clark and Justin L.  Barrett, “Reformed Epistemology and the Cognitive Science of Religion,” Faith and Philosophy Vol. 27 (2010). For empirical evidence against its existence, see Evan Fales, “Critical Discussion of Alvin Plantinga’s Warranted Christian Belief,” Nous Vol. 37, No. 2 (2003): 353–370; Stephen Maitzen, “Divine Hiddenness and the Demographics of Theism,” Religious Studies Vol. 42, No. 2 (2006): 177–191; and Hans Van Eyghen, “There is No Sensus Divinitatis,” Journal for the Study of Religions and Ideologies Vol. 15, No. 45 (2016): 24–40. 26. Maitzen, 187, 2006. 27. See Michael J. Murray, “Deus Absconditus,” in Divine Hiddenness: New Essays, edited by Daniel Howard-Snyder and Paul K. Moser (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 62–82. 28. It is with considerations like these in mind that Walter Sinnott-Armstrong claims, “even if religious experiences were evidence for something, they could not be evidence that their source is all-good and all-powerful. The most vivid religious experience could result from a God who is very powerful and pretty good, so they cannot be evidence for a traditional God”

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(Walter Sinnott-Armstrong, “The Argument from Ignorance,” in The Improbability of God, eds. Michael Martin and Ricki Monnier [Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 2006], 382). Georges Rey makes a similar point: “… ask yourself how local, personal experiences could possibly provide serious evidence for the existence of a necessary, eternal, omni-being responsible for the creation of the world. How does the presence of such a being feel differently from that of a merely contingent, finitely old and powerful one?” (Georges Rey, “Meta-Atheism: Religious Avowal as SelfDeception,” Philosophers without Gods: Meditations on Atheism and the Secular Life, edited by Louise Antony [New York: Oxford University Press, 2010], 249–250). 29. The possibility of such a doxastic practice is discussed in George Mavrodes’s “Jerusalem and Athens Revisited,” in Faith and Rationality: Reason and Belief in God, edited by Alvin Plantinga and Nicholas Wolsterstorff (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1983), 209. 30. Andrew Chignell, “The Ethics of Belief,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ethics-­ belief/#EviOve, accessed May 2020. 31. For more on this distinction, see John L. Pollock, Contemporary Theories of Knowledge (Totowa, NJ: Rowman & Littlefield, 1986), 21–24. 32. Alvin Plantinga and Michael Tooley, Knowledge of God (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008), 164–165, emphasis mine. As Richard Gale puts it, despite his critique of the need for propositional evidence of God existence, “Plantinga is no fideist” (Gale, 118, 2007). 33. This is evidenced in a wide variety of works, including Susan Wise Bauer, The Story of Western Science: From the Writings of Aristotle to the Big Bang Theory, 1st edition (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2015); John Gibbon, The Scientists: A History of Science Told Through the Lives of Its Greatest Inventors (Random House, 2019); Iwan Rhys Morus (ed.), The Oxford Illustrated History of Science, 1st edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017); the multivolume The Cambridge History of Science; and more. 34. For example, two Nobel Prize winners Francis Crick and Kary Mullis attributed some of their prize-winning work to their use of acid. In Mullis’ own words: “Would I have invented PCR [polymerase chain reaction] if I hadn’t taken LSD? I seriously doubt it … [after having taken LSD] I could sit on a DNA molecule and watch the polymers go by. I learnt that partly on psychedelic drugs” (quoted in David Nutt, Drugs Without the Hot Air: Minimising the Harms of Legal and Illegal Drugs [Cambridge: UIT, 2012], 258). 35. This is evidenced in various works, including Lawrence C.  Becker and Charlotte B. Becker, eds., A History of Western Ethics, 2nd edition (New York: Routledge, 2003); Alasdair MacIntyre, A Short History of Ethics: A History of Moral Philosophy from the Homeric Age to the Twentieth Century (New York: Routledge, 1998).

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36. See Thomas Kelly, “Evidence,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, available at https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/evidence/, accessed Nov. 2018. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid. 40. Everitt, 178–179, 2009. 41. See John Arthur’s “Morality, Religion, and Conscience,” in Morality and Moral Controversies: Readings in Moral, Social, and Political Philosophy, 8th edition, eds. John Arthur and Steven Scalet (Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 2009), 17–18. 42. For an excellent treatment of the many problems associated with the divine command theory, see Wes Morriston, “What If God Commanded Something Terrible? A Worry for Divine-Command Meta-Ethics,” Religious Studies Vol. 45, Issue 3 (September 2009): 249–267. 43. Regarding the logical sense of “prior to,” consider the following example. Given the nature of what it is to be a “survivor” of cancer—to someone who at one point had cancer but no longer does—one must have had cancer prior to (logically speaking) being a cancer survivor. In other words, given the nature of what it is to be a “survivor” of cancer, to be a cancer survivor without having had cancer previously is a logical impossibility. 44. In doing so, one would be forced to interpret figuratively those passages in which D commands genocide, such as 1 Samuel 15:2–3, which reads: “Thus says the Lord of hosts, ‘I will punish Amalek for what he did to Israel, how he set himself against him on the way while he was coming up from Egypt. Now go and strike Amalek and utterly destroy all that he has, and do not spare him; but put to death both man and woman, child and infant, ox and sheep, camel and donkey’” (New American Standard Bible). 45. See “Exodus 20,” BibleGateway, available at https://www.biblegateway. com/passage/?search=Exodus+20&version=ESV, accessed June 2020. 46. Each verse comes from the New American Standard Bible. 47. Wes Morriston, “God and the Ontological Foundation of Morality,” Religious Studies Vol. 48 (2012): 21–22. 48. See Stephen Darwall, Philosophical Ethics (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1998), 46.

Afterword

Having finished presenting my moral defense of prostitution, I would like to address (very briefly) questions that some readers are likely to have at this point. First, given that I hold that prostitution—specifically, that what the prostitute does through it—is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral, do I also hold that prostitution should be legalized or, at least, decriminalized? Before answering this question, a claim that I made in Chap. 1 should be repeated here: that the moral and legal statuses of an act are, in principle, distinct. Accordingly, from the fact (if it is, indeed, a fact) that prostitution is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral, it does not follow that it ought to be legalized or even decriminalized. And there are compelling arguments (e.g., de Marneffe’s) for legal prohibitions against prostitution even if what the prostitute does through prostitution is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral. Having said that, my own view on whether prostitution should be legalized or decriminalized—which I will merely state here, not argue for—is that it should be legalized. Some of my reasons for holding this are consequentialist in nature (e.g., legalization would significantly reduce, if not altogether eliminate, the systemic harm of prostitution); others are nonconsequentialist in nature (e.g., legalization respects the prostitute’s and the client’s right to bodily autonomy). None, however, is conclusive by my lights, so I continue to wrestle with this issue. What’s more, I have found some of the arguments for what is referred to as the “Nordic © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 R. Lovering, A Moral Defense of Prostitution, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-75863-9

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Model”—according to which the purchasing of sex is legally prohibited whereas the selling of sex is not (or, at least, it is not criminalized)—to be rather compelling.1 But, as of this writing, I do not find them compelling enough to jettison my view. The second question that I would like to address pertains to a claim I made in Chap. 1, namely, that, as prostitution is currently practiced, the client’s purchase of the prostitute’s sexual services is often deceptive, sexist, oppressive, objectifying, demeaning, exploitative, abusive, and/or violent, is so contrary to the prostitute’s will, and thereby immoral. When that claim is combined with the claim that I have defended in this book— that prostitution (understood solely in terms of what the prostitute does through it) is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral— the resultant claim is as follows: at least as prostitution is currently practiced, what the prostitute does is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral, but what the client does is often immoral. The question, then, is: Am I not bothered by this seemingly oxymoronic implication? I am not. After all, this is not a contradictory claim. Nor does it contradict another claim that I made in Chap. 1, namely, that if selling sex is perfectly morally permissible, then it is very difficult to see how purchasing sex could be immoral nevertheless. For that claim ends with the following qualifier—“intrinsically so, at any rate.” But most importantly for present purposes, this implication strikes me as true. To be sure, I have only argued for the first half of it here. And, as suggested by the fact that I am discussing this implication in an afterword, I will not be arguing for the other half of this claim in this book. But there is a substantial amount of empirical evidence—some of which has been presented here—supporting the claim that the client’s purchase of the prostitute’s sexual services is often deceptive, sexist, oppressive, objectifying, demeaning, exploitative, abusive, and/or violent and is so contrary to the prostitute’s will. That it is thereby immoral is not difficult to believe. What’s more, if it is indeed true that, as prostitution is currently practiced, what the prostitute does is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral, but what the client does is often immoral, then prostitution (again, as currently practiced) is not morally symmetrical in the way that, say, hand-shaking as a form of salutation is. Rather, prostitution is morally asymmetrical: what the prostitute does is generally morally permissible, but what the client does often is not. It is not perfectly morally asymmetrical, of course—“generally” morally permissible and “often” immoral are

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not exact counterparts. It is, however, morally asymmetrical nonetheless. And this asymmetry is worthy of explicitly acknowledging, I submit. For, among other things, doing so might help relax some of the argumentative tension frequently experienced by those who debate the moral status of prostitution. To see this, suppose two friends, Lars and Catherine, are arguing over the moral status of prostitution as it is currently practiced. Tacitly focusing on what the prostitute does, Lars argues that prostitution is morally permissible. Tacitly focusing on what the client does, Catherine argues that prostitution is immoral. If it is true that, as prostitution is currently practiced, what the prostitute does is neither intrinsically, nor generally extrinsically, immoral, but what the client does is often immoral, then both Lars and Catherine are correct to some extent—what the prostitute does is generally morally permissible, whereas what the client does often is not. Explicit acknowledgment of prostitution’s moral asymmetry might help individuals like Lars and Catherine move beyond what is, in their case, a specious disagreement and on to potential points of agreement.

Note 1. See Catherine MacKinnon, “Trafficking, Prostitution, and Inequality,” accessed March 2021, available at https://www.law.uchicago.edu/recordings/catharine-­m ackinnon-­t rafficking-­p rostitution-­a nd-­i nequality; Catherine MacKinnon, Sex Equality, 3rd edition (St. Paul, MN: Foundation Press, 2016), Chapter 10; Lori Watson, “A Sex Equality Approach to Prostitution,” in Debating Sex Work, edited by Jessica Flanigan and Lori Watson (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 17–164.

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Index1

A Agrawal, Ranjan, 8 Alexander, Priscilla, 42n11, 93, 295, 321n117 Aquinas, Thomas, 246, 348, 359, 376n12 Arguments for the moral permissibility or immorality of an act, types of, 29, 33 Arthur, John, 366, 367 B Basic goods definition of, 245–260, 278, 319n84 examples of, 255, 319n80 Bentham, Jeremy, 219 Bergmann, Michael, 345, 347, 378n16 Bernstein, Elizabeth, 226

Blocked Basic Goods Argument, the, 245–263 marriage version of, 170, 173 Bodily autonomy, definition of, 53, 61–75, 77, 83, 185–187, 222, 383 Bonilla, Louis, 125, 154 Boonin, David, 20, 288, 289 Bradley, Ben, 87, 287, 288 Brents, Barbara, 152 Buckle, Stephen, 246 C Carter, Vednita, 128, 199n130 Categorical Imperative formula of end in itself, 229, 230, 285 formula of universal law, 229, 230 Chambers, Clare, 177, 178, 180, 181

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 R. Lovering, A Moral Defense of Prostitution, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-75863-9

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404 

INDEX

Chappell, T. D., 252 Chignell, Andrew, 359 Cholbi, Michael, 158 Christman, John, 66, 67, 80n24 Collins, Robin, 345–347, 379n18 Consequentialist argument, definition of, 30–34, 51, 56, 77, 83–188, 209, 292, 314n31 Consequentialist moral claim, definition of, 30–32, 48n70, 56, 62, 83, 94, 97, 98, 104–107, 116–120, 122, 126, 127, 134, 165, 186, 192n52, 209, 222, 292, 327 Corvino, John, 375n6 Crime Argument, the, 95, 96, 182–187 D De Marneffe, Peter, 7, 44n33, 58, 67–70, 92, 141, 183, 185, 197n108, 224, 225, 239, 383 Deception Argument, the, 224–236, 259, 266 Decker, John, 7 Degradation Argument (Consequentialist Version), the, 73, 140–149, 153, 264, 265, 290, 296 Degradation Argument (Nonconsequentialist Version), the, 248, 250, 264–291 Degrade, nonconsequentialist definition of, 284 Direct argument, definition of, 51–55, 61, 77 Divine Command Argument, the, 328, 332, 333, 335, 367–373 Divine Omniscience Argument, the, 332, 333, 335, 365–367

E Earleywine, Mitch, 215 Economic Costs Argument, the, 166–169 Ericsson, Lars O., 57, 131 Estes, Yolanda, 14, 58, 280, 281, 283, 286, 289, 290 Evaluating arguments, method for, 59 Everitt, Nicholas, 352, 364, 365, 375n8 Exploitation Argument, the, 73, 291–302, 311 F Fabre, Cécile, 15, 143, 275 Farley, Melissa, 14, 199n130 Finnis, John, 247–250 Finstad, Liv, 57, 131, 143, 151, 225, 226, 283, 315n39 G Gallagher, Maggie, 179, 180 George, Robert P., 250, 251, 254, 257, 260, 261, 279–282, 287, 288, 318n75 Gerard, Alison, 123 Gewirth, Alan, 10 Gibbs, Benjamin, 216 Giobbe, Evelina, 128, 199n130 Gómez-Lobo, Alfonso, 254–258 Grant, Melissa Gira, 11 Grisez, Germain, 278 H Hales, Steven, 313n13 Halwani, Raja, 273, 284 Harm, definition of global interpretation of, 85, 86 local interpretation of, 85, 86, 89, 90

 INDEX 

Harmful extrinsically, definition of, 89, 90 intrinsically, definition of, 11, 89, 90, 92 Hausbeck, Kathryn, 152 Hecht, Jennifer, 156, 158 Highleyman, Liz, 69 Høigård, Cecilie, 57, 131, 143, 151, 225, 226, 283, 315n39 Huemer, Michael, 38, 64, 65 Hughes, Donna M., 7, 28 Hursthouse, Rosalind, 237, 243 Husak, Douglas, 79n13, 189n23 I Immoral, definition of extrinsically, definition of, 1, 3, 24, 25, 89, 121, 127, 140, 149, 153, 160, 166, 169, 181, 187, 188, 223, 236, 245, 263, 291, 300, 312, 335, 366, 373, 383–385 intrinsically, definition of, 1, 3, 11, 24, 25, 89, 121, 127, 140, 149, 153, 160, 166, 169, 181, 187, 188, 223, 236, 245, 263, 291, 300, 312, 335, 366, 373, 383–385 Immoral-making consequence, 23, 30–33, 62, 77, 83, 84, 87–89, 93–96, 104, 105, 120–122, 126, 128, 133, 135, 139, 140, 148–150, 153, 154, 156–159, 161, 164–166, 170, 171, 173, 176, 177, 179–183, 187, 188, 209 definition of, 56 Indirect argument, definition of, 52, 53 Instrumentalize, Kantian definition of, 265, 278, 285, 299, 312

405

Instrumentalize, new natural law definition of, 278, 286, 299 Intuition, definition of, 37–40, 49n80, 49n81, 49n84, 112, 254, 257, 353, 354 J Jackass, 304 Jeffreys, Sheila, 99, 298 K Kagan, Shelley, 31, 84–86, 89, 253 Kant, Immanuel, 104, 156, 227–234, 265, 270, 272, 273, 286, 314n31, 314n32 Kuhse, Helga, 242, 243, 253 Kuo, Lenore, 7, 11, 14, 41n10, 64, 65, 125, 132, 140, 146, 163, 275, 295, 307, 308 L Lane, Chelsea, 74–77, 283 Leigh, Carol, 2–3, 155 Leitzel, Jim, 162 Levin, Michael, 135, 137, 138 M Maher, JaneMaree, 123, 200n142, 225, 226 McClelland, Mac, 74, 75 Mental Health Argument, the, 127–141, 148, 153, 165, 170 Mill, John Stuart, 177, 216, 217, 220 Moen, Ole Martin, 84 Monto, Martin, 71

406 

INDEX

Moral claim basic, definition of, 35–40, 49n80, 49n82, 94, 104, 110, 111, 117, 119, 164, 165, 171, 192n52, 214 derived, definition of, 35–37, 49n80 Morally criticizable, definition of, 19–25, 94, 104, 106, 118, 122, 126, 127, 134, 139, 149, 169, 181, 221, 223, 227, 234, 241, 258–260, 285–287, 290, 297, 310, 335 Morally impermissible, definition of, 19–26, 30, 32, 35, 83, 169, 209, 221, 237 Morally permissible, definition of, 4, 9, 11, 18–23, 26–30, 32, 35, 47n65, 47n67, 52, 53, 55, 56, 58–64, 74, 79n14, 83, 88, 98, 109, 111, 112, 115–119, 132, 173, 192n52, 209, 229, 235–237, 242, 243, 245, 246, 248, 261, 263, 286, 289, 298, 309, 310, 370, 384, 385 Moral-making consequence, definition of, 30, 56, 58–60, 63, 83, 186 Moran, Rachel, 8, 16, 239 Morriston, Wes, 371, 372 N New natural law theory, 246, 261 Nonconsequentialist argument, definition of, 31–34, 51, 62, 165, 172, 188, 209–312, 327, 373 Nonconsequentialist immoral-making property, definition of, 29, 32, 33, 188, 209, 211, 214, 215, 218, 220–222, 224, 227, 236, 241, 245, 258, 259, 264, 284,

291, 292, 297, 300, 309, 312, 333–335, 366, 367, 373 Nonconsequentialist moral claim, definition of, 30–32, 56, 62, 83, 94, 119, 165, 172, 186, 209, 215, 222, 223, 229, 233, 234, 241, 242, 259, 285, 286, 290, 292, 327 Nonconsequentialist moral-making property, definition of, 209 Nonmoral claim, definition of, 35, 37, 110 Nonpropositional evidence, definition of, 337, 351–357, 359, 360 Nonreligious argument, definition of, 29, 30, 33, 176, 327 Nonreligious claim, definition of, 29, 30, 83, 209 Nussbaum, Martha, 276 O O’Connell Davidson, Julia, 75 O’Neill, Maggie, 28 P Parfit, Derek, 231, 233 Pateman, Carol, 270, 273, 277–280, 282, 283, 303, 308 Patriarchal Subordination Argument, the, 73, 300–312 Pettigrove, Glen, 243 Pettit, Philip, 12, 111–114 Pickering, Sharon, 123 Pitcher, Jane, 28 Pleasure attitudinal, definition of, 212–215, 217, 218, 221, 222

 INDEX 

sensory, definition of, 212–215, 217, 218, 221, 222, 252, 256 Porter, Judith, 125, 154 Premature Death Argument, the, 95, 96, 154–160 Prima facie, definition of, 38–40, 51, 52, 56, 58–64, 74, 228 Primoratz, Igor, 9, 92, 171, 269, 305, 306 Propositional evidence, definition of, 336–351, 357, 359 Prostitution, definitions of, 1, 51–77, 83–188, 209–312, 327–373, 383 prudential goods through, 52, 55, 60, 61, 75–77, 101, 102, 180, 210, 240, 305 Prudential Goods Argument, the, 53–63, 74, 77, 121 Public Nuisance Argument, the, 95, 96, 160–166, 171 Q Quan, Tracy, 3, 11 R Radin, Margaret Jane, 309 Rational moral agent, definition of, 230–232, 266, 274, 285 Rauch, Jonathan, 263 Raymond, Janice G., 7, 8, 43n19, 298, 311 Reiman, Jeffrey, 159, 298, 300, 311 Religious argument, definition of, 29, 33, 327–373 Religious claim, definition of, 29, 30, 48n69, 48n73, 83, 209, 327–329, 332 Richards, David, 4, 146

407

Right to Bodily Autonomy Argument, the, 53, 61–74, 77, 83, 222 Rowe, William, 344 S Sacred Text Argument, the, 332–366 Sanders, Teela, 28, 42n18, 68, 91, 100, 123, 125, 128, 131, 150–155, 161–163, 212, 240, 275, 298, 316n53 Satz, Debra, 41n2, 84, 154, 292, 302, 303 Scalia, Antonin, 43n31, 44n31 Sexually Transmitted Diseases Argument, the, 122–127, 134 Should moral, definition of, 10, 20, 23, 44n35, 287, 288 prudential, definition of, 10, 20 Shrage, Laurie, 301 Singer, Peter, 12, 242, 243 Skeptical theism, definition of, 344–347, 349–351, 379n17, 380n20 Spector, Jessica, 4 Squandered Talents Argument, the, 95–122, 134, 223 Systemic harm, definition of, 92, 93, 190n28, 383 T Ten, C. L., 8, 9, 58 Tollefsen, Christopher, 279, 281 Tooley, Michael, 35, 36, 48n76, 49n80, 344, 345, 359

408 

INDEX

U Ultima facie, definition of, 1, 4, 5, 12, 40, 47n65, 49n80, 51–56, 58–62, 64, 74, 77, 186, 347–350, 379–380n20 Undermined Marriage Argument, the, 170–181, 183 Unearned Pleasure Argument, the, 211–223 V Vargas, Joe, 8 Viciousness Argument, the, 236–245, 293 Violence Argument, the, 150–153

Virtue ethics, definition of, 33, 39, 237, 242–245, 317n59 Vonnegut, Kurt, 139 W Waite, Linda, 179, 180 Weiner, Adele, 5 Weitzer, Ronald, 3, 5, 6, 45n44, 46n60, 53, 70, 91, 99, 124, 125, 129, 152, 161–163, 195n78, 199n132, 300, 305 Wertheimer, Alan, 292, 293 West, Robin, 67, 69, 70, 142 Whisnant, Rebecca, 46n59, 71